I don’t see her face anymore.

The grubby face with the lifeless eyes at my car window – cupped hands held out.

I don’t see his face anymore.

The one hiding behind the flimsy cardboard sign, sitting with the frayed blanket and the intrenched sadness.

I don’t see their faces anymore.

The ones living in one bedroom make-shift shacks, sharing beds and too little food. Where life is cheap and the struggle to survive is real. And affluence is a stone’s throw away. And the contrast is sickening.

The reprimands about being grateful for the things I have are on repeat in my head.

Be grateful. Count your blessings. At least you have a roof over your head, and food on the table. You are better off than the majority of the world population!

I don’t see the face of poverty first hand anymore… I see different faces now.

I see the fraught face of the mother whose child is gripped by severe anxiety. I see the discouraged face of the man who was retrenched and is desperate for a job. I see the heart-broken face of the widow who is isolated and lonely. I see the hopeless faces of the couple who are yearning to have children of their own. I see the devastated face of the father whose young child is diagnosed with cancer. I see the anguished face of the woman carrying deep scars from her childhood.

Can we measure suffering? Can we compare the weight of each other’s burdens? Can we judge who is hurting more? Whose pain is more significant?

There are so many faces contorted by the crudity of adversity… Physical, emotional, spiritual.

So many faces.

Father, you see them all. Abba, you care about them all. Daddy, you love them all.

Let me see them… Care about them… Love them…


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