I met Charles
while in Liberia, a West African country. During our first two days of a
week-long stay we drove to some rural villages before arriving in the capital
city of Monrovia. One of the villages visited was where Charles grew up. I met
his aunt whom he calls “mom,” not because his mother is no longer living, but
because he addresses any woman who is older than him as "mom" or
"mother" out of respect. In a recent email I received from him, he
began with "Dear Mom."
Charles is a
student at the West African Theological Seminary (WATS) in Logos, Nigeria. He was back in his home country
to attend the District Conference of The Wesleyan Church of
Liberia. Following his seminary training, Charles intends to return to Liberia
with his wife and two children to continue bringing the Gospel to his own
people. While driving through his hometown, and walking into his village, the
many smiles and wave of hands demonstrated the love and honor given to this
young man.
I'll never
forget one conversation I had with Charles when he spoke of a desire to visit
the United States, and in particular, Dennis and me. Up to this point in life,
his only travel has included just two other African countries. The
disparity between our material resources made me uncomfortable with the thought
of a visit.
Liberia has
been ravaged by two successive civil wars. Though a peace agreement was signed
in 2003, the country remains in economic upheaval. Eighty-five percent of the
population lives below the international poverty line. Most would agree that
the state of the country was far better 30 years ago. Many people are fortunate
to have one meal a day. Available resources we consider basic are significantly
limited. To obtain gasoline is a matter of pulling up to a “station” and
gaining what one might afford from a number of glass jars sitting on a concrete
slab.
When I asked
Charles how he had achieved education and protection through the seasons of war,
he told me of how an aunt had taken him from his village to Monrovia when he
was just three years old. He would be the only one of his seven siblings who
would receive a formal education. In 1990, during the civil war, his aunt took
ill and died due to the lack of medical care in the city. With no family
around, Charles decided the best thing he could do was to go back to his
village. He walked along with hundreds of others who were fleeing Monrovia. It
took him a week to get to his village on foot (a 3-hour drive for us). By the time
he arrived, his legs and feet were swollen from walking under the hot African
sun and having virtually nothing to eat. The only thing that kept him alive was
chewing on sugar cane.
What would
Charles think if he knew of our excess? I responded out of my awkwardness with
"We have so much!"
I will never
forget his response. He held up his hand, showing me his palm, holding his
fingers tightly together. “You see, not all the fingers are the same
size," he pointed out. "Some are taller than others. Some are shorter.
The world is not balanced. We live in an imbalanced world.”
Sometimes
there’s no way to explain the imbalances that I see or hear about in our
travels. The tall finger of wealth, the little finger of poverty. The
destruction of war and the security of peace. The effects of goodness and the
devastation of evil. But, perhaps Charles’ response is as good an explanation
as any.
The world is not
balanced. To try to reason it out seems impossible. Simply put, we live in an
imbalanced world.
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