I was talking to a good friend Tuesday night and we began to talk about being poor. I live in a psuedo affluent area. Most people's lives are financed and they have manicures, pedicures, and martinis all worked into their monthly budget. This particular friend of mine and I began to talk about how those people don't know what it is to be poor. Without thinking I belted out "and neither do we."
I don't. She doesn't. We cannot begin to fathom poverty.
My children do not know hunger beyond their control (my oldest is on a food strike), they have clothes that suit each season, a well structured home, warm baths, fresh linens on their beds, books strewn all over the house, innumerable toys, and a Mommy and Daddy that adore them. Their needs are met and the few wants that they have are satisfied.
My heart breaks to hear of my pastor tell the story of orphans sleeping beneath the stars because the orphanage they are placed in cannot afford to both feed and shelter them. Tears well up in my eyes to hear of mother's selling their wedding bands to pay last months rent. I weep for children fighting in wars they cannot begin to understand, and searching for bugs in the earth to stay nourished. A state of shock sweeps over me when my mother tells me stories of how when she was a little girl she plastered windows with newspapers to try to block out the cold.
By the grace of Jehovah Jireh I do not know poverty, and cannot pretend that I live in a state of deprivation. I have finally reached the point in my life where I know that if I were to be a millionaire I would choose simplicity over luxury and it has never felt so good to have a near empty bank account.