There Is Purpose To Pain

Eyes of fire met mine

through the hole in the wall,

the hole, where they passed through his food.

Only sixteen years old

but he'd lived more of life

than someone seventy-five.

He pushed his hand through

looking for love,

if he'd had, he wouldn't be there.

In a 8x10 cell,

going no where,

a scapegoat for the sins of the world.

I cradled his hand

whispered, "tell me your pain,"

his story flew out of his mouth.

The hell of his life,

from those he loved,

a world where no body cared.

The mistakes that he made

just to endure,

the choices which put him in there.

I caressed his cold hand

said, "I understand,"

my own past came rushing back.

Of nights all alone

in the midst of turmoil,

from parents who cared more for themselves.

The mistakes that I made,

just to fit in,

it could have been me in that space.

I told him my story

and what I had learned,

both the good and the bad.

There is evil in life,

but God does love us,

and there is a purpose to pain.

To lead us to what

God sent us to do,

that's why I was holding his hand.

And just like God's Son,

who died in his pain,

we too can be Saviors of men.

It was time to go,

the guard took my chair,

I kneeled on the cold cement floor.

Oh that I could squeeze through

and hold in my arms,

there really was someone who cared.

Our hands held
tight as he asked me to pray,

I asked for his comfort and peace.

Tears flowed down his face,

tears ran down mine too,

flaming eyes now were serene.

I threw him a kiss,

in a room filled with light,

angels were filling that space.

His hands squeezed mine tight

as he whispered his thanks,

a sweet smile, my gift for the day.

I got up from my knees,

my heart over flowed

with thanks for a mission to fill.

I walked down dark halls

with so many doors,

lost children I needed to save.

This Poem was taken from Eva Fry's Book -

Letters from Juvenile Hall, Kids Helping Kids