So this was taken in Cite Soleil, the poorest slum in Haiti. The kids ran up and took my hand, just content to walk with me. I'm not sure exactly why, but it made the connection so much more real. Those are kids, just like my kid, with needs and joys and hurts and wonder. They deserve to know love, to be fed, to grow up with hope in their hearts. We strive to give Caleb so much. I'm sure the parents of these kids do, too. Maybe they can't afford the material gifts that we can, but they can love their kids like we can. Is hope a little harder to find in Cite Soleil? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Just because their lives may be harder in some ways doesn't mean they don't have just as bold a hope for the future as I do. I'm sure they do everything they can to feed their kids, too. Maybe they don't have applesauce in single-serving pouches (those things are delicious, by the way. I eat almost as many as Caleb does), but I'm sure they do everything possible for their kids.
The world is a small place, and we're all so similar. We may look different, and it's easy to believe that some people are better off than others. It's easy to think that we're not going through the same experiences--that my stress at work makes me different than someone who has different kinds of stress. But we're all the same--we're here on this earth for a few years, and in that time we have a choice to make. How are we going to love one another? What have we been given, and how are we going to use that? What will we live for? If we have extra, will we share it? Or
build bigger barns?
When a kid from the slums of Haiti takes my hand and we walk together, it's pretty hard for me to believe that my extra shouldn't be used to feed hungry kids in Haiti. Or Chattanooga. We're all in this together, and if we recognize how similar we are, perhaps we can strengthen each other as we walk together.
After all, how different is the picture above from the picture below?
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