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A CRY FROM THE WILDERNESS

I CRY


They threw the tree and the ‘Tree that Grows in Brooklyn' catches it, so gets to take it home to make her family's Christmas, and I cry.

Liz Murray goes from Homeless to Harvard through her own pluck, and I cry.

It doesn't take much any more and I don't know why.

Scrappy the cat comes back on Christmas day after

being lost in a blizzard for a month (for real), and I cry.

Dad wrote me about how lonely he was once and sent me his collection of real Indian head dimes along with the note, and I cry;

Not about his gesture, but just now thinking about that kind, simple, good man.

There is something that feels good about a real good cry.

Love and compassion should rule over anger and hatred every time. When they do, I cry.

Sometimes the weak and the defenseless win and when they do, I cry.

Now, ......my cry is nothing more than from the wilderness and when that is all it is, I cry.

But, someday my cry will be heard.

Posted on Monday, February 9, 2009 at 05:57PM by Registered CommenterLAUREN PAULSON in | CommentsPost a Comment

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