I’ve recently been given the opportunity to write stories for Compassion International, whose mission is to “release children from poverty, in Jesus’ name.” My raw material comes from field reporters, local Compassion staff who interview the children and families involved in their programs. I’ve done about five so far, all heartwarming and inspirational. Today’s is just sobering.
Mateare is a Nicaraguan town of 31,622 people located 25 kilometers from Managua. The majority of this city’s adults worked at its eight factories, but since July, six have closed, leaving 80 percent of the population without a job or income. And the reason for this? Because of the U.S. economy. Because people like you and me have less money to spend. So Americans are importing less. So factories in Nicaragua close down. And a Nicaraguan family of seven goes from eating three meals a day to one. Just like that, the dominoes fall, and what happens in my backyard rocks someone a world away.
We think things are rough here. They are rough. People are spending less money on car repair (my husband’s business), and we feel the crunch. But it doesn’t mean our family eats less. (On the contrary, stress usually provokes us to eat more.) And I’m obviously not so consumed with finding my children’s next meal that I simply have no time to contemplate my more psychologically complex needs. I don't like to pit one kind of pain against another, but lonely versus hungry? Yeah, I’ll take lonely, thanks. And I’ll eat my weight in cookie dough while I work through it.
My point is that I have it so good, even when I’m not feeling it. And when I’m not feeling it, it never fails that a reminder—like these people trying to feed their five children on a daily ration of coffee, a slice of cheese, and a scoop of beans—drops in my lap. Along with it, these couple of sentences rained down on me today, too. “[God] picks up the poor from the dirt, rescues the wretched who’ve been thrown out with the trash. Seats them among the honored guests, a place of honor among the best and brightest.” (A paraphrase of Psalm 113.)
It's not lost on me—or probably any of you—that the ability to focus on things like purpose, loneliness, belonging, is a luxury. It's a luxury because my babies are fed, clothed, clean (for the most part). Knowing this doesn't fix everything or cure my hurts, but it makes me thankful for a multitasking God who sits with me in my loneliness while simultaneously picking the poor up out of the dirt. And it makes me dream of being the arms He uses to pick them up—which may likely be the prescription He writes for my loneliness.
Mateare is a Nicaraguan town of 31,622 people located 25 kilometers from Managua. The majority of this city’s adults worked at its eight factories, but since July, six have closed, leaving 80 percent of the population without a job or income. And the reason for this? Because of the U.S. economy. Because people like you and me have less money to spend. So Americans are importing less. So factories in Nicaragua close down. And a Nicaraguan family of seven goes from eating three meals a day to one. Just like that, the dominoes fall, and what happens in my backyard rocks someone a world away.
We think things are rough here. They are rough. People are spending less money on car repair (my husband’s business), and we feel the crunch. But it doesn’t mean our family eats less. (On the contrary, stress usually provokes us to eat more.) And I’m obviously not so consumed with finding my children’s next meal that I simply have no time to contemplate my more psychologically complex needs. I don't like to pit one kind of pain against another, but lonely versus hungry? Yeah, I’ll take lonely, thanks. And I’ll eat my weight in cookie dough while I work through it.
My point is that I have it so good, even when I’m not feeling it. And when I’m not feeling it, it never fails that a reminder—like these people trying to feed their five children on a daily ration of coffee, a slice of cheese, and a scoop of beans—drops in my lap. Along with it, these couple of sentences rained down on me today, too. “[God] picks up the poor from the dirt, rescues the wretched who’ve been thrown out with the trash. Seats them among the honored guests, a place of honor among the best and brightest.” (A paraphrase of Psalm 113.)
It's not lost on me—or probably any of you—that the ability to focus on things like purpose, loneliness, belonging, is a luxury. It's a luxury because my babies are fed, clothed, clean (for the most part). Knowing this doesn't fix everything or cure my hurts, but it makes me thankful for a multitasking God who sits with me in my loneliness while simultaneously picking the poor up out of the dirt. And it makes me dream of being the arms He uses to pick them up—which may likely be the prescription He writes for my loneliness.
