I pulled up a clump of wild daisies last week and planted them in front of the house where they bring me pleasure daily. More than that, they remind me that both little and big things mean a lot. Just having a house to clean, dishes to wash, laundry to fold, friends to call, enough food to prepare for a simple meal and still have leftovers, a loving family, even trash to throw away, places me among the very privileged.
I think of those who’ve walked over a thousand miles to escape danger and now wait at our Southern border being denied entry into our country simply because they long for a life like mine. Of those who have come to our country to find a better life and are being ripped from their sponsoring families for no good reason Other than that they have a wrong last name or don’t meet some arbitrary criteria., I think of the people starving in Yemen or the Sudan, or Palestine, their lives destroyed by bombs this nation makes. I think of the continuing chaos in Syria, Iran, Ukraine, and Afghanistan. What about the poor in Venezuela? Or Peru? Or our own native Americans living in poverty in our deserts and scrublands? The homeless on our streets or people living in houses without heat, having to choose between medicine, power, or food. There are so many people in so many places with so little while I have the luxury of planting daisies.
It’s easy to take things for granted when they are always there. It’s easy to overlook my ability to buy what I need. It’s easy to accept that this is the way it is for everyone when it really isn’t. After all, I have never known anything different. I‘ve never been in want. What if I lived in California or Canada and saw my home and livelihood go up in flames, leaving me with nothing? Or in Florida, Puerto Rico, North Carolina, or Louisiana, after flooding and hurricanes destroyed everything they’ve known and loved? What then?
I sit here listening to the rumble of the washing machine, music playing in the background, enjoying the birds at the feeder, and the sun streaming in the windows, and I am overwhelmed with shame for having so much when others have so little. I am filled with a deep sense of humility and gratitude, for I am no better than any of these others. Ours is a world of abundance, and yet so many know only scarcity. I’ve become aware that even prayer is dangerous, for how can I pray, “give us this day our daily bread” when I am not helping at soup kitchens or making food available to the hungry? How can I pray “forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us” when I am complicit in a system that abuses others to satisfy our individual greed?
Lord, make me so grateful for what I already have that I am willing to live ever more simply so that others might simply live. Amen