I know I've written about this before, but since it's still something that comes up a lot, here goes:
Giving. This subject has been such a difficult one since moving here. Gosh, how I miss the offering plate. Every week keep 10 percent for God. Write the check, drop it in the plate, thank God and trust Him to use it, move on. When there’s an offering plate, we know we are giving to God -- I mean, it’s a church, right? We believe that it will be used to the glory of God and in the best ways. We trust that church leaders have made these decisions for us and that they have right motives -- I mean, it’s a church, right? I could also give to other worthy causes. There was the second-hand store down the street, run by church ladies. I could give all my extra clothes and household goods to them and they’d sell them to those who couldn’t afford new ones. They’d use the extra money for worthy causes like the homeless shelter and the high school outreach and food pantry. I could work at the homeless shelter and prepare meals for those who came to spend the night. I could give to the food pantry, too. There was even a basket at the local grocery store where I could drop paper products and non-perishable food items so that members of my community who couldn’t feed their families could now feed their families. I paid my taxes and so I knew that people who needed medical care and couldn’t afford it would be able to go to the emergency room and receive care. I could participate in benefit events for neighbors who had exorbitant medical bills because of some chronic or debilitating disease. I could join endless 5K races or, more likely, sponsor those who were running them, to raise money for research for any number of illnesses. I could sign up to sponsor a child in a far-off land who was receiving clean water, food, and education through an agency from my dime. I trusted that the money I sent was really doing this kid some good. (Side note, I’ve visited a site of one of these sponsorship programs that I support and it truly was doing good in that community. Woohoo!)
So, what happens when you move across the ocean and there’s no church? There’s no offering plate? There’s no homeless shelter? There’s no food pantry? There’s no second-hand store? There are no benefits and 5K races? There’s no sponsorship program? You know what there are? There are people who knock on your door and yell, “Sister, Sister! In the name of God, help me! I’m sick, I’m poor, I need money!” There are people who rap at your car window, holding up their baby who desperately needs clean clothes and a bath, displaying an empty bottle and moan, “Sister, Sister, just a little money for my baby. We’re hungry, Sister.” There are men with deformed legs that drag themselves along by their arms who will hold out a dirty tin pan, “Sister, Sister, I cannot work. In the name of God, give something.” There are children frantically wiping my windshield with an already dirty rag, hoping I will give them a coin or two for their trouble. “Please, Madam, look I cleaned your car!”
I used to have so much compassion. I used to think I could look on a person in dire need and give them, not only money, but my heart and empathy. I used to want to be able to reach out and touch someone in need and meet their need in the name of Jesus. Do you know what I want to do now? Avoid them. Here’s the truth.
Since arriving here, I’ve heard so many voices of warning from my neighbors (people who, like me, have what they need to live on.) “You know those ladies walking around with their babies? They give them Benadryl to make them seem sick.” “You know those people who knock on your door? They bring fake prescriptions and doctor notes to trick you into giving them money.” “You know that guy that wheels himself around on a cart in the market? I watched him pick up his cart at the end of the day and walk home.” “You know those kids? They don’t get to keep the money. Their family, or more likely, some trafficker is making them do this.”
So, do you know what I’m left with? Trying to distinguish the motives of others. Do you know what that makes me? Exhausted. Do you know what that makes them? Objects of my pity or disdain. I can’t seem to separate my feelings from the situation. I’ve tried various tactics, each time assuming or hoping I’d hear a thank you. Each time I end up with pleas for more -- that what I’m prepared to give isn’t good enough. Now, I don’t want to give the impression that I’m the victim. I’m not! I have money enough to feed my whole family, clothe them, rent a nice house with a nice yard, take a trip once in a while, go out with friends. I’m not a victim. I’m just another part of the problem -- and part of the solution. If only I could figure out what the solution is.
I love when people who went to a foreign country for a few weeks or maybe watched a documentary tell us we need to focus on bringing clean water to places that have none. I’m not being sarcastic, I actually love it. Because they’re right. I’ve seen first-hand the effects of millions of people without clean water. But, you know what? My family has built a fully-functional, easy-to-use, free to maintain, bio-filter for a family in a slum. We even left the mold with them so that they could help others build similar ones for their families. For a few weeks’ wages, they could have clean water for their lifetime. I recently returned to that family’s home. They didn’t follow our instructions for caring for the filter. They didn’t use it properly. They relegated the filter to a back corner of their shack and haven’t used it since. Even though we explained the benefits of the filter and promised them it would keep their family healthier, they didn’t value it. The father, though he hasn’t had a job in several years, has not tried to build or sell any other filters to his neighbors. They can get water from the broken pump down the street. Why go through the trouble of using this filter? Maybe we didn’t explain it well enough with our limited language skills. Maybe we didn’t walk him through the steps thoroughly enough. Maybe we weren’t around long enough to supervise its use and reemphasize its importance. But this just goes to show the answer isn’t as easy as it seems from a documentary.
Driven by the comments of my neighbors, I’ve not given money to any beggars. I’m concerned that my money would only encourage a broken system. I will give food, if I have it with me. I have gone to a nearby store and purchased rice for a lady who asked me for money. I bought cartons of milk for women who were carrying around their baby with the empty bottle. I have given packs of crackers or bananas to kids tapping at my window. I have handed out tea to an elderly man at my doorstep. But you know what? Each time I’ve done this, instead of feeling I did the right thing, I’ve been disappointed. The woman who got rice complained that I didn’t give her lentils, too. The woman with the baby bottle complained that I didn’t give her money for food as well, and to top it off, when I returned 10 minutes later, she was knocking on windows with a still-empty bottle, milk nowhere in sight. The kids with the crackers and fruit wouldn’t share with the others, so it ended up in a fight. The man with the tea looked rather disappointed. I later learned that the word for tea and the word for a bribe or tip (like something you’d give to someone so they’d leave your porch) are the same word.
I’ve handled this in a variety of ways. Ignoring and driving off. Closing the door and outwaiting the yelling. Getting in people’s faces and, in my broken language, telling them the evils of bringing helpless children out into the street to be peddled for spare change. (Not one of my finer moments. And, of course, it wasn’t nearly that eloquent.) I can get so upset over the lying and deceit that I see. I can get so upset over a system that is so broken that I don’t know who truly needs and who is playing me for a fool. I can get so upset at myself for getting so upset. I can get so upset at God for not letting me have a stupid offering plate! Just why am I so upset?
I’ve just finished reading a pretty impactful book. It’s called “Unoffendable” and it’s by a guy named Brant Hansen. It’s kind of put me in my place and I highly recommend it. Some of what I’m about to say comes from me and some from him, so I didn’t want to write this like I just came up with it out of the blue. I wanted to give him some credit for kicking my butt, so to speak.
What did I expect was going to happen? When I gave what I thought was right to people who are in such a place in the world that they feel they must beg to survive, what did I expect? “Wow! Thanks so much, amazing, Christ-like Lady! You have changed my life with this bag of rice. I see that you were willing to stop and buy that for me and I’m eternally grateful.” Yep, it does sound stupid when I put it like that. Of course, broken people are going to do broken things. They are going to see a chance to get something and go full-force! They get by in life by being relentless about asking and, even, demanding what they need. And broken people like me are going to get upset when their generosity isn’t recognized and praised. We get by in life by feeling like we’re doing a good enough job to manage everything on our own. Both of us are wrong. All of us are wrong.
Do I really think I can make better decisions than my Lord? Do I really think that my discernment about people is more important than His command to “give to anyone who asks of you?” Do I really think that He didn’t think about the consequences of His words when He said that? Do I really think that my idea of justice in this situation will transform that person and they’ll rethink a lifetime of begging because I didn’t offer money? Dummy! The reality is that the only thing that this method has given me is headaches, stress, anger, and guilt. I haven’t been able to love any of the people I gave to because I was too busy carrying the weight of a begging culture on my shoulders. I haven’t been able to know what God wanted because I was too busy being judge and jury to the masses. And the only thing that it’s given them is a crazy foreign lady who doesn’t play by the rules. This has got to stop!
There have to be some good ways to give in this place. I’m not sure I’m going to find them by asking my neighbors. Almost none of them follow Jesus. I guess I just have to ask Jesus. I have to trust that what He says is true. I’m truly supposed to give to those who ask of me. He would not allow them to ask me if I wasn’t to give.
I remember one year my Dad was feeling pretty overwhelmed with the weight of the commitments he had on his shoulders. He was a part of this group, that council, this study, that charity. He felt like he was way overbooked. He stopped trying to discern what things he was supposed to do. He started to pray. He told God, “I will finish the commitments I’ve made, but I’ll not sign up for anything new. If I see a good cause but am not asked to be a part of it, I won’t join. If I am asked to join a group or sign up for a project I will do it. That way I know it came from your hand and you won’t allow me to do more or less than I’m supposed to.” From that day, he had more peace. He knew that it wasn’t up to him.
I guess I need to realize, it isn’t up to me. I must start praying that God will put those people in my path that I am supposed to give to. I must stop judging whether their motives are pure. Who cares? Mine aren’t pure most of the time and God still uses it. I must let go of the anger that rises in me towards these people. I don’t know why they are doing this. Sure, they may be lazy liars. But, they may be abuse survivors. They may have been hardworking citizens who fell on tough times. They may have a debilitating disease. They may be victims of a natural disaster. They may be forced into it for a million reasons that I have no way of knowing. Yes, their stories and their causes might be lies. That’s not up to me. That’s between them and God. I’d rather be on the side of love. I’d rather be on the side of generosity. I’d rather be on the side of Christ. Then I can look at Jesus when I see Him and not feel ashamed. I don’t even need to know the end of the story. My Jesus does, and that’s what matters.
I don’t want to say that I have everything figured out yet. I’m still not sure how I’ll handle every situation. But one thing I know, I want to let go of my judgement and anger and struggle in this area. I want to love and work and trust. We’ll see how it goes.
Giving. This subject has been such a difficult one since moving here. Gosh, how I miss the offering plate. Every week keep 10 percent for God. Write the check, drop it in the plate, thank God and trust Him to use it, move on. When there’s an offering plate, we know we are giving to God -- I mean, it’s a church, right? We believe that it will be used to the glory of God and in the best ways. We trust that church leaders have made these decisions for us and that they have right motives -- I mean, it’s a church, right? I could also give to other worthy causes. There was the second-hand store down the street, run by church ladies. I could give all my extra clothes and household goods to them and they’d sell them to those who couldn’t afford new ones. They’d use the extra money for worthy causes like the homeless shelter and the high school outreach and food pantry. I could work at the homeless shelter and prepare meals for those who came to spend the night. I could give to the food pantry, too. There was even a basket at the local grocery store where I could drop paper products and non-perishable food items so that members of my community who couldn’t feed their families could now feed their families. I paid my taxes and so I knew that people who needed medical care and couldn’t afford it would be able to go to the emergency room and receive care. I could participate in benefit events for neighbors who had exorbitant medical bills because of some chronic or debilitating disease. I could join endless 5K races or, more likely, sponsor those who were running them, to raise money for research for any number of illnesses. I could sign up to sponsor a child in a far-off land who was receiving clean water, food, and education through an agency from my dime. I trusted that the money I sent was really doing this kid some good. (Side note, I’ve visited a site of one of these sponsorship programs that I support and it truly was doing good in that community. Woohoo!)
So, what happens when you move across the ocean and there’s no church? There’s no offering plate? There’s no homeless shelter? There’s no food pantry? There’s no second-hand store? There are no benefits and 5K races? There’s no sponsorship program? You know what there are? There are people who knock on your door and yell, “Sister, Sister! In the name of God, help me! I’m sick, I’m poor, I need money!” There are people who rap at your car window, holding up their baby who desperately needs clean clothes and a bath, displaying an empty bottle and moan, “Sister, Sister, just a little money for my baby. We’re hungry, Sister.” There are men with deformed legs that drag themselves along by their arms who will hold out a dirty tin pan, “Sister, Sister, I cannot work. In the name of God, give something.” There are children frantically wiping my windshield with an already dirty rag, hoping I will give them a coin or two for their trouble. “Please, Madam, look I cleaned your car!”
I used to have so much compassion. I used to think I could look on a person in dire need and give them, not only money, but my heart and empathy. I used to want to be able to reach out and touch someone in need and meet their need in the name of Jesus. Do you know what I want to do now? Avoid them. Here’s the truth.
Since arriving here, I’ve heard so many voices of warning from my neighbors (people who, like me, have what they need to live on.) “You know those ladies walking around with their babies? They give them Benadryl to make them seem sick.” “You know those people who knock on your door? They bring fake prescriptions and doctor notes to trick you into giving them money.” “You know that guy that wheels himself around on a cart in the market? I watched him pick up his cart at the end of the day and walk home.” “You know those kids? They don’t get to keep the money. Their family, or more likely, some trafficker is making them do this.”
So, do you know what I’m left with? Trying to distinguish the motives of others. Do you know what that makes me? Exhausted. Do you know what that makes them? Objects of my pity or disdain. I can’t seem to separate my feelings from the situation. I’ve tried various tactics, each time assuming or hoping I’d hear a thank you. Each time I end up with pleas for more -- that what I’m prepared to give isn’t good enough. Now, I don’t want to give the impression that I’m the victim. I’m not! I have money enough to feed my whole family, clothe them, rent a nice house with a nice yard, take a trip once in a while, go out with friends. I’m not a victim. I’m just another part of the problem -- and part of the solution. If only I could figure out what the solution is.
I love when people who went to a foreign country for a few weeks or maybe watched a documentary tell us we need to focus on bringing clean water to places that have none. I’m not being sarcastic, I actually love it. Because they’re right. I’ve seen first-hand the effects of millions of people without clean water. But, you know what? My family has built a fully-functional, easy-to-use, free to maintain, bio-filter for a family in a slum. We even left the mold with them so that they could help others build similar ones for their families. For a few weeks’ wages, they could have clean water for their lifetime. I recently returned to that family’s home. They didn’t follow our instructions for caring for the filter. They didn’t use it properly. They relegated the filter to a back corner of their shack and haven’t used it since. Even though we explained the benefits of the filter and promised them it would keep their family healthier, they didn’t value it. The father, though he hasn’t had a job in several years, has not tried to build or sell any other filters to his neighbors. They can get water from the broken pump down the street. Why go through the trouble of using this filter? Maybe we didn’t explain it well enough with our limited language skills. Maybe we didn’t walk him through the steps thoroughly enough. Maybe we weren’t around long enough to supervise its use and reemphasize its importance. But this just goes to show the answer isn’t as easy as it seems from a documentary.
Driven by the comments of my neighbors, I’ve not given money to any beggars. I’m concerned that my money would only encourage a broken system. I will give food, if I have it with me. I have gone to a nearby store and purchased rice for a lady who asked me for money. I bought cartons of milk for women who were carrying around their baby with the empty bottle. I have given packs of crackers or bananas to kids tapping at my window. I have handed out tea to an elderly man at my doorstep. But you know what? Each time I’ve done this, instead of feeling I did the right thing, I’ve been disappointed. The woman who got rice complained that I didn’t give her lentils, too. The woman with the baby bottle complained that I didn’t give her money for food as well, and to top it off, when I returned 10 minutes later, she was knocking on windows with a still-empty bottle, milk nowhere in sight. The kids with the crackers and fruit wouldn’t share with the others, so it ended up in a fight. The man with the tea looked rather disappointed. I later learned that the word for tea and the word for a bribe or tip (like something you’d give to someone so they’d leave your porch) are the same word.
I’ve handled this in a variety of ways. Ignoring and driving off. Closing the door and outwaiting the yelling. Getting in people’s faces and, in my broken language, telling them the evils of bringing helpless children out into the street to be peddled for spare change. (Not one of my finer moments. And, of course, it wasn’t nearly that eloquent.) I can get so upset over the lying and deceit that I see. I can get so upset over a system that is so broken that I don’t know who truly needs and who is playing me for a fool. I can get so upset at myself for getting so upset. I can get so upset at God for not letting me have a stupid offering plate! Just why am I so upset?
I’ve just finished reading a pretty impactful book. It’s called “Unoffendable” and it’s by a guy named Brant Hansen. It’s kind of put me in my place and I highly recommend it. Some of what I’m about to say comes from me and some from him, so I didn’t want to write this like I just came up with it out of the blue. I wanted to give him some credit for kicking my butt, so to speak.
What did I expect was going to happen? When I gave what I thought was right to people who are in such a place in the world that they feel they must beg to survive, what did I expect? “Wow! Thanks so much, amazing, Christ-like Lady! You have changed my life with this bag of rice. I see that you were willing to stop and buy that for me and I’m eternally grateful.” Yep, it does sound stupid when I put it like that. Of course, broken people are going to do broken things. They are going to see a chance to get something and go full-force! They get by in life by being relentless about asking and, even, demanding what they need. And broken people like me are going to get upset when their generosity isn’t recognized and praised. We get by in life by feeling like we’re doing a good enough job to manage everything on our own. Both of us are wrong. All of us are wrong.
Do I really think I can make better decisions than my Lord? Do I really think that my discernment about people is more important than His command to “give to anyone who asks of you?” Do I really think that He didn’t think about the consequences of His words when He said that? Do I really think that my idea of justice in this situation will transform that person and they’ll rethink a lifetime of begging because I didn’t offer money? Dummy! The reality is that the only thing that this method has given me is headaches, stress, anger, and guilt. I haven’t been able to love any of the people I gave to because I was too busy carrying the weight of a begging culture on my shoulders. I haven’t been able to know what God wanted because I was too busy being judge and jury to the masses. And the only thing that it’s given them is a crazy foreign lady who doesn’t play by the rules. This has got to stop!
There have to be some good ways to give in this place. I’m not sure I’m going to find them by asking my neighbors. Almost none of them follow Jesus. I guess I just have to ask Jesus. I have to trust that what He says is true. I’m truly supposed to give to those who ask of me. He would not allow them to ask me if I wasn’t to give.
I remember one year my Dad was feeling pretty overwhelmed with the weight of the commitments he had on his shoulders. He was a part of this group, that council, this study, that charity. He felt like he was way overbooked. He stopped trying to discern what things he was supposed to do. He started to pray. He told God, “I will finish the commitments I’ve made, but I’ll not sign up for anything new. If I see a good cause but am not asked to be a part of it, I won’t join. If I am asked to join a group or sign up for a project I will do it. That way I know it came from your hand and you won’t allow me to do more or less than I’m supposed to.” From that day, he had more peace. He knew that it wasn’t up to him.
I guess I need to realize, it isn’t up to me. I must start praying that God will put those people in my path that I am supposed to give to. I must stop judging whether their motives are pure. Who cares? Mine aren’t pure most of the time and God still uses it. I must let go of the anger that rises in me towards these people. I don’t know why they are doing this. Sure, they may be lazy liars. But, they may be abuse survivors. They may have been hardworking citizens who fell on tough times. They may have a debilitating disease. They may be victims of a natural disaster. They may be forced into it for a million reasons that I have no way of knowing. Yes, their stories and their causes might be lies. That’s not up to me. That’s between them and God. I’d rather be on the side of love. I’d rather be on the side of generosity. I’d rather be on the side of Christ. Then I can look at Jesus when I see Him and not feel ashamed. I don’t even need to know the end of the story. My Jesus does, and that’s what matters.
I don’t want to say that I have everything figured out yet. I’m still not sure how I’ll handle every situation. But one thing I know, I want to let go of my judgement and anger and struggle in this area. I want to love and work and trust. We’ll see how it goes.
Great thoughts and insight. You definitely have given me much to chew on, as we face some similar struggles almost every day. ~Joy
ReplyDeleteThanks, Joy, I know you can relate!
ReplyDelete