A Lesson in Poverty – and Joy

I got new glasses. Getting new glasses was not a fashion decision. I needed to see more clearly. My prescription had not changed much after last year’s checkup. I postponed the expensive decision to get new glasses at that time. I noticed some increase in my need to squint, but I procrastinated.

It’s embarrassing to tell why I finally got new glasses. I lost my only decent pair!

I have a motley collection of prescription and reader glasses. Some have badly scratched lenses or bent earpieces. I have a long-standing habit of taking my glasses on and off too frequently. On the day I lost my good ones, I had taken them off, folded them and hung them from the front of my shirt as I worked around the house. I went outside and randomly pulled some weeds.

At some point, I took out the trash. I searched outside in the bushes and inside in my usual drop-off places. No glasses. I went to my messy glasses drawer, grabbed an old pair and went about the rest of my day. At the time, I couldn’t face my careless mistake.

Losing glasses is not inconsequential for me. I have good vision in my right eye but poor vision in my left eye. I have worn glasses since I was a very young child. My vision was far worse when I was younger. I could not take my glasses off and on so carelessly. Being a kid who needed to be careful with glasses wasn’t easy. I inevitably broke them. Nothing says “popular” like going to school with a wad of tape on your glasses!

Over the course of our lives, we need new glasses, despite the condition of our vision. The way we view the world, others and ourselves needs revision, improvement and clarity. Our old ways of seeing no longer fit our lives or our situations. We take in new information that alters our point of view. We continue to grow and learn through the ever-evolving circumstances around us. At least, that is the hope.

I had a vision-altering experience when I was 19. I went on a mission trip, out of the country for the first time, to Haiti. The task of this group was to form a temporary clinic in a remote area in the western part of the country that did not have medical care. My minor contribution to the medical team was to aid in translation. I was somewhat proficient in French at that time. My wonderful professor got me resources in Creole and gave me a crash course. My job would be to help with translations for the medical team.

We were quickly overwhelmed by the needs of those who came for the clinic. Soon, one of the doctors taught me to give vaccinations to children by practicing on a grapefruit.

I’m squeamish! I had to get over myself. Soon, I was wiping tiny little arms with alcohol swabs and murmuring what I knew in Creole while moms held their children for me. The trust they put in me was humbling. I prayed it was not misplaced. We did this from dawn till dusk for days.

I was a suburban teenager from New Jersey. My parents had not shielded me from the reality of poverty, but I had never seen anything like this. My vision got a crash course in what life was like in a developing country whose citizens were often lived at the whims of their political leaders.

Yet, the people I met were kind, loving, joyful and humble. They laughed at my long, straight hair and light skin. They teased me for my fear of bugs. We went to church in a thatch-covered hut that rang with music and singing.

I am angry and grieved by the fears and hatred aimed at those who have immigrated from this troubled island nation. The people doing that are looking through scratched and worn lenses that cloud their vision. They are not seeing clearly, nor do they seem to care. They are promoting their own agenda for political purposes at the expense of this already marginalized group. They are causing the same pain and fear we tried to help alleviate on that mission trip so many years ago.

I hope each of us will do what we can to correct the clouded vision in ourselves. We might want to suggest new prescriptions for those who are not seeing clearly.

I still remember the song I learned to sing in Creole in that vibrant little church. The translated words are: “Everything’s alright in my Father’s house, in my Father's house, in my Father's house.

“Everything’s alright in my Father’s house, where there’s joy, joy, joy.”