The dryer is running, the washer shakes the whole house as it runs through a final spin cycle, the gas heater sizzles as it heats the house. Jeremy Camp quietly plays through the tv, the dogs and cat are fast asleep in their beds. I munch on a cheese danish while I sit in my chair in the living room and watch the rain fall outside. But my thoughts are far away from my cozy home here in Louisiana.
I’m in a remote place, my 8 foot by 8 foot clay home is very dark. There are no windows and my door is a small hole near the ground. I smell the rain coming in the distance and hear the thunder as it nears. I grab some rice to boil over the fire I built in the corner of my house. A rat scurries out of last week’s beans I am saving for my children. They’ll be home anytime from hunting with their dad. I hope they caught a rabbit. It’s been weeks since we’ve had any meat. We have no money to buy anything and a trip to the nearest trade market is a three days journey on foot one way. Our neighbors are much like us; we live off the land and trade what we can for food. I make our clothes out of hides from animals my husband kills. We sleep on the dirt floor of our home and bathe in the stream about a quarter of a days journey away. That’s where we draw our water from, too.
The dryer finishes with a long, loud BEEP. I’m back in my living room. I’m mad at myself for just turning my nose up at a slightly over ripe banana this morning, for throwing away pork chops and potatoes, enough for a meal for two. I’m thinking about my plans to go hang out with friends tonight and then drive down to a local restaurant afterwards to eat. I see two brand new loaves of bread sitting on my table and wonder when they’ll be eaten. I think of all the things my husband and I have said we want just in this past week and the tears flood my eyes.
I didn’t choose to be born American. That was a choice God made for me, seeing it best I be born to the American family I was born to. I often wonder why… Why me and not the mother in that little clay hut scrounging just to provide food for her family?
God has a specific plan and purpose for each and every single person. Today, my question is why America? Why Louisiana? Why Vidalia? Only God knows exactly what He is planning and working. He alone knows why He chose me to live in such a developed and privileged country and I pray one day I see why, too. Until then, I’ll try my best to give more and be satisfied with less. And on another rainy day like today, I hope a mother in a small clay hut knows that a soon-to-be mother is praying for her and her family.