They are the living dead, walking zombies, lifeless bodies pretending they know what life is all about. Their lifestyle is dangerous, daring, threatening, and almost suicidal. They live among crowds, hunger for attention, thrive on action, and depend on instant thrills. Family is not at home, it’s wherever they make it. Conversations at home don’t exist. She lives in her room with the modern conveniences of her cell phone, TV with over one hundred channels, a CD player with radio not to mention the mp3 or ipod nearby; texting most of the night while watching TV is the norm.He updates his My Space with gangster backgrounds, mob details, and hip hop videos and slideshows. Gang signs and colors can be seen throughout the page. He is a wannabe thug. His friends in his mob call him dawg, or the n word. She calls her friends a slang word for prostitute, worst than that female dog. They drink everything from the lightest to heaviest alcoholic beverages, roll blounts/budda, you may know them as joints or mary jane. They can cut coke, smoke rocks and ice with the best of them and still go to school the next day.They want to be sexy and seductive, that’s what their idols all say they should be. The extracurricular activity leads to a pregnancy, sometimes mom doesn’t know and sometimes she does. She’s scared because she thought the protection would work so now what will he say or do? They have had miscarriages, abortions and still births. They thought it was an inconvenience; no one wants to miss most of their classes or worse not graduate. He offers to take her to the clinic, get it dealt with, get rid of the problem ‘cause they have more things to do. Can’t cramp their lifestyle with a baby you know.Daddy’s in prison can’t keep child support coming but he and mom aren’t married, you know how that goes.
He’s tired of seeing his momma’s boyfriend in and out of the house. That guy is not his dad and never will be. He’s looking for a real man to show him what to be, not momma’s boyfriend. She wants her mom to show her how to pick a stable man to be her husband one day, not a fly by night, in and out boyfriend. She’ll have to look somewhere else and she does. The drive-by the other night was too close for comfort. The pimps, drug dealers, gangsters and other shady characters line the streets dripping death off their tongue as they solicit mules or junior associates. These are the young people I know.
They frustrate and annoy me, anger and often infuriate me. But I cannot stay angry long for I love them intensely. They aren’t my own kids and yet it seems they are. I want the same things for them; dream the same dreams for them. I pray for them, hope great things for them, and give of myself to them expecting them to see all I see they can be. My home is opened up to them, so is the word of God. There’s instruction, correction, and encouragement shared there. It’s a safe place to ask questions, to debate and release pressures and cares, anxieties and fears, see if you care. Yes we care and we accept the dare to compare your lifestyle to His book while we open His file to delineate what could be your fate if you dare to wait until It’s too late to accept His gift of love. We make it plan, His word that is, and pray it will remain and wash away their stains so deep. They want the truth, they want a change, and they want love but don’t know how to accept it.
Their style of life has left a scar, deep and long, painful and raw. Trust comes slowly, creeping in undercover hoping not to be trampled. We must wait a while, be long suffering, patient, kind, tenderhearted and sincere. They can see the cracks if there is wax, hypocrisy is sniffed out with precision like hounds on the chase of a ‘possum through deep woods on a dark moonless night, it will be found. They can’t afford more hurt so they are experts at seeking out pretenders, caution is their friend, need time for all the scares to mend.
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