Hope, Not Hunger

“Your heart will always be where your treasure is."  ~ Isaiah 6:21

The sand burned like the hot coals of a tropical island.  But Zimbabwe is no paradise; like millions around the world, Zimbabweans face a daily battle to put even the most basic meal on the table.  Kya feared that she was about to catch fire, a ferocious wind had kicked up and the sand was prickling her scalp like tiny thorns.  But nothing could stop her.  Today she promised to help Sister Daya dispense food at the make-shift pantry.

Great poverty and hunger defined her small village. Today, one member of every family in the impoverished town would line up with a single bucket patiently waiting their turn to have the religious sisters fill it with dry grains of rice.   Kya, a hopeful Novice, shadowed Sister Daya as this gentle soul greeted every person with a smile and a blessing before filling their bucket.

Before long a frail, emaciated woman reached the front of the line and to Kya’s surprise, had in her possession two buckets.  Sister Daya kindly greeted her by name and proceeded to fill only one bucket.  After politely thanking Sister, the old woman turned to leave, stopping a short distance later to empty half of her full bucket into the second empty one.

Outraged by the unfairness of famine, Kya now questioned the compassion of her mentor and friend.  “Why didn’t we fill both buckets for that poor starving woman?”  Sister Daya replied respectfully, “I’m afraid there’s only enough rice for each family to receive one bucket each day.  She has her neighbors’ bucket and her own.  Her neighbors are quite ill; no one from their family could come to collect the rice.  She emptied half of her family’s share into her neighbor’s bucket to bring to them because she can’t carry more.”

Overwhelmed with sorrow, the young Kya demanded, “Surely we should fill both buckets and take the second bucket to the sick family for her.”  Sister Daya stopped what she was doing, looked at the Novice and said thoughtfully, “These are among the poorest and most destitute people you’ll ever meet.  Never erase their desire to help each other!”

In a region where famished children are branded with red-hot pokers to “cure” their distended stomachs, villagers embrace the procedure.  Most have scars of their own.  Even though some children die, the practice continues because the alternative – providing enough nutritious food or paying for medical treatment – is simply not an option. 

They don’t chose to be poor, or homeless, or nameless.  In the 3 minutes it took to read this story, 85 children died of hunger.  One helping hand, one box of food, one minute of time.  Please help make a difference.

Lord Jesus, who multiplied the loaves and fishes, open my eyes and my heart to recognize those in poverty and raise my awareness of the structures and systems that must be changed so that we may all break bread together.  Amen