Today I was standing in the post office to pay my gas bill (don't ask, just how it works here), when a nomad woman, much like the one in the picture, came up to me. She was begging, asking for money, which is not uncommon here, especially as the year turns cold and the nomads come off the grasslands. And, to my great shame, instead of just giving her the first bill that I touched in my pocket, I rooted around and could find nothing small (smaller denominations are also physically smaller here), and so I said "duibuqi, meiyou"-which means "sorry, don't have." The reality of the situation was that I did in fact have money. Plenty-I had just been to the bank. But I confess I didn't want to give her a large note, but that I wanted to give her something like 5 mao, or 1 kuai (kind of like 50 cents or 1 dollar)-not that 100 kuai note I touched. Why?! I say that I love these people, and when a real, tangible way to help comes along, I say "no." I do love these people, and I do want to help them. So why did I do that? I think that in the West, anywhere, not just the States, we have a warped view of reality-we are rich. Even if we are poor, we are rich. I'm not saying it's bad-I could care less, honestly. But these people here-the nomads I love, the Tibetans I love-Khamba or Amdo-right now, no matter-they are poor. And since I have been here in China or Tibet, or whatever you want to call it, I have seen things that a Western mind simply cannot compute fully-and I haven't even seen the really bad stuff yet. The reality here is that many of these people are dirt poor in a way that we can never understand. The nomads come in off the grasslands in the winter because of a very, very real battle with death-by starving or by the brutal cold. I like the cold because it's a challenge. The cold kills these people because they have nowhere else to go. How's that for an incredible priority miss-match? They come in and beg on the streets. Why? They have nothing but yaks and tents-those don't work so well in the city. Children and old women with what amounts to rags wander the streets asking for money so they can buy food. The faces of these people are burned into my mind. They fill my sleep. As a Westerner, with all the things I come from, all the glitz, glamour, and things my culture and I deem as "essential"-gear, iPods, computers, cars-I, and we all, have no common ground. None. In time we gain it. After years, not months. We filter through the mindset of "they should just get a job." The can't-they didn't go to school. They don't speak the right language. And they aren't the right race. But you know something? The nomads, these beautiful people-they know why they have to beg. They know why I said I was sorry, in their own way. And they don't hold it against me, or us (mostly). Instead they smile. They have an inner joy, despite all their outer suffering. Maybe they aren't happy, but they have joy-that's why the lady could look at me and smile at me with a smile full of deep joy that I have never had, though she saw right through me. Why are they joyful? They love their life in way that seems impossible-the grasslands give them life, and death. Their families offer safety. And most of all-they smile. And all I could do was say "meiyou." So confess this to anyone who reads this, and to the nomad woman who will never read this. And from on I will just reach and give, and not look or be concerned. Would Christ be concerned? I don't think so, but I may be wrong. I have so much, so much. And they have nothing, in the true sense of the word. I'm called to love them. We are all called to love people. So love someone today in a way you never have, in a way Christ would. Unconditionally. And please don’t make my mistake, and say "Sorry, I don't have."
No comments:
Post a Comment