Pray for the people of Haiti, particularly for the children who lost their parents,
and the parents who lost their children.
And while you’re at it, give some thought to the misdirected importance we give the privileged in our own county. Tell me that, in Gods eyes, there is not a broken, wounded, misplaced, or suffering child in Haiti that is not equally, or more, important than the spoiled royalty we serve with our money and adoration. Tell me that Michael Jackson’s life, or Anna Nicole Smith’s, or Farrah Faucet’s, for that matter, was of greater importance than was the baby of a poverty stricken mother whose shantytown shack has fallen down in shambles around her, her child lost to the rubble of such unimaginable happenstance.
Tell me that Pat Robertson, suggesting that the people of Haiti are cursed, implying that this tragedy was the judgment of God, is not blinded by his own reflection, and his own self-righteousness. Tell me that his life is more important than the innocent’s lost in Haiti. And I’ll tell you that I wouldn’t trade the life of one poor Haitian child for a thousand Pat Robertson’s, or a hundred Donald Trump’s, or a herd of other obnoxious celebrities with their tarnished brass treasures, their throbbing silver tongues, and their fancy gold dancing shoes.
Along with your prayers for the people of Haiti,
you might also want to send a check.
