To make a long story short, I have my modem back, and it’s better than ever. Unfortunately, my life isn’t.

Yesterday had all the makings of a good day. I woke up relaxed and ready to take on the world. I checked my e-mail and got a really nice message, I had a good breakfast, everything. I got to Driver’s Ed and things were a little less boring and one of my new friends there gave me a pair of scrunchies, which made me feel so loved.

But family has a way of ruining all that. My brother looked up porn again, which meant that he had the computer taken away– from me as well. Which was frustrating because I didn’t do anything and that he continues to look up this crap. Luckily I got the computer back today. Then, my parents have a fight. A huge fight. The throwing things, cursing, screaming, door slamming, hitting kind of fight. And I was just sitting there going: “not again. Oh, please God, not again.”

I’ve had too many years of that to have it start all over again. So my good day was ruined, and as I went to bed I couldn’t help but break down into frustrated tears. Can’t I have a day to myself, where I enjoy simple things, without other people squashing that? Why is it that everytime I’m remotely happy, they seem to sense it and decided to throw something nasty on my radar?

I didn’t want to cry. But I did anyway, just out of pure frustration. I remembered saying to my mom: “most of my childhood has been spent having poeple angry at me, or being angry at them. Now that things are getting better, I’m going off to college!” But now, it seems that things maybe won’t get better. And I feel like an insipid fool to ever think that they would. To ever think that a person would change!

A lost childhood. I remembered then a song that I had written: “I want to cry for lost innocence, purity and joy. Like a meteor from heaven, gone before it’s time. For fallen doves, and years gone wrong…” Then, following this train of thought, after I had shed some tears on that, I thought about what inspired me to write that song– a chorale piece called “The Prayer of the Children”, which everytime I hear it, it breaks my heart. The composer, an American, Kurt Bestor, went to Yugoslavia as a missionary. War broke out between the conflicting ethnicities. One day, he came back to his apartment only to find that the orphanage by his building had been bombed. So he wrote this song:

Can you hear the prayer of the children, On bended knee in the shadow of an unknown room?Empty eyes with no more tears to cry, Turning heavenward for the light.

Crying Jesus, help me to see the morning light - of one more day!But if I should die before I wake, I pray my soul to take.

When you feel the hearts of the children, Aching for home - for something of their very own.Reaching hands with nothing to hold onto, But hope for a better day - a better day.

Crying Jesus, help me to feel the love again - in my own land. But, if unknown roads lead away from home, give me loving arms - free from harm.

Can you hear the voice of the children, Softly pleading for silence in a shattered world? Angry guns preach a gospel full of hate - Blood of the innocent, is on their hands.

Crying Jesus, help me to feel the sun again - upon my face. For when darkness clears, I know you are near, bringing peace again

Hearing it is even more dramatic. Here’s a link to an mp3:

Prayer of the Children

This depressed me more. I started crying uncontrollably. I mean, what kind of person who bomb children?! Is that some kind of war? No one gains anything by that! Nothing! Nothing but pain, heartache, injustice! And these children– a short life already full of pain. Orphans! Wishing for love and acceptance, and hoping perhaps to find it– to be killed– for nothing.

I just couldn’t reconcile myself with that concept. I recalled yet another song: “The Lord will restore the years that the locust has eaten!”

And I just cried. And cried.

Nothing could have enlightened me more that last thought. A few minutes later I went to sleep.