My homeless friend held out her arms as we sat, showing me the old scars from when she used drugs. “I’m afraid I’ll go back.” “You have a choice. You don’t have to use drugs.” “I know, but I’m afraid. I’m worn down. This is too hard.”
I prayed for words to encourage her. “Getting rained out at your camp is hard. And I know your joy is gone. Your circumstances are heavy. If you do use drugs, it will only mask the burdens and problems. They’ll still be there.”
She wiped the tears from her face, holding her dog at bay, his muddy paws ready to jump, ready to greet me. “But, I can’t live like this any longer.”
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