Emphasis Preaching Journal

I was awakened by a call from the County Attorney (a member of the church I served). "Preacher," he said, "a police car will be by to pick you up in ten minutes. Judge says he wants you to see something." We drove over icy roads to a tenant farmer's unheated, unpainted shack. Inside we found eight crying children, shivering in the subfreezing temperature. A girl, the oldest, was trying to tie a discarded man's shirt around her baby brother as a makeshift diaper. The only source of nourishment was a large open can of lard, hollowed by the fingers of children scooping out handfuls.