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She was the first person I met when I moved into my home.  She was pleasant, beautiful in a way if time was spent in fixing herself up.  She had glasses and carried a book.  The way she carried herself also bespoke of a life of hardship.  Maybe, she, too was on her way back from hell, to begin again, as perhaps we all were, for it was a house of beginning.  A transient place where you would come because the rent was low, close to public transportation and shopping was only a twenty minute walk, on a good day.

Beth had her problems.  There were rumors about what she was and what she will do if you had a couple of dollars, but Beth was only doing what any of us have done who lived life close to the edge.  There would be times when a slip would occur.  I, for one, would not hold it against her.  I would always speak to her, smile at her, hoped for a conversation which never came.

One day I passed her room and the door was opened.  I saw a man packing her things.  Beth’s body was found in a drug area.  In fact, the same place where I used to use.  Someone had given her something she thought was what she needed.  It was a high she never thought she would ever attain, and she’s not coming back.  The man gathering her things was her father.  He was on his knees putting her belongings into boxes.  I wonder how many times he was on his knees talking about her to God.  Later, I learned I worked with her uncle.  Small world.  I never shot heroin but was tempted to try.  I considered shooting cocaine but the fear of needles kept me from it.  I think fear is good here.  My true goal is to be a “hot shot” for Christ now.

In our sinful lives, at every sinful moment, we are taking chances of putting within ourselves…

the sin of others.  Who can know what it is?

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