A Cry For A Purpose

      My mom is an 8th grade writing teacher. She is well known throughout her school and our community as "The Master Writer". She can teach anyone, at any level, in any, language, in any setting how to write any type of paper: Analysis, narrative, persuasive, ANYTHING!  She is an outstanding writer and has worked hard to instill in me all her ingenious writing methods. However, though she can write as fluently and succulently as anyone I know, I still have a hard time writing cohesive pieces. Mom told me once that if I write on a topic I'm passionate about, I can be an outstanding writer. Thanks to her constant encouragement, I finally caught on to what she was saying.
      2 years ago, I wrote this narrative describing the reason a lot of people see themselves as unfit to help and serve others. This narrative is very personal. It describes me just 2 short years ago. Read this story and think about your own life. Does it describe you?

I would also like to add that my wonderful mother edited this for me. She's great! Thanks mom! I love you!

A Cry For A Purpose

A story of giving may often seem trite. But this one, oh this one, is quite a delight. It’s of a young girl who was pre-judged for sure. Some thought she was haughty, but she was so pure. Guilty of passing pained people nearby, she wanted to help, but just was too shy. Day in and day out she walked by this place, but just kept eyes forward. She thought she showed grace. The homeless said nothing, just sat there and stared, at a girl they thought snubbed them and never had cared. They had no idea Marsha struggled for peace.  She hurt and she cried. Her tears never ceased. She felt unfulfilled, so empty and bare. Like her life meant nothing. A sad sad affair. Coming and going and passing right by. Never hearing each other’s inaudible cry. A cry for a purpose, a cry for much more.  Only - if only – she’d step through that door. 

This door Marsha passed at least twice a day seemed to be calling one special Monday.  She wondered, “What’s in there?” and her purpose grew the minute she peeped in the window to view. She saw people scattered, clothes ratty and torn; people with faces who knew the word mourn. These people were homeless. They lived on the streets. They dashed through that door to find something to eat. The place seemed like Heav en to those who walked in. “Could I serve?” she whispered. “Why not just give in?” She shook off timidity. And boldness came in… into her heart.  It made her head spin!

That Monday young Marsha was greatly fulfilled. She gave, and she blessed with all God had instilled. She found her true purpose. He’d made her this way. Humble and shy, He had planned her from clay. She served them all soup and with each knelt to pray.  They shared many stories of hurt and dismay. You see there are times when you need not be loud. Meek, quiet people can shepherd a crowd. They needed good food and a warm place to sleep, but also a listener for issues so deep. And now Marsha’s life no longer feels bare. Her passion shines brightly. Her love is so rare. So never forget the moral told here.  Just lift up your face to find purpose so clear.