Yesterday was September 1st. For all my fellow Potter fans, we know what that means. It means the day when the magic begins for a certain black haired boy with a lightning shaped scar.
OK, so now you know. I do love Harry Potter books. I think they’re well written (even with the accused rambling from book 4 to the end – I love rambling, if it’s done well) and a great escape.
But what does that have to do with Compassion Wednesday?
Good question. I think I have a good answer for you.
You see, before young Harry Potter turned 11 years old his life was hopeless. He was far from living in poverty, but maybe not that far. He lived in a broom closet, wore the unwanted and rejected clothing of his much larger cousin, and existed as an unwanted nuisance that his aunt and uncle mentally and emotionally abused when not ignoring him.
Not what you would call a happy home.
That all changed when he turned 11, though. On his birthday, Harry Potter discovered something about himself. He discovered there was a world out there that he belonged to. A world that wasn’t always safe, but one where he would be loved and wanted and definitely not ignored.
Someone rescued him. Someone came and told him that he was worth it. That he wasn’t forgotten.
That he could know a powerful magic that conquered the greatest evil.
There are more Harry Potter’s out in the world today. Far too many. And in far worse circumstances than a broom closet and hand-me-down clothing.
But, the magic doesn’t just live inside a book. It doesn’t take the Hogwarts’ Express to whoosh them away from the pain and poverty.
It just takes someone to beat down the door and tell them that they can know a magic that is stronger than all the evil in the world.
They can know they are loved.
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