painful truth

"My dad's mean, but at least he didn't hit or choke my mom when he was with her like my mom's new boyfriend does." These words from the mouth of a 10 year-old neighborhood girl I walked home today. A beautiful, bright, chipper, African-American sweetheart. At such a young age her innocence is slowly stripped away by harsh realities. She has already experienced more darkness in the past decade of her life than I have in two.
My heart breaks. Not only because of her situation, but because her story is only one of many.
It overwhelms me. Partly because I never had to face that kind of hardship. How can I possibly respond to something so difficult for my mind to truly grasp? How can I even attempt to make a difference in these kids' lives?
Sometimes I feel hopeless. Then I feel guilty for feeling hopeless about the hopelessness I see. Perhaps the problem is that I'm trying too hard to relate. The truth is, the only common ground I may ever find with another person is our desperate need for Jesus Christ. I guess that is all that matters.
I have experienced the love of our Savior. That is a message that brings hope. It ministers by itself.

Use me where you see fit Lord, not where I see fit.