“Get out of my way!” the burly bully shouted, while shoving his young son into the end-cap at Target. I paused to pay the clerk until I was certain he’d caught a glimpse of the righteous anger welling up within me. He had been seen and I wanted him to know it.
The little boy regained his balance and cowered behind his mother, who looked to be as terrified as he was, if not more. If this man abuses his family in public what must he do behind closed doors?
Pushing my buggy back into place, a woman approached me. “I know exactly how you feel.” Her head lowered as she sauntered slowly back to her mini-van.
Should I call the police? Did I even have the right to do so? I didn’t know, but this brief encounter with domestic abuse jolted the rosy-colored glasses clean off my head.
The incident was very unfortunate, but no coincidence. The terrified woman now has at least one person standing in the gap for her.
Will you join me in praying for this family? I sense it may be an expansive gap in need of prayer warriors—especially on behalf of the burly bully.
“With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”
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