By Kelly Carr
It happened the first week we moved in.
For almost 10 years we lived on a busy city street: cars whizzed by and ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars—sirens blaring—made their way to those in need. People walked past from the bus stop, sometimes singing, sometimes talking on the phone, sometimes loudly arguing with one another. The sounds filled our days.
We moved one mile away, on the other side of a large city park. Just that short distance put us on a quieter street. Cars still come by, but not as many and not as fast. People walk by, but they aren’t as noisy. It’s a different pace.
So while I expected this scene to occur, as it did, at our old location, I was surprised the afternoon when I looked out the window of our new home and saw it happening right at the curb—a heroin deal.
Though we’d moved to a quieter location, the drug problem remained the same. People pull up, often several cars at a time, and await the dealer to drive by and exchange money and drugs out the window. Our community has rallied to report and rid these exchanges from occurring in our neighborhood. There is frustration about people being exposed to this activity, especially our children.
You know who I don’t usually think about in my anger? Those buying the drugs—the addicted folks desperate for a fix, not thinking about where they get their fill or who they affect. My empathy is low. But just as I feel defensive about innocent bystanders having to watch drug deals going down, I should also have a broken heart over those trapped in addiction. I should care about a person who is chained to a substance and a high.
Reading the stories shared with The Lookout this week, my perspective is changing. My heart is breaking. I am developing empathy, conviction, and hope for the way God can move even in the most desperate situations. I hope you read and feel the same.
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