As a parent calling out after a fleeing child who is barefoot, and seemingly free knows, the battle is not always won. But it is always fought. The two older boys know not to run around outside without shoes but inevitably I’ll look up and see one of them standing in the dirt. White feet turned rusty-red.
It seems much of the compound we live in is built upon a past life that has left much behind. Yet in spite of being cleaned and made new, the land continues to hold on to its refuse. Nothing remains concealed. It’s a regular occurrence to find bits of metal or shards of glass protruding up from beneath our outwardly green and cheery little compound.
A simplistic analogy perhaps but, when it was red that washed us white, there is no need to hold onto the rusty brokenness of the past.
nehrely there 