My heart is shattering into a thousand pieces. It's been breaking and grieving. However not in a sense where things are bad or wrong, but because I've asked God to break my heart and to give me a new burden for this fatherless generation. So often I can get back into that little cocoon of selfishness, self-gain, all about me lifestyle of living. All too often I can forget what Jesus says and the friendly reminders of picking up your Cross, counting the cost, laying your life down for another. Dying to self. Making disciples of all men.

And I hate it.

So, I ask Him to break me. Break my heart. Let me weep. Let me see with the eyes of my Father! Let me hear with the ears of my Lord! Let me hear the silent cries of this generation who are in desperate need of a Saviour, so desperate that alot of them don't even realise He is the answer.

Those girls, young girls, flaunting their bodies. Thinking and feeling that the only way to be accepted, the only way to feel any sort of emotion, is to give themselves over to boys. To have their purity and innocense stolen away so that they can just capture one glance of plastic love.
Oh, and those kids, those kids labelled by society as the hopeless, never going to change, delinquents. How I cringed when a co-worker said of one of the clients, "She's just a stupid little sl*t and I hope she chokes on the next pill she swallows!". Heart-wrenching. Can people not see the whispers of their hearts? They rebel because they want to know that they still exist!
What about that 15-year-old girl who I had to keep watch on. Here I am on one side of the window peering in as she ran around in frantic circles. Screaming. Tearing at her head. Crashing into walls. Wanting to die. Wanting death to grip her and take her to another place, a "better" place. If only she knew that this better place was worst than the hell that was created in her mind. What of her life? Taken from her family as a baby, moved from home to home, school drop out at age 11. Live on the streets. Find drugs. Do crime. Survive. Must survive.

What of this generation? How the Father weeps for these children! For HIS CHILDREN. The forgotten children.

One night I was on call, I rush to the house. It's 3am. Two girls, 14-year old girls, outside with their cigarettes hanging from their mouths. Flirty words dripped from their tounges. They were flirting with a 30 year old. A 30 year old. Desperation. Lonlieness. Girls, only Jesus can fill that empty hole! And ohhh, how my heart breaks, that same very night. As they come back into the unit. "Before you go to bed, would you like a juice?" I would ask. "WHAT!?" Disbelief planted across their face. Shock as I pour them a juice. "Why would you do this for me?" Tears walled up behind eyes. "Because you're worth it..." I would say, in greater shock.
Why did it shock these two young girls for a stranger to offer them a drink?
An act of service, an act of love. And it was that one serve of drink that lead one of those girls to give their hearts to Jesus in the early hours of the night!

And what of that young boy, foster home to foster home. So vulernerable. Naive. Thinks he is tough, acts tough, must be tough to live. He would walk in, hasnt' showered in three months. Three months! Why dont' you shower? And as you ask he'll curse at you. Pick up a couch. Throw it at you. GET AWAY FROM ME, he'd yell. So much fear plagues him. Yet his way of running from the fear is to run with that knife. Protect himself. Stay alive. Steal. Get caught by cops, AGAIN. In the cop station they would look at me, "Why bother? You should make him sleep the night!" And here he is, this same boy, the one who threw the couch. Look in his eyes and see pain and pleas. "Don't let me stay in here..." He would beg. Fear. The fear that took him to this place is still plauging his mind.

Let my heart break. My heart needs to break for this generation. I don't want to be selfish, I don't want to think of my own wants and my own desires. Why do I find it so easy to fall back into that place and sit comfortable as ever? As I curl up on my own sofa, warmth, roof over my head. Full stomach. Loving family and friends. Yet, I'm at misfortune because sometimes I forget. I don't want to forget. Feed the hungry, give drink to those who thirst! Make disciples of all men! See these children saved, set free, walk from their lives of hopelessness and into a road of faith and love in the arms of their Saviour.

Stir it up in us... A passion for the lost... Fill us with Your Love... That all may know You Lord....