Musings: Notes From My Daybook

Yesterday evening about 6pm, in need of a quick bite, I decided to head to the absolute nearest eatery. In Atlanta that would mean--Waffle House. Since I had a lecture to give later in the evening I was wearing a suit and tie. Didn't think much about it until sitting down. But then I looked around and realize that I was the rich guy in the place. In fact, I stood out like a pimple on Brad Pitts' face.

The two women behind spoke English, but it was likely the sort of English that would have been heard in rural Georgia. Two other women at the counter spoke English as well; but I suspect they would have preferred to used their native dialect instead. In front of the Waffle House a couple of fellows were selling something out of the trunk of a car. I gave up trying to figure out what; I was fearful that they were either try to sell to me or think that I was a cop or something.

I really don't think of myself as being well-to-do. I drive a 12 year old car, resole my shoes, and faithfully use any Chick-Fil-A coupons that come my way (thanks, Amos!). Vickie and I worry about paying a mortgage payment every month, the usual medical bills, and black hole of college tuition.

Traveling abroad I have experienced the reality of wealth and poverty. I have seen myself as rich when I've been abroad--Egypt, Jordan, or in Latin America. But, yesterday, not a mile away from our church, I was sitting in another world. No one in my line of sight was worrying about mortgages or cars, or resoleing dress shoes.

They were worrying about rent payments, scraping together enough change to pay for take home, and stewing about what the boss would say if were to ask off to go see their kid's play at the elementary school next week. Minimum wage plus tips and on a slow night--that doesn't add up to much.

Jesus said the poor will always be with us. He was right. Jesus showed compassion to the poor. He was right about that as well. I just wonder if there is some way in which compassion could mean more than a just a handout. A handout that relieves the guilty conscious and does little to shift the cycle of poverty in our cities.

I don't know. Until then, I'm leaving a bigger tip.