I live in a country of extreme poverty. Amongst homes built of sticks, mud, and cardboard you can see mansions that any American would be happy to call home. Among the luxury cars that American teens dream of having, scraping by the glamour passes a horse drawn carriage collecting garbage looking to earn some sort of wage for the day. On the back of the cart sit kids rummaging through my five day old spoiled yogurt bottle and quickly the top comes off as one takes a swig.
My heart just hit the ground again.
I recently had an encounter with a lady who has nothing. She has a few outfits, two pairs of shoes, a mat she calls a bed, and an arm full of bracelets made with string given to her by her son. "He made them for me!" I admire her arm, "they are beautiful." She looks at me out of the corner of one of her eyes, "but you would never wear something like this. It isn't good enough for you."
I wasn't sure how to reply. It isn't something I would buy. But that doesn't take it's value away. "I would be happy to wear one. I know it's a prized possession and it has great worth!"
She wrapped her arms around my neck and placed a bracelet on my arm before I could blink.
It isn't glitzy. It isn't even colors I normally pick. But it has become a daily reminder to pray for her. And I value the strings tied around my wrist. A month has gone by and not once have I taken it off. It represents a lot to me.
I was given all she had to give and it was done with a heart of joy.
I see her every day when I look down. I see her when I try to hide my arm because I catch a "friend" staring at it. I am humbled and remember to let go of pride. At least once a day I ask if it is beneath me. "Am I really to good for it?", Asking as I try and wear a silver bangle on top to hide the frayed strings.
I am no better. I make no better choices. My blessings in life are no greater than hers. They just look different.
I stop and wonder. If it were a bracelet made of gold would I try to hide it, or would I show it off? What gives gold it's value? The desire to be had by people? Or some man that decides it has value based on its shine and weight? Why don't people value humble hearts full of joy more than a thin string full of jewels?
Could I be the old lady that offered the last of my two cents as an offering or would I stuff it in my pocket to save for another day?
And why, when I see someone digging for good in my garbage bag full of maggots, do I not invite them in and make a Kings Feast? What stops me? Am I really too busy? Or do I really just not care? Or, am I afraid they will get my furniture dirty and make my house stink?
I get caught up in life. I get distracted with helping others so much that I don't help or value the few passing right in front of my eyes. Instead of sharing leftovers, I save them because I might be hungry later. It is not just me. I look at the orphanage which is now full of people that have forgotten the sticks and shambles they have come from and are growing more self absorbed each day.
How do we stop? How do we change? For me, keeping this bracelet on my arm is a start and a reminder.
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