The poor, dying and sick.

God, I know you said the poor would be with us always.  Then you told me to lift my head and look.  Ok, I am looking, so many need help.  My, my, my, I can see, help me help them help others, help themselves.

We are all children.  Some think they are brave and can do all things.  Unfurtunately, seeing big strong men and women when at war, devestated by bombs and being overrun, I know how small we really are.  Hurricanes, floods and trouble take away all of crutches and we are left face to face with the question, “Are you, God, going to help me out here?”  “Or What?”

We build and surround ourselves with strong bubbles that keep bad away and yet, bad is always there.  There is no protection from evil and old.  Gotta take it when it comes and the richest person in the world will leave naked and defenseless.

Ok, forgive me but, I wanna do something.  So, help me do something.  The kids, the poor, the needy and the money is there.  The food is there.  If those that have would deny themselves just a portion of their massive wealth.  View the rest of the world as family, then things would change.

Everyone is talking about the death of two thirds of the world so 1% can live in luxury with the remainder of the world in some kind of archaic slavery but God, is that what you want?

Talk to me, please.

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