Waiting to Be Wanted

I once witnessed the falling tears of a teenage girl who told me that God didn’t hear her when she prayed. Her aching utterance came just after she showed me some old photos of her alcoholic mother whom she hadn’t seen in years. 

She’d been left alone. And now she lived under a heavy name that pressed down hard, grinding at her soul and branding her with an identity she never, ever wanted to take on.

She was an orphan.

Home was tiled hallways, fluorescent lights, a community bathroom, and a dorm room lined with small beds. Family was an idea that her weathered, hopeless heart had ceased to even imagine.

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