Injustice frustrates me.
It boils in me this anger and insistence that the right thing will be done; the bad will be punished and the good will get their reward and compensation.
Steve and I were friends when was celebrating his 22nd birthday. I was at his apartment as he opened his table football set from his buddy Iain and was filled with joy until he realized that two of the four defenders were missing. Before he knew it, I was on the phone to the store stating my disapproval. When the help I received was not satisfactory, I called the head office customer services declaring “You wouldn’t ask England to play without Sol Campbell and Rio Ferdinand would you?!” I was one step away from calling a national state of emergency.
My irrational passion paid off: we were provided a new set as well as reimbursement for travel costs incurred. I had defeated “The Man”.
On my birthday, I received SOOO many lovely messages; my primary love language is ‘Words of Affirmation’ meaning I feel most “loved” when people say or write nice things about me (though oddly enough it thoroughly embarrasses me when people say them to my face!!)
“I hope you have had a fab day and been totally spoilt as you deserve”
“Hope you enjoy ur day, u deserve it”
“Have a lovely day you deserve it”
What do I deserve?
I don’t know why this word has troubled me in recent weeks
If you are deemed good then society says you “deserve” good things – a good birthday getting wasted with loads of presents…a great family…
I guess I struggle when I think of those who have the same birthday as me, born the same year as me, and what they got.
Dirty water? Family death? HIV?
Why weren’t their gifts good? Didn’t they deserve it too?
Yet while I sympathize, my actions tell a different tale.
Why does only the injustice of missing plastic football players drive me to the telephone and time demanding a wrong is put to right but I tell no one of the suffering of those both home and abroad.
Clean water.
Internet connection.
Rent payment.
Social networking.
Deadly mosquito bites.
Sinus trouble.
HIV.
Often our worries are petty, pathetic and pedestrian in comparison to the real issues of this world – education, healthcare, sanitation, communicable disease,
I think about my recent adventure to the African continent. Did Ghana change me?? Yes, it opened my eyes to another world, though I have experienced poverty of that magnitude in Nicaragua, and arguably in some places in England and America, but was I so changed that my life looks completely different??
Honestly and ashamedly, no.
It has affected my heart, yes. I look through my pictures and videos, or bring it up into conversation and the smell of the red ground permeates, as I am right there walking through the streets.
But still I am still.
Unmoved by these words:
“Anyone who sets himself up as "religious" by talking a good game is self-deceived. This kind of religion is hot air and only hot air. Real religion, the kind that passes muster before God the Father, is this: Reach out to the homeless and loveless in their plight, and guard against corruption from the godless world.”
Check out www.GlobalRichList.com – it simply calculates where you in terms of the richest people in the world. Last year with my modest missionary wage (not including Steve’s money) I was in the top 13%. This year despite no fixed salary, I am in the top 14.81%
By simply being a part of the West, by my currency being strong, my country being a superpower, with no job I end up in the top 15%.
Do I deserve this?
People deserve to be equal. When I posted a previous note entitled “Feminists”, several of my favourite girl friends and I had a great discussion on whether we really were equal. I had several days and nights of pondering and questioning all that was shared.
Our world isn’t equal.
I read once that there is enough money in the world for everyone to have $17 million.
Cancer affects 1/3 of people during their lifetime.
Clean water is a merely a dream for too many.
People don’t always get what they deserve.
Sometimes they get more.
Sometimes they get less.
