"When we see you, we see lunch."

 “When we see you,” the dark-skinned man with the wide smile said, “we see lunch.”

My friends and I laughed, and the man joined in, but later, as I pondered his statement, I realized the truth of his confession.

David and I and two other couples were visiting Nassau, Bahamas, the second stop on a five-day cruise. David and I will be married 35 years this December, and we’d chosen to take an inexpensive cruise out of Charleston, SC, to celebrate. We worked extra days, saved for months, and chose an interior cabin with no window to afford the splurge.

Thinking we knew what frugal living looked like, our tour guide’s comment caught us by surprise. It was sobering and convicting.

Our ship was one of five docked in the port of Nassau that day. As we entered the sea of people exiting the port and making their way onto the island, sights and sounds overwhelmed us.

“Taxi, mon? Come see the famous hotel, Atlantis! I’ll take you there.”

“Hair braiding, beautiful lady? Let me fix your hair!”

“Tours of the city! Cabbage beach! Straw Market! Señor Frogs!”

Everywhere we turned someone was hawking their wares, offering a service, or trying to outshout the vendor beside him.

In typical American fashion, my friends and I ducked our heads, avoided eye-contract, and plowed through the clamor.

Until we realized we had no hope of seeing the sites on our own. The streets were too congested, and the map we had downloaded too obscure.

“Would you like a tour of the city?” a soft-spoken woman in a bright-colored top asked us. “I can get you a taxi to fit your group. It will be private – just you six.”

At our relieved nods, she gestured to her partner, the man with the wide smile. Within minutes we were tucked safely into an air-conditioned van weaving through traffic on our way to our first stop.

“I appreciated the way your partner approached us,” I told the driver. “Americans don’t like to be pressured. It makes us want to run the other way.”

“It can be crazy,” he acknowledged. “Today there are five cruise ships in port. Sometimes there are two. Sometimes none. On those days we don’t work.” He paused. “You have to realize, when we see you, we see lunch.”

We laughed, and soon he was regaling us with tales of the island. But back on the ship, deciding between six dining options for our evening meal, his words returned to me.

What would it be like to wonder if I’d eat today? Or to gather around the dinner table and leave hungry? To begin each day hoping I’d earn enough money to meet my most basic needs and, some days, to fail?

My husband and I encountered similar circumstances on a mission trip to Mexico. Wanting to use our money to help ease the poverty we saw, we patronized the shops and restaurants owned by families who attended our missionary friends’ church plant. At one kiosk, our group ordered smoothies. Within minutes the proprietor handed us seven frosty drinks. The rest of the group waited, and waited, and waited for their beverages.

“What’s the hold up?” I asked the missionary who had helped us order.

“They’ve taken the money you paid them and gone to buy more cups and fruit,” she said. At my puzzled look, she explained. “At the end of each day, if they’ve made a profit, their family eats that night. They keep only enough money back to fill the first few orders the next day.”

Stories like these make me realize how little I know about real need. Our family has had its share of lean times. Unemployment, sickness, and unexpected expenses have caused us to go without and do with less, but we’ve never wondered where our next meal was coming from.

In prosperous countries, many of us forget the poor exist. Jesus reminds us to remember them. To give to those less fortunate. To look for ways to serve "the least of these."

To us, being poor may mean choosing red-rind bologna instead of nitrate-free turkey on our sandwiches. Unless a homeless person stumbles across our path, most of us move through our comfortable, middle-class days and forget half the people in the world subsist on less than three dollars a day. But living in a prosperous country doesn’t absolve us of our responsibility to the poor, it reinforces it.

If you, like I, want to be more intentional about ministering to the poor, here are a few suggestions:

    Begin with your local church. Is there someone who’s working hard but struggling to make ends meet? How can you come alongside them? Give an anonymous gift to help with a specific need? Send a single mother’s child to church camp? Buy someone a set of tires or mail a grocery store gift card? If you’re not sure who might have a need, ask your church leadership. 
      
  Donate to a reputable ministry that ministers to the poor in your community. Consider the Salvation Army, a homeless women’s shelter, or a local food pantry.

  Donate to a ministry that provides international aid to families in crisis. Samaritan’s Purse is often the first on the ground following a disaster or international incident. Sister Freda Robinson in Kitale, Kenya inspires me and makes me cry every time I receive an update on what she’s doing to help the poor. Watch this short video if you dare. If you're reading by email, click HERE to learn more about Sister Freda's ministry. I give to her ministry through Guidelines International. Perhaps you might, too.

“The poor you will always have with you,” Jesus said, and with this truth comes an obligation.

And a privilege.

Our taxi ride through the streets of Nassau showed me sparkling water, sandy beaches, and historic places. It also reminded me that many of the people in our world awaken to an empty stomach and no sure way to fill it.

In God’s grand plan, he chose us to be the ones with clothes on our backs, food in our pantries, and discretionary income to use for his glory. How will we spend it? And will He be pleased?

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