Today as my belly grows fat from all of the food at my disposal, three and a half million people, including babies, in Niger are at risk of starving to DEATH. As my stomach burns with satisfaction, a mother's milk dries from her breasts. My eyes will search the menus of several restaurants over the coming days and a thousand babies will fall from their heritage, stolen by their destiny of starvation. Who will remember their names? Who will remember their faces? Who will remember their wide eyes begging to suckle one last time? Who will hear the cries of their hearts, the distant cries too faint for the fed? What tears will we cry as we glance at their swollen bellies, then pat our own bellies swollen with the fruit of our labor? They will labor too, but as their brows are stained with sweat, no hope of fruit remains.
Holy is the Lord and the earth is filled with His glory. Where is the glory in their suffering? Where is the glory in their dying? Where is the glory in a baby's bloodied flesh as it peels from his body? Where is the glory when we turn our eyes and hang our heads in shame for only one minute while in that same minute, a child has starved to DEATH? What glory is given to the Lord in their suffering?
Holy is the Lord and the earth is filled with His glory. Where is the glory in their suffering? Where is the glory in their dying? Where is the glory in a baby's bloodied flesh as it peels from his body? Where is the glory when we turn our eyes and hang our heads in shame for only one minute while in that same minute, a child has starved to DEATH? What glory is given to the Lord in their suffering?
