bare

I don't like to write about poverty often.  It's heartbreaking, one.  Can't hardly put a dent in it, two.  But more, because it's easy to forget in a place like Haiti that poverty isn't the biggest problem...that money isn't the biggest need.  If I focus on it all the time, I get to thinking the former is why we're here.  That the latter is what is needed.

And they're just not. 

So instead we quite intentionally set our eyes (and re-set them and re-set them) upon Him--as the Reason, as the Answer, and as the Need.

That doesn't mean that there aren't times that physical need just hits me anew and catches me off guard.  Neither of our families had an abundance of money growing up.  But that doesn't mean we came from an impoverished culture.

Impoverished is different.  And Friday was one of those days.

When "poor people" stop being "poor people" and start being FAMILY, you forget sometimes that they're poor.  I think that's a good thing.

But Micheline is really poor.

She's been my sister for so long now and we've come through so much together that when she came in Friday sweet and steady, as always, I didn't think about where she is coming from.

Over lunch, we got to catching up about our kids, and when I asked how school was going, she told me about everyone but her third, Wudson.

So I asked.  She says he hasn't been in a while.

I knew he'd been sick, but that was weeks ago!  Still sick?

No.

silence.  Shame-culture smile.

Soooooooo, why isn't Wudson going to school?

The soles of his school shoes came off.  Entirely.  Unwearable.  They were cheap-o shoes, lasted three weeks.

Well, why doesn't he wear his church shoes?

Those WERE his church shoes.

Won't the school let him wear his play shoes?

Those WERE his play shoes.

Oh.

Ever the pushy, overbearing, overly-opinionated foreigner...Well, why don't you get the poor kid some new shoes?  He's gotta go to school!  When your kids shoes fall apart, you go get them another pair of shoes!  Right?

Silence.

dawning.

Oh.

--caught off guard moment--

Yes, we've been here seven years.  But I still think that when Micheline's kid NEEDS something, that she will be able to go and GET it for him.

Because that's where I am from.

We're talking about $12 dollars.

My girls LOVE shoes.  On our shoe shelf, right now, is a small mountain of mostly pink, mostly sparkly church/play/flip-flops/sandal/tennis shoes.  Because they love them, far more than need.  I have NEVER EVER bought them a pair of shoes because they would be BAREFOOT otherwise.  I don't even know what that IS!

What is it to think, "hmmm, if girly grows out of that pair of shoes on her feet right now, she will be BAREFOOT."   I don't even KNOW.

What is it to think, "hmmm, after we eat that cup of rice tonight, there is NOT ONE OUNCE OR CRUMB of other food left in our entire house.  Literally"  ????

What is it to think, "Wow, after we pay the doctor we will have NOT ONE PENNY left.  ANYWHERE.  AT ALL."

I. Do. Not. Know.

Anybody ever tell you you just don't get it?

I just don't get it.

I just finished the girls' Christmas shopping last week.  (Online ordering, several weeks to get here...just to be sure they're here in time.)

Each year, we get them five gifts.  Something they want, something they need, something to wear, something to read, and something to give someone else.

The "something they need" this year are long-sleeve SPF 50 swim shirts.

Yep, that was their very biggest "need." Swim shirts for the beach.

All five of their gifts, for both of them, totaled $207.  It will cost another $1.50 per pound to get them here.  And whatever Duane feels like charging us they day they come in.

And it will be ok.

I can't imagine not being able to spend $200 on your kids for Christmas, I can't imagine not having that.

Even if I didn't have that, my bank would.  Or my credit card would give it to me.  If those failed, we could sell a laptop or trade our truck for an older one.

If those failed, my dad or Matt's parents would absolutely give us the $200 in a heartbeat.  I could ask a few friends, and they would have it.  Or could get it.

I don't "get it" because even if I didn't HAVE it, I could GET it.

I don't get not having it, and I don't get not being able to get it.

And I don't get $12.

$12.

Wudson is sitting at home, and has been for a week, barefoot.

And I will NEVER get that.  Because I can't even imagine a day, ever, under any circumstance, where Lily would be.

And she never would have told me, Micheline.

And never will ask.

I felt heavy the rest of the day.  Wanting to fix it.  Wanting to change it.  For everyone.  Everywhere.  Not crazy.  Not American.  Just $200 Christmas standard.  Just buy-your-kid-a-pair-of-shoes standard.  Just eat standard.

When she got ready to leave I pressed $20 into her hand.

She cried.

Tears.  Kissed me.

And I will never get that, either.