We Are All Poor

We've probably all been there. Walking down a city street, you catch a glimpse of a beggar in the distance. You make a quick decision about how to react. Maybe you have a default reaction: you always give, or you never give. Or if you're like me, you start going through a litany of thoughts. Do I have any small change? How much should I give? Are there any snacks in my bag? Should I look at them and say something kind or just walk by today? 

As a full-time missionary, the struggle becomes even more real. We encounter poverty daily in our town. When we travel to the city, it's a guarantee that we'll come across at least a few  people asking for money. Often they're selling a little token good, such as candy, and many times they are children or handicapped.

Earlier this month some of us were in the capital city of Lima to do paperwork for our visa process. During one free afternoon we ventured to Chinatown on foot. When a blocked-off street prevented us from arriving at the Chinese restaurant with the most promising reviews, our hunger and fatigue allowed us to settle for another establishment where we found decent food and quick service.

After the bill had been paid, we tried to navigate back to some shops we had passed on the way in. We ended up on a pedestrian street packed with people and lined with stores full of imported party supplies and other trinkets, like pages of an Oriental Trading Post catalog come to life. We passed by several people trying to make money one way or another. That's where we met Josi.

The pretty 19-year-old girl sat on the sidewalk selling candy with an infant in her arms and a toddler in a stroller next to her. She wasn't vying for attention in an obnoxious way. If I had been by myself, I'm afraid I might have let my shopping goals and the late afternoon hour prevent me from taking notice. But my friend Inge, a mother herself, felt compelled to stop and talk.

We learned that Josi is Venezuelan and had made the arduous trip from her country to Peru as a pregnant woman with a small child. Her baby was born after she arrived in Lima. She currently rents a hotel room and spends her days selling candy so that she can get by. It would be almost impossible for her to work a job with two small children and no family or friends to help. I can't begin to imagine how dire the situation is at home, as she told us that her life here in Peru is better than it was in Venezuela.

We chatted for a while and prayed with Josi. Then Inge asked her what she needed. She responded that she could use diapers for the baby. Inge and I walked to the pharmacy nearby and purchased a pack for her. Tami, one of the other moms with us, noticed that the toddler wasn't wearing any pants. So she and Rachel went to find a children's clothing store. As we waited with Josi, Inge felt inspired to take her to the grocery store.

When Inge asked Josi what groceries she needed for food this week, she chose a bag of rice. Inge told her she could have more than just that, so she pulled off the shelf another bag of rice. Inge was able to convince her to buy other food items, personal items for the children, and finally some toothpaste and shampoo for herself.

Josi was extremely gracious. With the groceries and diapers, she would have had a hard time taking the bus home that day, so we hailed a taxi for her, gave both her and the driver instructions (it was clear that she had never taken a taxi before), and prayed that she made it home safely.

That image of Josi and her children in the backseat of the taxi stays with me. We said goodbye to her knowing that we would probably never meet again. We could only pray that things would get better for her, that she and her children would be okay, that someone else would be inspired to help them another day.

After encounters like this, I feel so poor. It's a strange paradox. Yes, we were able to help ease her burden that day. We could perhaps provide a little hope for this family. But it feels like very little in comparison with the poverty faced by Josi, her children, and countless others in that city, this country, and throughout the world.

I am grateful that God keeps us humble in service. Instead of patting ourselves on the back for doing a good deed, we are compelled to recognize that we, too, are poor. Anything we have, we have received from God. Even if we are rich in resources compared to many in the world, none of it can be taken with us when we leave this earth. This truth leads me to reflect upon my own poverty in solidarity with those we seek to serve.

I recently came across a quote that expresses this sentiment. In her book The Gifts of Imperfection, Brené Brown writes:

Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It's a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness we can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.

When we recognize our shared humanity, the beggar in the distance becomes a brother or sister to serve, not a problem to deal with or ignore. We're not always called to stop, listen to someone's story, then leave them with bags of groceries. But sometimes we are. The Holy Spirit moving within our hearts will inspire us to know.

We can always offer a smile, a few coins, and a silent prayer. We can always treat people with dignity, as we are brothers and sisters of the same Father. None of us possesses anything that has not been given to us by Him. We are all poor, made rich by His grace.

Street art in Barranca, Lima, that portrays the diversity of the human family