We are all ragamuffins, ain’t we?

If you were an abused boy who grew up under the execrations and beatings of an alcoholic loveless woman who brought you into the world and wished to God that she hadn’t, grew up to become a United States Marine in the Korean War, went on to become a Roman Catholic priest who taught seminarians in a prestigious Catholic university, lived among the poorest of the poor in selfless service, battled alcoholism throughout your life, falling off the wagon many times, lay in the gutter once covered in your vomit and piss and watched a well dressed beautiful woman pull her pretty little girl who was looking at you with a child’s loving concern and heard the woman say as she pulled her daughter to the other side of her, “DON’T LOOK at that FILTH!” then you cleaned up, married, became defrocked from your clerical calling, later divorced, and died in your sister’s home at the ripe old age of 78 . . .

COULD GOD . . . if there is such a Being . . . EVER speak to your fellow human ragamuffins through you?

YOU tell me.

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