"Ew! I can't stand driving through cities! They're full of white trash... and black trash."
"Precisely. That's why I hang out there."
"Well, good for you."
I couldn't reply further. The quick pain to my heart was already tainted with anger I feared would come steaming out my mouth if I opened it. Your talk is filled with dollar signs as if your spending is an elite illness to be both pitied and envied by your listeners. Has is ever occurred to you that life is bigger than yourself? In another century, will it matter that you modeled the best clothes today? I dare say it will. The coat will be gone, as will the children you could have fed with the substantial sum it cost you. When you bought that coat, did you not even hear the words, "Let him who has two coats give to him who has none?" You have to avoid the poor and shield yourself from suffering so that you can continue to live your cute-and-spoiled life. I wish you could meet some of the people you just called "trash".
Javalia, age five, asking me the question that is inaudibly screamed by every person in her city, regardless of age or color, "You still gonna love me?"
Lennea, age fourteen, living with her grandmother and responding to the pain of her mother's death and her father's disappearance by being the tough kid who beats up the others... and yet has softened and started to reciprocate the love I tried to show her. Her eyes have a light in them that was totally absent before, and I think God is reaching her with Love.
Julio, age twelve, already hard and tough, listening to no one. I don't know much of his story, but something about him breaks my heart. He haunts me.
Brandi, age six, not wanting to go home to her fighting parents after Kids' Club. I carried her through her dingy housing complex, holding her close to my heart and singing to her for as long as I could... until I had to leave her at her door which barely muffled the shouts inside.
Yes, they're poor. And dirty. They are sometimes hard to love and hurt you in return for your efforts to reach them. But they are not trash. Neither are their parents.
[we were meant to live for so much more/have we lost ourselves?] -Switchfoot
I am far from perfect myself, but I love you and wish you could see things through the eyes of our Father, who came to earth to be homeless and poor, to experience and identify with the heartcries of the ones whose hearts still cry today, the poor.
Please don't call them "trash".