Social Cause Diet

Yancey

BY shaun groves

I grew up with the erroneous idea in my head that I was poor. I vowed that when I grew up, I wouldn’t be poor anymore. Not long after signing a record deal in 2000, the checks began to appear magically in my mailbox. And at the end of my third year of professional music making, we tallied up our winnings and discovered that I’d made, after taxes, almost $200,000. With a third child on the way and still feeling, for some unknown reason, as if we were living like almost-poor people, we designed and built our dream house—not as big as this guy’s, not as fancy as that lady’s, but what we thought was on the large end of middle-class.

Then two things happened. First, I took a job as co-pastor to young adults at my church where we taught from the book of Acts and then from the Sermon on the Mount. Acts 2 and Jesus’ prayer in Matthew 5 made me shift in my seat and reevaluate my sacrificeless faith.

Becky and I decided to sell our house and find something smaller and do other little things to cut back on spending, like cancel our cable. We decided to simplify our lives so that others could simply live. But, with the "for sale" sign in the front yard and no buyers calling, we wondered if we’d made the right decision.

Then I went to El Salvador.

There I met Yancey, a child we sponsored as a family through Compassion International. I pushed her in a swing. She rode on my shoulders through the marketplace and we shared a rainbow rocket pop. I traced her hand in crayon and she traced mine. I tickled her and she cackled just like my kids. We went to lunch and I bought her a hamburger. She only ate half and when I asked her if she was full she told me she wanted to save the rest so her little sister back home could eat it.

She fell asleep on the ride back to the hotel, her sweaty brown cheek squished up and buried in my t-shirt. And I prayed, asking God to forgive me for not giving away more of what he’d given me in my lifetime. “Forgive me” was all I could say holding a child who ate once every three days before Compassion International saved her life, educated her, and told her how much God loved her. Forgive me.

When Yancey kissed my cheek and told me good-bye at the bus stop that day, I knew I’d never miss my house or my cable again.

Our house sold and we moved into another down the street, less than half the size. And we immediately received opportunities to use our extra wealth to help out those around us.

A bible study and a little girl flipped my life upside down. I’m not as worried now as I once was—I’ve seen the joy of the truly desperate and poor and believe their trusted God is my God, too. I don’t want anything—I’ve had everything and been bored and thirsty for more, and I’ve had less and known passion and felt full. I’m not as easily upset—focusing my life on the third world has exposed the trivial trials of the first world for what they really are. I spend less—I see every starving child, their hair falling out, their tongues swollen and red, when I stand before a cash register. I know how much more they could use my money.

I think Compassion International should make their slogan: “Releasing Americans from wealth in Jesus’ name.” They do this. They gently, lovingly, pry the hands of the wealthy off the stuff we’ve labeled “mine” and use it to care for the poorest of the poor in the name of a God who says everything and everyone is his.