Hope Brings Survival

The sitting area at the Department of Human Services (DHS) was packed with people waiting to receive food stamps. The faces showed little life, as most were overwhelmed by their dire situations. A sense of emptiness filled the room with a few exceptions – the ones who had just submitted their request forms for the first time.

I looked into one man’s eyes and saw a sadness that is only embraced by those who no longer see any value in themselves. He was down on his luck for sometime and had no hope whatsoever. A couple was anxious to receive their allotment, so they could stop by the store on the way home to feed their kids for the first time since last week.

One man was trying to get sober enough to request provisions for another drink. A woman off in the corner cried and cried, not being able to understand how she ended up with nothing after the divorce. A little girl with her belly extended from hunger kept asking her grandmother when they would be able to eat again.

If only I had money with me, I would have responded. I was not in any position to help the crowd of forty some people that were crammed into the small waiting area. The only thing I could give them was hope, but they were weary of my presence because of the clean shirt I wore. I stood out like a sore thumb.

I blessed those who I could bless and prayed silently for others. My heart felt wrenched from the surrounding misery, filth and stench. My mind couldn’t comprehend all that I saw in the second wealthiest county in the United States – the clear representation of abject poverty.

Tears flowed from my eyes when I got home. The sights and experiences of the morning had emotionally devastated me. And what of me, would I sell all I had and give it to the poor?

I remembered a wealthy friend from years ago who visited squalor homes and helped erect tin roofs over cardboard walls in Mexico. He was so moved that he wanted to give everything he had, if it weren’t for his responsibilities to his family, associates and local church. He had to remind himself that the poor would always be among us.

My heart would never be the same after my visit to the DHS facility. I thanked God that my value was in Him and not in my work, which can so easily disappear in this day and age. I was so thankful that God’s word brings hope, the one ingredient that most were missing.

Hopelessness is worse than hardship because it represents the poverty of the soul. How rich I am to find solace in Christ and joy in knowing that God is looking out for me during my desperate days. I have hope and will therefore survive, but for the hopeless, they rely on us taking the initiative to speak hope into their lives. For to whom much is given, much is required.