Tag Archives: poverty

The Best Poor Christmas

It isn’t being poor or rich that determines the quality of our giving; it is our determination to honor those we love and celebrate the One we worship. Continue reading

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In the Midst of Miracles and Wonders

I wonder if maybe the way we treat the least of those we meet says the most about us… Continue reading

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A Righteous Poverty

It is not just the wealthy
in need of that miracle of mind
that finds them changed of heart: Continue reading

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Of Floods and Droughts

This reminds me, too,
somehow,
that it is far easier
to give alms
than to endure poverty.
Continue reading

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Lush Lives

We ought to be
at least a bit higher than the grass
and know that it was not deserve
that placed us above the deep wells
of God’s good grace. Continue reading

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At the Corner of Royal and St. Peter

She stands in the street,
heat and humidity of a New Orleans afternoon,
flailing at her guitar and wailing her song.
Continue reading

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Blair, Kansas

There are bound to be a hundred stories here, buildings that used to host something resembling a flourishing business, once-fine houses now lived in by the last, poorest cousin of some entrepreneur, once-occupied, now empty lots including the one where they finally tore down the old school. Continue reading

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The Long Walk

Another item on the list of things Barry has not been able to buy during his unemployment is the medicine he needs for some psychological issues. “When he’s on his meds, he does great,” his girlfriend explained. “When he ain’t, look out! He’s a real bear.” Continue reading

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Lawn Chair Evangelism

Randa sat on the doorstep outside the tiny dilapidated apartment and let me have one of the folding chairs. Bryan’s girlfriend sat in the other while he leaned against the railing. The sounds of loud music and louder voices hammered along the line of doors with peeling paint and sagging gutters. Continue reading

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The Incredible Wealth of Scraping By

Making my way across the freshly mowed grass in the last hour of daylight, I see Ben and his mom outside their tiny, rough apartment. Smoke drifts out from a small grill and Ben is bent over the front wheel of a small bicycle. He looks my way, straightens up and waves, “Hi, Doc!” Continue reading

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