Post Campaign Prayer

I realize that I haven't followed up on the $1.50 poverty awareness campaign.  Aside from that doozy of a Wednesday morning when I thought I'd fall over in the middle of a status meeting, I felt really good about the experience.  It sparked a lot of interesting dialogue.  I can't tell you how many times someone would look down at the cup of coffee in their hand and sheepishly comment, "This cost me $4."  I successfully lasted the week living on less than $1.50 a day.  I say less because after I prepared my final dinner of the week, I had a few servings of pasta and two big fat carrots leftover.  I was impressed.

I feel very blessed to have a lifestyle that doesn't focus on meeting basic necessities like food and water.  It shouldn't be, but it is truly a privilege.  Because I live in a part of my country where I am blind to extreme poverty, the closest to which I can relate in terms of hunger disparity are the sufferings of the homeless that wander this city.  Yes, most of them suffer from some mental disorder that prevents them from taking care of themselves.  Social programs and charitable services provide food and other basics (thank goodness).  How lucky am I - are you, reader - that we do not have such ailments that leave us unable to independently nourish our bodies and minds?  And if we do, that we have the resources necessary to keep our sanity intact enough to take care of basic human needs like a roof over our heads, like food on the table, like clean clothes on our backs?  I'm not saying that we should lower our standards for healthy lifestyles; we should certainly take advantage of all of life's luxuries.  What I am saying is that some of our fellow human citizens, they have been dealt a harsh hand of cards.  Many a time, I wonder why I am so lucky and others not.  Acknowledging the seemingly unfair disparity eats away at me.

My campaign ended on a Friday.  It was just five days.  That Saturday, I bolted out the door to my Saturday job without breakfast.  Later, I had a mediocre salad and fruit.  It was all very anti-climactic and meh-tasting.  Sunday morning was the first chance I had to really cut and dice and chop.  I greedily went to town on everything green in the fridge.  A week without fresh plants would do that to you, too.  I was so high on the moment as I looked down at this lovely bowl of greens that I felt the need to pray a prayer of thanks, something I haven't done much of lately.  And even then, because I am an impatient little imp, I rudely said my thanks as I shoveled greenness into my pie hole.  I waited six whole days and couldn't wait ten more seconds to say a proper word of thanks?  Apparently not.  And then I reached for Pablo and snapped this shot to remember the moment.