Cincinnati

This week, my high school youth group went down to Cincinnati, Ohio for a mission trip. I went down this year for the first time as a sort-of leader because I'm out of high school. Although it was hardly my first time (fifth?), God found a way to break my heart. One day during the week, I helped bring two of the kids, Marquis and Marquisha, home after day camp. When we arrived at the place where they lived and began walking up the trash filled, broken down, splintered stairs up to the apartment they inhabited with their mother and grandparents, I tried to prepare myself for what we would find. Nothing could...in their home there was a wall of overflowing trash bags against one wall of their kitchen area. Their grandparents welcomed us in and talked with us while their mother filled out forms allowing them to attend the day camp. As I talked politics with the grandfather it just filled me with sadness at how these children lived, taken care of by adults who filled their lives with addiction to drugs and alcohol, little time with adults that show they care. The children live in absolute squalor, relying on electricity from an extension cord on the first floor because they can't afford the monthly bill. I go back to my home to electricity, water, food, parents that aren't taking hits, and am able to write about it on my computer to essentially myself. It's so hard to write this, knowing that I'm reaching an audience of zero, and that while I'm writing, they're probably hungry and feeling unloved. Marquis, Marquisha...you are loved. I'm sorry.