Of giving

One of the strange challenges we face in living in a developing country is what to do with the "stuff" we no longer need. Like any westerner living here, we have an embarrassingly large amount of stuff. And those around us are unbelievably devoid of stuff. They own only one or 2 pieces of clothing. They have no table, no chairs, often not even enough food. Toys are unheard of.

So, it seems, the problem should be easily solved. Simply give our excess (outgrown clothes and toys, for example) to those around us. But the HOW of that is the complicated part.

The area our work covers is home to 7 million people. Probably 75% of them are as poor as I described, or nearly so. So what do we do? Were we to simply walk down the street and hand things out, we would be instantly mobbed. (Actually, that happens whenever we walk down the street). Do we ask local colleagues to get the word out that we have kids clothes available? Then we will have a line stretching from our door for miles. To date, we have tried several approaches, none of them wholly satisfactory.

There is no clearinghouse, such as the Salvation Army or Goodwill with donation boxes strategically placed around the town.

One thing I have been doing is to give clothes to mothers who come to the door asking. Usually the wives of patients in our hospital, several come once or twice a year. Sometimes I will also give them a toy or two. Does this kind of handout really help?

But (thankfully) the numbers for this are low, and the pile of remaining goods stays large. I hate storing (and possibly having things rot while in storage) piles of outgrown clothes, so I have given things to some of the manual laborers we know for them to distribute in their villages. Do they do this or do they sell the clothes and keep the profit? I will never know. Does it really matter anyhow?

One of the regular ladies came to my door last week. I always try to chat a bit with the children, though they usually are pretty frightened of me. While she waited in a chair on the veranda (kept there for unexpected visitors),I pulled out a few girl's outfits (from a bag ready to go to a village) for her daughter. Grabbed 2 shirts - almost outgrown - from Wonder Boy's drawer, and scrounged up a pair of sandals for his bare feet. She asked me for another toy. As we have just returned and most of the toys are still in a box somewhere, I said no. She left without a pleasant word or farewell. I felt a bit like she had come to my house to "go shopping".

I don't need to be thanked, but I also don't like to feel used. Yet I find myself frustrated by my own annoyance at her when I hear the echo of God's voice in Isaiah 53:

But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;

and

because he poured out his life unto death,
and was numbered with the transgressors. (NIV)

Of what consequence is my comfort when he gave all for me?

And then tonight, this reminder from Isaiah 58:

Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?
Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter--
when you see the naked, to clothe him,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

It often isn't easy to be "rich" is so poor a place. But it gives me an opportunity to worship God through serving those who come to my door or live in the local villages. May I do so with joy through the grace He gives.