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Creative Minority Reader

From Addiction to Hope. A Beautiful Story

I'm on the internet reading news aggregators, blogs, Facebook, Twitter and everything else. So I see a lot. You become sorta' blasé about the whole thing. Not that it's not enjoyable. It is. Most of the time. Well, a good portion of the time. I don't like all the arguing to be honest. So I tend to stay out of comboxes. I like connecting with folks but inevitably someone comes and starts yelling and taking something you wrote and twisting it into its worst possible meaning. It's tiring. And I read lots of folks being clever. I do it myself. Instead of actual commentary I drop some snark and call it a day. And I read some folks trying to be clever. Sometimes it can all feel a little formulaic. But then you read something real. You read a real story about real people who went through something terrible, had their faith tested, and came out the other end. This story is one of them. Check it out:

Call 911! A loud thud startled me awake from a deep sleep. Alarmed, my wife and I immediately sat up. Confused, I groped for the light switch as something heavy fell on my wife’s side of the bed. “What is it?” I asked, to no one in particular. As parents of eight children, my wife and I had been awakened in the middle of the night before. But this time, something was different. I finally found the light switch, and leaped out of bed to find my teenage son’s limp body lying in my wife’s arms. “Are you sick? What’s the matter?” Blinking repeatedly, I strained to make sense of the sight. My wife, ever attuned to our children, was already cradling him, assessing his condition. “Mom, pray for me” I heard him say in a weak voice, amidst labored gasps. “I’m dying. I can’t breathe.” “What’s the matter?” I repeated dully, still attempting to comprehend the situation. “The drugs.” 
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