Jan Martinez

I’d never witnessed a beating. To this day I shudder when I remember it. I had been reading in my car before a doctor’s appointment and happened to notice a young woman leaving the hospital.

I heard a knock at my door early one morning while I was reading my morning devotional. It was only 5 a.m., so I was pretty sure I’d heard the wind rattling or some sleepy child bumping around in bed upstairs.

“Forgive me, Lord, I have never prayed for them.”

This confession occurred at 2 a.m. one night after some loud commotion outside my window jolted me awake.

My friend’s look of incredulity made me pause.

“You feel more real?” she repeated, as if my answer to her question about why I loved my work at Christ Kitchen was incomprehensible.