Who am I?

A couple days ago when I was making donation runs, an internal question arose from a particular trip through the border. I wanted to write about it that night, but it struck me differently, and I didn’t know exactly what to think about it. After days of pondering, I still haven’t come to a conclusion. But I wanted to share it before it slipped into distant memory.

Monday, I was sitting in the line, inching my way forward to the land of the free, all the while dodging the many peddlers, salesman, and beggars. The salesmen I can handle, they generally seem to be well taken care of, have decent goods, and I can feel alright passing. The peddlers too, usually have some kind of hand crafted decoration, or Mexican item, that they can sell and seemingly get by. However, the beggars, and I mean the people simply standing out there in rags, asking for money, are the ones I’m lost with.

This particular day, I was driving in one lane, and came upon two girls, both about 10-12 years old. Ellena and Andrew, my younger brother and sister, are both in that age range, so see the girls reminded me of them. As I came up, one got down on her hands and knees, and the other stood on her back and attempted to juggle. The poor girl was not very good, but she seemed to do it with a smile. After juggling they would run around to the cars and ask for money, come back and do the same routine again. When I got up next to them, one of the girls came and knocked on my window. Like so many others that day, I shook my head, and “no, lo siento”, (no, I’m sorry). Her face dropped, her shoulders dropped. A minute later they started their routine again, but her face started to kill me. There are a number of true beggars in the line every day. If gave a dollar to every one, every time I’d pass, I’d need a whole new section of my budget to be dedicated to it. It would be different if it was one time into Mexico, and back. But if I’m living here for nine months, on a slim budget as is, I’ll have no funds by November. So I have passed on the other side, I wished somehow I could feel ok doing it. I drove down the line, beyond the girls, but then they decided to walk up the line towards me and again they performed right next to my window. This time they both knocked and I couldn’t say no. I rolled down the window and gave them each a dollar. They saw my water bottle and asked “agua?” I let them have it and they both were very excited and were very grateful. Still, I felt guilty for passing them the first time.

Of course this feeling was only doubled when 50 yards further, I passed an old woman in tatters also asking for a couple pennies. What am I to say, am I in worse condition? I have to hold on to my money because I have to pay for gas in a little bit? I can’t pay because I’d spend all my Mexico funds in a month if I gave to everyone who asked. But is that what Christ said? Did he say that we should give only when we had more money than we needed? Is there any justification for passing on the other side of the road, ever? Better yet, if I was in their position, would I not think that this young man driving in a mini van was better off then me? Would I not think that he could probably spare a couple bucks, what’s the difference to him?

At the judgment day we will be asked if we fed those who where hungry, thirsty, and those in need. To the goats he’ll say whatever you did not do unto the least of these, you have not done unto me. As I passed by, not even offering a dollar to these people, I sure felt like I knew what side I should be standing on at the judgment day – and I didn’t feel very good about it either.

What am I to do, is a question I’m trying to answer. In a sense I’m having an identity crisis, not necessarily just with myself. I keep asking who am I as an Christian? Who am I as an American? Who are they, as a person? Who are they, as a child of God? Who am I as their brother in Christ? Who am I to decide who I should give to, and who I should not? Who am I to judge? Who am I? …Who am I?