One child. My child. Your child.


One child. Your child. My child.

When our children hurt, we hurt more. It’s how God designed us, I think. To care for our children’s welfare over our own. We would take on their hurts in an instant to spare them any pain, particularly emotional pain.

What would it feel like to have someone tell your child that he or she was contaminated. Unclean. Less than human. A dog. What would that feel like to you as a mother. A father. Would you break down doors to get to the person who said such a thing to the one you love more than anyone on the planet?

What if this message came from millions of people? How many doors could you break down in a day before collapsing in a heap of defeat, hands bloodied from futile attempts at justice? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? How long before you give up? Would you ever?

The term “untouchable” is used in the USA as a sort of elite status, mainly for sports stars. Not so here in rural India. It is a term used for millions of people falling below the lowest status of the caste system. One step below “extremely backwards people”. It is a term for those born to clean your toilets. Born to scrape, to suffer, to be permanently oppressed.

The caste system has been outlawed for years in India, yet it is alive and well in the interior villages. Take one of these dear ones out of this situation and place him anywhere else, and you would have no idea. But they would know. They’ve been told all their life that they are less than human. Not allowed in the homes of the upper caste’s because they contaminate everything they touch, everywhere they go… These beautiful people, men, women, and children alike…

I don’t even know where I’m going with this, other than to speak it out loud.

You, my dear children, are made in the image of a Mighty God. A God who knit you together in your mother’s womb. A God who loves you, and has plans for you, not to harm you, but to give you hope and a future (Jer 29:11). He has a purpose specific to you, made before you were ever born. The same God who made me, my children… He made you too. We will not stop until you hear the truth. You are more than you’ve been told you are. You are princes and princesses. Children of the King. Come, claim your inheritance. Come. Let all the little children come.


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