A Story Worth Sharing
It’s a story about a reporter covering the fighting and violence during the war in Sarajevo. He watches as a sniper fatally shoots a little girl. The reporter threw down whatever he held, rushing immediately to the aid of a man who knelt on the pavement cradling the child. As the man carried the child, the reporter guided them to his car, and sped off to the hospital.
“Hurry, my friend,” the man urged, “my child is still alive.”
A moment or two later, he pleaded, “Hurry my friend, my child is still breathing.”
And a little later, “Please my friend, my child is still warm.”
Although the reporter drove as fast as was possible, by the time they arrived at the hospital, the little girl had died. As the two me were in the lavatory, washing the blood off their hands and their clothes, the man turned to the reporter and said, “This is a terrible task for me. I must now go tell her father that his child is dead. He will be heartbroken.”
The reporter stood speechless. He looked at the grieving man and said, “I thought she was your child.”
The man shook his head. “No. But aren’t they all our children?”
Yes. They are all our children.
“If we have no peace,” Mother Teresa reminded us, “it is because we have forgotten that we belong to one another.” Some good reflections in these trying times.
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