I go to church almost every Sunday. There is a woman that I see every time, always with swollen eyes, weeping, arranging the candles with trembling hands, standing for a long time and silently praying, then curling up and leaving the church.
Every time I see her, my heart breaks into pieces. Yesterday she came again, but this time she was in a terrible condition. She cried so much that she was exhausted, she didn’t even have the strength to move. My heart couldn’t stand it and I approached to ask what happened. And when I learned her story, I was even more broken and angry against the injustice of the world.
A woman lost her eldest son during the war. The son was killed in a very cruel way, they searched for the body for months, but in vain. They still don’t know how the incident happened. The little wound had barely healed when they learned of the family’s second flame… it turns out the little boy has a cancer.
I don’t need words to describe what a painful story I heard and how silent I was because I didn’t even know what to say to ease the situation. The poor woman comes to God’s house for hours every day, praying and asking him not to take the other son away from her… But we don’t appreciate the life given to us, we get angry and complain about everything.