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This week’s FMF writing prompt is: WORTH
GO.
When I try to understand how we got to this place,
how we ended up so divided and divisive,
so defensive and
so unwilling to listen, hear, or understand,
I think it comes down to this:
We have failed to understand the intrinsic worth of human life.
We have failed to see human beings — all human beings — as made in the image of God.
The unborn and the elderly. Male and female. Black and brown and white.
We have failed to treat our fellow human beings as family, fellow descendants of Adam and Eve.
We have failed. And we need a Savior.
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Related article: On Finding Your Self-Worth as a Writer {Video Interview with Aliza Latta}
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Join this week’s blog link-up with your own five-minute freewrite on the prompt, WORTH:Â
The guys I worked with, contracting, they didn’t fail. They bled red for people of whatever colour, and I buried pieces of them in countries Club Med will never exploit.
Decency was worth something to them; worth more, in the end, than thei own lives.
And I, the last, wonder why my life was worth preserving. First question I have for God, when I see Him.
Being a last survivour is kind of hard. A recent head injury put paid to most of my poetry, but Tennyson described it best, in Bedivere’s lament in “The Death of Arthur”:
And I, the last, go forth companionless, And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds.”
If I may be allowed a third (!) comment…if not, Kate, please go ahead and delete.
Worth it?
Running on to midnight, Bella is in her sleeping crate, and looking at me with bright and slightly mad eyes. She is a Yorkshire Terrier whom we found in a flooded ditch on July 3, 2013, her back deliberately broken. I could still drive then, and was driving Barb home from the train station, when she noticed a Black Lab desperately barking, to get our attention, trying to save this small damaged life.
We took Bella to the only vet still open, and he offered to euthanize her for free (our bank account had just been emptied by a hacker, that very day)…but, tears in his eyes, he said, “She might make it with love.”
And so, Bella came home. Her spinal cord was damaged but not severed, so she can ‘kinda’ walk, but she prefers to scoot. I built a wheelchair for her, which she despises.
She is the terror of the Pit Bulls; they have never seen such fearlessness, and they cower before her wrath.
But she does need help; she is continent, but has to ask for aid to empty her bladder and bowels in a dignified manner (that is, not in the day-room she shares with her buddy Bray, a Dachshund). That’s my job, to apply the pressure-points. Five or six times a day.
Bella’s a lot more work than an ordinary dog.
But I would never have left her in that July itch to die.
She’s worth it.
Beautiful and inspirational words for such a time as this!
And, until we stop murdering the unborn – no life matters.
I so agree. We have forgotten about the sanctity of life!
You have it right. So sad.