I've got a lot of friends in law enforcement. They don't usually show a lot of emotion. But the Cleveland police chief said today: "Yes, law enforcement people do cry."
I think some of them did. When three women, missing for a decade, were suddenly found alive. They'd been imprisoned in a nondescript house by a man who kidnapped them years ago. And living horrors we may never fully know.
A neighbor heard screams coming from that house and went to investigate. A woman locked inside cried, "I've been kidnapped...I want to leave right now." It took kicking in the door - but he got her out. Later, the police brought out the two other kidnapped captives.
The frantic 911 call from victim Amanda Berry was riveting. "Help me, I'm Amanda Berry. I've been missing for ten years and I'm out here. I'm free now." No wonder police officers cried.
As I've watched this powerful story unfold, it's reminded me of some things I can't afford to forget. Through people at the heart of this story.
Like people who refuse to give up on the loved one they've lost. Like Amanda Berry's mom, who refused to believe it was hopeless. She just kept her daughter's picture and story in front of people...and prayed relentlessly. Amanda's mom didn't live to see her prayers answered - but we all did.
A lot of us have an "Amanda." Someone who, for one reason or another, seems hopelessly gone. Emotionally. Spiritually. Physically.
Somewhere on our "street," we all know someone like that. Behind a façade that looks fine, they may be living a nightmare. Desperately needing someone who will care about them. And listen. Someone who will look for the needs behind their deeds.
I can't argue. The selfishness, the anger, the dark desires, the wounding words, the endless lies - nobody wants to be that way. In so many ways, we are.
But the celebration in Cleveland shouts, "Never stop fighting for that person you love." Reach out to them. Love them when they give you no reason.
Now that's being a hero.
