Hear it from the heart. Every week or so, we publish a story about the life of our ministry. All names are fictionalized to protect the identity of those inside. Thanks for reading!
Pain poured off the pages. Hopes and fears and dreams written in black ink and graphite, scrawled on pieces of torn composition paper. The more I read, the more I regretted giving the assignment. Their hurt was becoming my hurt, their fears my own. But I had to push through. They’d done the work; it was my duty to grade it. Reading their responses, I knew I couldn’t just stamp a letter grade on the cover page and move along. I had to do more. I opened up my laptop and ope
