In a big city like D.C. where I spend much of my time, it’s not uncommon for someone who is homeless to stop you and ask for some help. It’s a little more unusual for someone to ask for something that doesn’t involve money.
 
A couple of weeks ago I was sitting outside a Starbucks at a round cafe table, making a quick list of notes before heading off to an evening meeting. A man with graying black hair, probably in his 60s, scuttled up to the table while I was deep in thought, dressed in a tattered ocean blue T-shirt and ragged khakis. I don’t know how long he was standing there before he politely cleared his throat to get my attention.
 

“I was wondering if you would be willing to buy me some dinner.”

 
I apologized that I had to leave in a few minutes and wouldn’t be able to go with him, but pulled out the five dollar bill in my wallet and handed it to him while asking his name.

“My name is John,” he replied. I introduced myself, told him it was a pleasure to make his acquaintance, and pretty much wished him good luck while subconsciously wishing him off.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him fingering the bill in his hands while I pulled my mess of papers together and stuffed them in my bag.
 
“Excuse me,” John asked again.
 
I turned and looked at him expectantly.
 

“I was wondering if maybe you would give me a hug. I haven’t had one of those in a really long time.”

 
It was a strange moment, one I felt would look very odd to anyone peering down on us from nearby windows, but I stood up and gave that old man a hug. As soon as I did, I realized that I was hugging a person who was literally no more than skin and bones. I realized I had never hugged a pile of skin and bones before, and I wondered why.
 
John told me thank you, patted me on the shoulder in a grandfatherly sort of way, told me to “be good” and “stay safe on these streets,” and wandered back down the sidewalk.
 
Mother Teresa often said that the greatest poverty in this world is not a lack of resources, but the feeling of being unwanted. I can take your money, but I don’t really need it; God can provide money, she would tell visitors. But I would have you reach out and touch one of these dear ones and show them that they are wanted, that they mean something to you.
 
This understanding is one of the reasons Compassion’s relationship-based child sponsorship model is so powerful. Compassion links sponsors with children in a relationship so that sponsors can build up these little ones and, as so many of us sponsors have found over the years, the kids more than return the favor.
 
But regardless of our financial situation, each of us has the ability to make sure that those around us don’t experience the greatest poverty of all — the poverty of being unwanted.

Yes, kids that live in physical poverty need to be told time and again that they are loved and cherished. But the children we come in contact with each and every day, who live in our neighborhood, on our block, in our house, are just as susceptible to this deepest form of poverty.
 
I have good news for you, but it comes with a certain level of responsibility. It is fully within your power to change the world of a child and make it rich. You can be willing to walk slowly enough through this life that you will see the young ones who cross your path, and take the time that is necessary to let them know how important they are. 
 
No child should live in poverty. No child should have to grow up to wander the streets and beg not only for money but for someone to tell them they are worth a hug. Whether they do or not is up to us.

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Do you really?

I’ll be honest with you, I don’t care about the poor.

If I cared, I’d be more like Bono or Mother Teresa or even Wess Stafford — someone with influence and name recognition, someone with a story. If I cared, I’d do more, right? If I cared, I’d dedicate my life to serving the poor — as their champion, as their savior.

That may be a bit dramatic, but every day I battle a voice that constantly tells me I’m deficient as a person. The voice is aggravating, stupid, persistent, strong and above all, wrong. But despite the latter, fighting the voice is still the central focus of my waking hours. Ugh!

And despite what the voice is trying to convince me of, I do care. And I’m afraid.

I’m afraid of getting out of my comfort zone. I’m afraid of surrendering control. I’m afraid of what it might mean to have my behavior demonstrate that I care. What might that cost me?

Because I’m impatient, abrupt, often rude, condescending and even downright mean, the lie of poverty gains traction with me:

“If you cared, you’d be kinder. If you cared, you’d demonstrate love better. If you cared, you’d be more patient.”

And most days, I’m sad to say, this reasoning seems to make sense, which is baffling when I think about it because if I am patient, I’m just that … patient.

Attentiveness, patience, happiness, calmness, those are all behaviors and behavior is the fruit I bear — good or bad — but it is not who I am. And the absence of that fruit doesn’t mean I don’t care.

But what if the lie is actually the truth? What if I’m wrong and I don’t really care about the poor? Am I evil?

The Rev. Malcolm Duncan said, “When we fail to stand up for the poor, we fail to stand up for God,” and I believe that.

But the lie of poverty takes my belief and wraps it in guilt to convince me that I don’t really care about the poor, that I’m just doing what I think I’m supposed to be doing, that if I really cared I’d have more joy about it, and by extension I’m a bad person because I don’t have that.

On and on it goes. It’s sick really. The lie of poverty is sick!

Who cares about the poor? God does. Which is good for me because although my economic situation says I’m not poor, that’s a lie too.

And it’s good for you too because the lie I hear is the same lie I know you’ve heard a time or two,

“My sponsorship doesn’t make a difference.”

And it’s the same lie that your sponsored child fights every day,

“You don’t matter. No one cares about you.”

Who cares about the poor? Who cares about us?

God does.

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Now that I’ve come to know the Lord, I realise how heartbreaking it must be for Him to see His creation turn to other gods. I also realise just how loving, patient and faithful He is to have pursued me in spite of my past disobedience.

I find it difficult to imagine myself living in a world where I would be publicly persecuted for believing in or proclaiming the Truth. Paul states in Romans 8:38-39 that nothing would separate us from the love of God that is in Jesus Christ our Lord. I wholeheartedly believe that.

But it does make me wonder … If I knew Christ, only to enter into circumstances which threaten my expression of faith, would I shake hands with the convenient half-truths, the counterfeits, the prince of the power of the air? Would I be a Daniel?

As Mel shared in the day two post, religious violence is very real in some parts of the world. It’s obvious enough that Satan is at work to confine the development of the innocent children – our future generations. But let that threat not stop us from reaching out. Instead, I pray that it would spark in us an urgency to intercede for these unforgettable little lives and the churches in these endangered areas.

Mel’s day three experience in Kolkata brings to mind various forms of poverty. These street kids would not only have been materially poor, they would’ve grown up with a smorgasbord of gods demanding their reverence and even worship. How on earth would and could a child sift through a mass of religious traditions, the so-called “culture” in their society, to find transparent truth, and be set free?

Still, I find comfort in knowing that shining lights like Mother Teresa’s Home for the Dying have been a refuge for those walking through the valley of the shadow of death. God promises that we would not need to fear any evil even in the darkest hour, but to walk “through” it. There is hope in receiving His comfort.

He is the Light of the world.

Take three!

Mel Carswell in India – Day Three

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Ok, I am not sure why I am tearing up as I write that sentence, but I am. It’s just me, I’m emotional.

I heard that phrase from my mom for over 23 years. I heard it on my first day of school, my first presentation, my first test, mission trip, job, my first “what am I doing with my life” crisis . . . anytime anything robbed my hope and joy my parents were there with that phrase.

So now I am a bit older (but just a bit) and I have these little phrases I repeat over and over in my head. They help me through my job, they remind me of my worth, they remind me of His love.

Words can transcend time and history. They can resound within our heart for years. That’s what words do: they impact a person . . . a child.

So in celebration of words, and the message given to us in the Word, below are two famous quotes.

I want to know what resonates with you. Which one inspires you most and why?

Mother Teresa, Roman Catholic nun
“The hunger for love is much more difficult to remove than the hunger for bread.”

Princess Diana, Princess of Wales
“You can’t comfort the afflicted without afflicting the comfortable.”

Which one makes you want to become a mover and a shaker?

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