Born precious

Not so long ago four baby girls were born. Each little baby was completely unique. Tiny fingers, tiny toes. A fragile life needing care, needing protection, needing love. Each little one was born precious.

As each of the babies grew they discovered the world around them, they were filled with curiosity, they discovered colours, textures, sounds, and tastes.

They got older and began to adventure into life. There was home, school, streets and parks. There were people - those they saw and lived with, those they clung to, those they loved. There was life - relationships, lessons learned, experiences, challenges.

I passed those four baby girls tonight. All grown up now.

Today each born-precious baby girl is a young woman.

Each of them was working on the streets of Peterborough.

It was dark, and cold as I passed them and my heart went out to each of them. I don't know why they are working as prostitutes today, but I have a feeling it wasn't the childhood dream they each had of what they would be when they grew up.

Life got in the way.

They are still precious. The funny thing is that no matter what has happened, no matter what happens tonight, no matter what happens tomorrow, they are still, still, still precious. I doubt that these grown-up precious baby girls know they are precious, I doubt many people around them do. But I am absolutely sure God does.

As I passed them I wanted to say it, to stop - take a hand, ignore the empty, hollow laughter, to shout it - 'you're so, so, so precious'. But of course in reality I felt helpless, unable to do anything that would help. Words can be empty - especially to those who have been failed by them.

I wonder if these precious lives have even heard of Jesus - except as a swear word. Do they know who he is? Do they know that he would be the one who would not condemn them - who would stand with them? Do they know he would see the precious baby girl - the precious woman, the tender child, the bright light of a life full of possibilities?

I wonder if these precious lives have ever entered a church. Would they ever dream of going into a place like that? Would it seem like another universe? A different world they could never be - would never want to be - part of? Would it be a place where they could rest, be themselves, open up, find the way back to their dreams?

Tonight I am full of questions.

The only place to go to tonight is the arms of a God who knows.