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By Tina N. Campbell — Scribed in Light

There are moments that shake you — moments that pull the blindfold right off your comfortable little world. One story, one photo, one whispered truth that makes your spirit stumble and whisper, “What are we doing?”

Because while we’re fussing over slow drive-thrus, wrong coffee orders, and low phone batteries… there are children — babies — who’ve never known comfort.
Never heard laughter that wasn’t cruel.
Never seen sunlight without bars in front of it.

And somehow, they keep breathing.

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The Girl Behind the Smile

I understand that kind of hunger — not just for food, but for love that doesn’t hurt.
There was a time when I, too, learned to hide pain like it was an art form.
To smile for the public while my body and spirit quietly ached behind closed doors.
To cough into a pillow and swallow my own tears because even being heard was dangerous.

There were nights I stood against the wall while others ate, waiting for a cold potato or crust of bread — anything to quiet the ache.
But the deeper hunger was never in my belly. It was in my heart — that longing to be seen, to belong, to matter.

A child shouldn’t have to earn a place at the table.

Yet those wounds shaped me. Every bruise became understanding. Every ache became awareness. And one day, the girl who had no seat decided to build her own table — and pull up chairs for everyone still standing at the walls of life.

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The Turning Point

Somewhere along the journey, I realized that God had been crafting something in the silence.
He was taking the ashes and molding vision — a way to see beneath people’s masks.
To recognize the tremble behind the laughter.
To feel the hunger in others even when they don’t have words for it.

That’s what suffering does when we let it pass through the fire of grace — it transforms.
It turns pain into purpose, memory into ministry, and silence into a sacred kind of hearing.

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The Voices They’ll Become

And maybe that’s what we forget when we scroll past another story of a wounded child.
Those little ones don’t disappear when the headlines fade. They grow up.

They become adults with memories that echo louder than words — eyes that see through false smiles and hearts that ache to rewrite the story.
The world may see victims, but I see future advocates, healers, protectors, and truth-tellers.

Because pain, when it survives, becomes purpose.
The silenced child becomes the woman who won’t let anyone go unheard again.
The boy who hid in shadows becomes the man who lights candles for others lost there.

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The Gentle Wake-Up

We can’t fix everything, but we can’t stay blind either.
We can pause.
We can thank God for our comfort and use it to comfort others.
We can whisper a prayer for the children who still stand at the wall — and for the grown-ups who still carry their ghosts.

Because blindness isn’t just about what we can’t see.
Sometimes, it’s about what we refuse to feel.

“The greatest gift God ever gave me was vision born out of pain — because now I can see people’s hearts, not just their smiles.”

So maybe that’s the invitation:
To stop scrolling.
To start seeing.
To remember how wildly blessed we are — and to live like it.

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Closing Thought

We can’t rescue every child in darkness, but we can refuse to live blind in the light.
And maybe that’s how the dark starts losing ground.

So maybe the next time you feel that spark of irritation because the drive-thru line is slow, or your dinner isn’t hot enough, or someone’s quirks rub you wrong—pause.

Breathe.

And remember: there are souls out there who would give anything just to have a seat at the table you’re sighing over.

Instead of judging, try seeing.
Instead of complaining, try thanking.
And instead of scrolling past the unseen, try being the one who notices.

“Because perspective changes everything—especially when it’s illuminated by compassion.”

And if that dinner still comes out cold?
Well… maybe that’s just Heaven’s gentle way of saying, “Here’s your reminder to warm someone else.”

So, the next time irritation rises, let it turn to gratitude.
The next time you see pain, let it turn to purpose.
Because love — the real kind — is never blind.

May we never grow too comfortable to care,
too busy to notice,
or too scrolled-out to see the sacred in the small.

The world scrolls, yes…
but Heaven notices.
Let’s live like that still matters.

Love, hugs, and grace,

—Tina N. Campbell | Scribed in Light