What do you do?
I used to hate this question because I thought it was a set up for passing judgment. I refused to ask it—even answer it for long time. When forced to fill out forms that required I list my occupation, I often wrote nomad, hermit or astronaut-ballerina. But now I don’t mind it so much. I have an answer. I work with nonprofits. Several actually, but primarily as director of development for a small organization called Give A Child Life (www.giveachildlife.org). We help children under the age of six in urban slums of developing countries.
Over the last two years, I’ve seen the defining characteristics of desperate poverty-- struggle, resolve, hope, resilience, sorrow and gratitude. And by connecting with the children we are trying to save, I’ve experienced these emotions myself.
On my first trip to the slums, we found a three-year old boy who was HIV positive and so malnourished he weighed only seven pounds. I paid for his taxi to the hospital. I thought I’d helped save his life. He held on for a little while then died a few months later.
But the child I that meant the most to me was Cecilia. She never stopped holding my hand. She’d been abused and wanted love so badly. We spent only one afternoon together, but I decided to become her sponsor and make sure she grew up with a real future. Shortly after, gang members with guns burst into the shack where she lived, and she and her mother fled to the forest. I wanted to fly to El Salvador and save her—crazy as it was. I could do nothing but wait… until a few weeks later her mother finally contacted our program coordinator. Cecilia was safe. But they could never return home; it was too dangerous. I may never see or hear from her again. Yet I’ll always love this little girl, wherever she is.
It’s easy telling people what I do, because it’s important and I want others to know about our work. But it’s hard, because I’m not there. I feel so helpless, so far away in my little Montana attic. It’s even worse when I forget about the children’s suffering and get wrapped up in my own world… And then, another story is delivered to my inbox, and I remember there are others struggling desperately to stay alive.
Reading these stories gives me gratitude for what I have and perspective about what’s important. Sometimes I feel powerless, because I know we cannot eradicate all poverty or help everyone in need. But each of us has the ability to make a difference in some way—even if it’s small. And because we were born with incredible resources, we also have great responsibility.
Winston Churchill once said, “We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.” So, what do you do?
