Friday sees me on my face.I stuff up.
Saturday seems me crying for grace.
I scream, "Sunday!"
-- One Bad Pig, "I Scream Sunday".
I humble myself.
I wonder if I'll ever see any good.
And then God makes the bus wait for me.
I've been spending a lot of time weeping lately.
I have some big unresolved hurts.
It seems no one is listening.
But God made the bus wait for me.
I met a young mother on the train with her one and a half year old son.
The young woman said she'd only just turned sixteen.
The father hadn't been seen for the best part of a year.
A friend said, "That's life."
Maybe so, but does that make it right, good and just?
And the sixteen year old mother of an 18 month old son:
who will make the bus wait for her?