It is a sun-filled morning with a light breeze blowing through the leaves of the old oak tree in the corner of the garden, birds chirping, what a beautiful day!
Then he walks past your window, sweat on his brow, hair matted with dirt, torn shirt blowing around his bare scrawny torso, pants smeared with dirt, bare feet . . . And the absolute disaster of poverty and its effects on a human being hits your emotions with a poleaxe blow.
It eats away at your conscience and your soul shrivels to nothing in the face of such despair. Secretly you’re thankful for what you have, but do you ever think, why not me?
