The Epistles of Fayetteville V: Terror in Testimony

Hey Beloved,

Today was a tough one. For the first time in my forty-five years in this country, I witnessed something that truly shook me. I cannot believe we live in a place that engenders fear of people being disappeared—one day they’re here, and the next, gone without a trace.

That’s what I learned from a young Latino man I picked up at his grandmother’s house. He’d ordered a Lyft, and as you already know, I was his driver. The reason he needed that ride was heartbreaking: his grandmother was terrified for him to drive to the DMV to renew his license because of what’s happening in this country. So the poor kid—who had a working car—had to call for a Lyft instead, afraid of being snatched, detained, or worse.

He spoke of America as something that was once great, but now feels ruled by fear rather than hope. I prayed for him, as I do for all immigrants, but my heart broke at the weight he carried. Fear had invaded his youth, hollowed out the joy that should’ve been his. He couldn’t just be a foolish kid for a while, because the world had made that dangerous.

How can our youth dream, Father, if we fill them with nightmare fuel?

When the government itself becomes the thief of the future, I cry out to You—for succor, for protection, for peace, for more of You.

Holy Father, warn those in danger before the storm arrives.

Guide them in paths of righteousness for Your great Name’s sake.

Shelter the souls in anguish and spread out Your tent over them;

hide them in the shadow of Your wings.

Give us, Your children, the courage to speak out against wrong and injustice—not with self-righteousness, but with holy restraint and compassion. Lead us out of the valley of the shadow of death and into the glorious light that only comes from You. Reveal Yeshua living in us again—the One who is and is to come.

Lead us, Father, to be willing participants in Your heavenly halls even while we walk this earth.

As always, Father,

Sincerely,

Dust