The Rich and The Poor

Any decent writer knows that every article needs to have an introduction, a body, and a conclusion.

I'm going for two out of three with this one. It's regarding an issue I've been wrestling with, and still don't have an answer to, in spite of too many sleepless nights (thanks, insomnia), and reading too many people's thoughts and opinions.

Here's the dilemma: How much money can we spend on ourselves before it becomes self-indulgent? Where is that line between reaping the rewards of our hard work, and becoming selfish with our resources?

I don't have the answer. I don't think I'm even close to an answer. But I sure do have a lot of questions.

My husband and I just sold our really pretty townhome, and bought a bigger house on a pretty lot that has the additional bedroom we need for our adoption. It's a really, really nice house. We didn't go over budget with the house. It has a nice big kitchen, a nice yard for Reagan to play in, and a large (I mean, really large) master bedroom, with a big bathroom. The neighborhood is pretty. Financially, it makes sense for us, and is a good investment for our money.

We had a difficult 2013. I'm not gonna lie. We had to reprioritize a lot. But, now that we are heading in the right direction again, I look forward to nice dinners out, maybe a few day trips with Reagan, and, fingers crossed, a trip to Destin this fall. (Please, God, please ....)

Or do I? I've seen poverty. I've seen a lot of poverty. I've seen entire families living in a dump, with children who will never, ever smell fresh air, or drink clean water. I've seen generations living under a blue tarp, with one stick holding it up. I've seen children begging for food, their fragile skeletons proving they probably hadn't eaten in a long time. I've seen that desperate look in a mother's eyes, when she knows her babies will soon starve to death.

I have friends -- smart, good, hard-working friends -- who lost their house in the turbulent economy. I have more friends than I would like to count, who, despite their best intentions, are living paycheck to paycheck. Either they became unemployed and had to take a big pay cut in their new position, or they had excessive medical bills, or a thousand other ways people have found themselves struggling. Compared to a lot of our friends, we've made it through relatively unscathed.

But their struggles hit really close to home for me. I think of them often. I think of the tiny faces of poverty I've seen, and the anguish on a mother's face. I think of my friends, people I am personally very close with, who have to choose between paying the electric bill or the phone bill. I've seen it.

And I wonder, what is my responsibility in all of this?

I'm not talking about people who drove themselves into credit card debt because their desires exceeded their reality. I'm not talking about people who complain about not having enough money, while they eat out every week and go on expensive vacations. I'm not talking about people who go on a shopping spree while their mortgage is two months behind.

I'm talking about people who work really, really hard and still come up short. I'm talking about the children who can't afford to go to school in Kenya, the parents who can't afford to feed their children in Mumbai, or the 10-year-old orphan who works in the fields in Cambodia every day to feed his younger siblings.

I'm talking about the family who had to move into an apartment when the bank seized their house, the single mother who has to work two jobs to put food on the table, and the former CEO who now delivers pizza making $8 an hour because it's the only job he could find.

What is my responsibility in their struggle?

I have no idea.

The house we bought, to our friends, looks like everybody else's house. It doesn't have a big kidney-shaped swimming pool in the backyard. It doesn't sit on acres and acres of land. It doesn't have a marble staircase or a movie theater in the basement or anything luxurious (not that there's anything wrong with any of those things). It's your typical, average, middle American home.

But to someone living in poverty, in the United States or anywhere else in the world, it's lavish. I get that. It's much nicer than the projects. It's much nicer than the tiny shacks families live in. It's much, much nicer than the dump.

No one would argue, least of all me, that it's wrong to buy a nice house for your family to live in. Nor would anyone argue, I don't think, that it's wrong to drive a reliable car or buy your child a toy or go out to eat every now and then.

But where does it stop? To people in other parts of the world (and truthfully, in plenty of places in our own country), the idea of spending $100 for a nice dinner out is ludicrous. As is the idea that each child would have their own room, as big as some other people's houses. The average yearly income in India is $1500, and there's 42 countries that rank lower than them. The average yearly income is in Malawi (currently one of the poorest countries in the world) is around $270. What they make in a year, we could spend in a day. An hour, really. Our children have toys that cost more than that. We wear shoes that cost more than that. One nice dinner out costs more than that.

It's easy for me to say -- maybe too easy -- that that's them and this is us, and we're not meant to live like that, and we can't fix everyone and I should appreciate the blessings I have and on and on and on.

But here's where it is a slippery slope for me. I love that when Reagan asks me for an apple, or a banana, or yogurt, I can give it to him. I love when he is eating and he says, 'More, please,' I don't have to tell him there isn't more. I love that my child will never ever ever ever ever leave the dinner table hungry.

For some families, that's something they will never experience. All they know, and all they will ever know, is poverty.

No, I can't change the world. We could literally give every single penny we make this year to an impoverished country, and it wouldn't even put a  dent in their economic crisis.

But I can change one person's life. I can send money every month to feed a family. I can help a family here buy clothes for their children, buy their groceries, pay for a child's music lesson, or help in thousands of other ways.

Before I was a mother, these things didn't strike me quite as much. Sure, I felt compassion, and I gave when I could, sometimes even when it hurt, but it didn't affect me the way it does now. But now, I look at my little boy, and I imagine I am that mother whose child is starving, and someone telling me they are going to spend $2000 to go to the beach for a week, or $500 on new clothes, or $30,000 on a car because it has a sunroof and heated seats, instead of buying food for my child, and my head starts spinning.

In the Bible, Jesus told a man who wanted to know how to inherit eternal life to, "Go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me." (Mark 10:21). But, he also chastised the people who criticized the woman who poured out the expensive perfume on him, saying, "The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have Me." (Matthew 26:11) In other words, there's a time and a place for lavish, even sometimes impractical, gifts.

For our honeymoon, my husband and I went to an all-inclusive resort in Jamaica. For one week, we lived a life of complete indulgence. While we waited to book for our honeymoon until there was a big sale, what we spent on that one week is more than people in a lot of countries make in a year. We could have fed an entire village for the cost our honeymoon, or sponsored a child through an agency like Compassion International for a YEAR.

We could have paid several month's of our friends rent, or bought them groceries for several months. We could have done a lot with that money. But we went on our honeymoon, and I have never regretted that decision.

It's a sticky issue for me. I don't have an answer. I'm not even close to an answer. I have a lot of questions, and not any sort of resolution. But it's something I wrestle with, and I imagine I will continue to wrestle with for a long, long time.

I'd love to hear other people's thoughts ....

A Letter To My Favorite Boy

Dear Reagan,

You're TWO years old today! Two!! Every day I look at you and wonder where the time has gone. It seems like last week -- really -- that I was holding you as a tiny little newborn, and now you're TWO!

You are such a delight to your father and I. It's really hard to remember what life was like before you came into the world. You definitely make every day, every moment better in every single way.

You are an incredibly sweet-natured little boy. People tell your dad and I all the time what a good child you are, and what a kind and pleasant personality you have. It makes us so proud, although to be honest, I don't think we can take the credit for it. God just made you extra special, and I'm so honored that I get a front-row view into watching your life unfold.

A few things you love: you love to go 'bye bye' in the truck, you love to play with your friends at church, you love Thomas the Tank Engine, the Wiggles, and Elmo (but don't really care for any of the rest of the Sesame Street episode, so we have to fast-forward a lot). You love when Oma or Poppy come over to play with you, and you love to visit with Gran Jan and Aunt Tracy and cousin Daniel. You love to talk on the phone, especially if it's a real one, instead of your play one, with a live person on the other end. And, even if it's 40 degrees, you LOVE to play outside.

You would rather run than walk, anywhere. When we go out our front door to play, the sidewalk goes a bit downhill, and it's easy to lose your footing. You love to take off running, and I am always chasing you, telling you to slow down. What I mean is, slow down, or you're going to fall. But I also mean, slow down, because you are growing up way too fast, and soon I might not be able to catch you.

You are seriously the world's BEST traveler. When we drive to Pennsylvania to see Mommy's family, you take it all in stride. 800 miles one way to sleep a bunch of nights in a different bed in a different house, and you act like it's the most natural thing in the world. (Of course, it doesn't hurt that Aunt Dawn and Uncle Mike and your cousin Hunter give you all kinds of special attention, does it?)

You also love to EAT, and you're not picky at all. Thai food, Persian food, Mexican food, vegetables -- you'll eat all of it, and then say 'more, please.' Sometimes I wonder where you put all that food! You also love fruit and cookies, and you know exactly where the dish of candy is. (And sometimes, even if it's too early in the day, when you fold your hands behind your back and look at the candy dish and then say, 'Please, Mom,' I give in any way because you are just too cute).

You are so polite. You say 'please,' whenever you want anything, without any prompting anymore from your dad or I. That's quite impressive for a two-year-old, I think! You also say thank you when you are given something. But, what touches me the most, is you've started to say 'sorry' when you know you've done something wrong, all on your own, without anyone reminding you. You have such a tender, tender heart. I hope it always stays that way.

Just a few weeks ago, you realized that if you stand up on the bench outside, you can reach Mommy's flower pots that have dirt in them. When I found you, you were covered head to toe with dirt. I got you down, washed you off, and told you to NOT do that again. Of course, a few minutes later, there you were again, feasting on dirt (I bet it didn't taste very good, either). But I had to laugh when I scolded you and you gave me the sweetest face, patted my hand, and said, 'Silly Mommy.' You are QUITE the charmer, even if your face is covered in dirt.

When we go out in public, like to the store or out to eat, you wave and say 'Hi!' to everyone. Almost everyone waves and returns your greeting, but occasionally someone ignores you. I secretly want to go up to them and smack them on the forehead and make them acknowledge you, but I don't. You seem undeterred by their lack of attention, so I try to follow your lead. I have a feeling I'll be doing a lot of that over the years.

You still believe Mommy's kisses can fix anything. When you get a boo-boo, you come up to me and say, 'Boo boo, Mom,' and then put it right up to my mouth. Sometimes you hit your hand on the table just so you can have me kiss it. I'm so glad you still think Mommy's kisses can fix your hurts. It won't always be that way, try as I might, but for now, I'm happy to kiss all your hurts away.

You are also quite the talker! You say so many words now, and have started talking in sentences. I love listening to you talk, even if I don't always know exactly what you're saying. You still say 'mo' for 'no,' and while I suppose I should be correcting you, 'mo' is just so much cuter! One of the things you do that cracks me up every time, is sometimes you'll drop something on purpose, and then say, 'Oh mo!' really loud and animated. You also like to say 'oh wow,' 'oh boy,' 'oh yeah' and 'oh my.'

You love dogs, and love petting the dogs in our neighborhood. We had to say goodbye to our dog earlier this year, because he was old and in pain and didn't quite appreciate your loving, but not necessarily gentle, touches. But someday, when you're a bit older, we'll get you another dog. I promise. (Daddy says we have to wait until you're old enough to walk it yourself, but I have a feeling if, in a couple years, you ask, he'll give in. He's pretty sweet like that).

You are a great sleeper. You still take two naps a day, and sleep about 11 to 12 hours a night. The great thing about you, and your laid-back nature, is you go to bed every time still awake, and just play in your crib until you fall asleep. Sometimes we hear you through the monitor practicing your animal noises. You're a funny kid.

Last week, you got to play at the Y with your friends for a little while. When I came back to get you, I stood at the door and watched you for a minute. You just looked so ... so big, and so happy. You were sitting in a chair, watching a video, clutching two Thomas trains. Every now and then you'd turn to a friend and wave and say 'Hi!,' and then go back to the video. When I walked up to you, you said, 'Hi Mom!' and gave me a big hug. You seemed so happy, so content, so in love with life.  I wish I could bottle up those sweet moments.

Right now, you view the world as a safe place. I dread the day when you realize that, while the good far outweighs the bad, there are people who will be unkind to you, people who hurt you, intentionally or not, people who don't have your best interest at heart. I wish I could keep you in Mommy and Daddy's cocoon forever.

 I'm trying to find a way to describe to you how much I love you, and I can't. My tears have started to flow as I realize, yet again, that my love for you is so much bigger than me. There are not enough words in all of the English language -- or in all of the languages combined -- to express to you how deep my love flows for you, my sweet blond-haired boy. Even when you're fussy (which doesn't happen very often), I still love you to the moon and back times 10 million.

I'm going to let you down, sweet boy. I've already let you down. I'm going to fail you. I'm going to disappoint you. I'm going to lose my patience with you and be too busy to spend time with you and snap at you for something that was really my fault. I'm going to be exasperated by you and your seemingly endless vat of energy. I'm going to show you the worst of me, and not my best.

But know this, John Reagan Patterson Thompson. Your mother loves you with a love that overwhelms me. It consumes every single part of my being. It is bigger than anything I could possibly ever articulate or explain. I'm a writer, yet words will always fail to express the depth of my love for you..

Happy birthday, sweet angel boy. I love you.