Diamonds in the Sky

The tall blond scrunched to the floor, facing the audience with her acoustical guitar. The slight three-year-old plopped down in front of her, partially obscuring the musician from my view.

The tall blond began to sing.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are.”

Two babies dressed in Tampa Bay Ray shirts made flashing twinkle hand movements as child workers clutched them behind the singers on the stage. The small girl whose back faced me, strummed the guitar in unrhythmic movements, singing softly. The girl’s brother, also in a Rays shirt, bobbed up and down, mouthing words, performing hand signals at inappropriate times, all the while smiling.

“Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky.”

A lump rose in my throat. Beautiful, beautiful, children. My eyes stung. How could anyone abuse them? Twin eighteen-month-old boys, the three-year-old girl and her brother. Another little boy. Parents arrested because they were running a meth lab. Diamonds in the sky, they were.

I lived in a different world. A world where parents celebrated when their baby lost a tooth, not a world where parents knocked teeth out of their children’s mouths.

My world was filled with two-parent homes that had locks on the doors and air conditioning that blew through clean air vents. Their world held no safety and little comfort.

Fact is, I don’t know their world. But I want to. I want to learn from them. I desire to serve them. I want to climb out of my middle-class, three bedroom, two bath home and care.

That’s what Jesus did. I want to be like Him.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are.”

The song ended. My resolve has not.

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