more than a compassion-tangent
By now you probably think I've become somewhat of an activist. If not, you will after you read this post. And I'd be inclined to agree with you.
If I'm only finding time to write one blog entry a month then I'm going to make sure it's about something that matters. I know it's easier to read about my trivial life experiences but easy-reading won't save the 30,000 children dying of starvation every day. That's one child by the time you've read this sentence. Harsh, confronting, but true.
After reading Tom Davis' Red Letters last week and happening upon articles and books on "injustice" at, what seems like, every turn I'm significantly stirred and trying not to be deterred by how incredibly helpless I could, potentially, feel.
Now, fully informed about just how outrageously tragic the HIV pandemic is (yes, "pandemic", because it's worse than an "epidemic"), the desperation of Africa is weighing heavily on my heart - largely due to the pulse of Africa that flows through my South African blood.
Africa, with it's burnt orange sunsets behind Baobab trees, red earth and golden beaches, the echo of a lions roar across a vast plain. But it's people no longer gain life from the earth and they curse the sun because it only exaggerates their unquenchable thirst. Who will save it's people, if not us who are equipped to do so?
My perspective has completely changed about what my true "needs" really are. I am so incredibly grateful for 3 or more meals a day, running water from a tap and freely available medication for all curable sicknesses - all of which are taken fore granted by us - the lack of which is killing 18 million people a year. Yes, it's too much for us to really comprehend. Basically, it's the equivalent of the entire population of Mozambique - gone - in one year.
You see, I may come across as being on a compassion-tangent but the ache of my heart knows that it is so much more. Now that I know, what will I do?
If I'm only finding time to write one blog entry a month then I'm going to make sure it's about something that matters. I know it's easier to read about my trivial life experiences but easy-reading won't save the 30,000 children dying of starvation every day. That's one child by the time you've read this sentence. Harsh, confronting, but true.
After reading Tom Davis' Red Letters last week and happening upon articles and books on "injustice" at, what seems like, every turn I'm significantly stirred and trying not to be deterred by how incredibly helpless I could, potentially, feel.
Now, fully informed about just how outrageously tragic the HIV pandemic is (yes, "pandemic", because it's worse than an "epidemic"), the desperation of Africa is weighing heavily on my heart - largely due to the pulse of Africa that flows through my South African blood.
Africa, with it's burnt orange sunsets behind Baobab trees, red earth and golden beaches, the echo of a lions roar across a vast plain. But it's people no longer gain life from the earth and they curse the sun because it only exaggerates their unquenchable thirst. Who will save it's people, if not us who are equipped to do so?
My perspective has completely changed about what my true "needs" really are. I am so incredibly grateful for 3 or more meals a day, running water from a tap and freely available medication for all curable sicknesses - all of which are taken fore granted by us - the lack of which is killing 18 million people a year. Yes, it's too much for us to really comprehend. Basically, it's the equivalent of the entire population of Mozambique - gone - in one year.
You see, I may come across as being on a compassion-tangent but the ache of my heart knows that it is so much more. Now that I know, what will I do?
Labels: poverty
posted by foxy_roxtar at 1:15 AM
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