Boxes of Ignorance

As I sorted through the boxes of clothing today that were supposed to be taken on a missions trip to South Africa, I found myself growing increasingly distressed at what I found hidden in the boxes and barrels of second-hand merchandise. Unfortunately, due to some unforeseen laws and regulations, the clothes were no longer able to enter into South Africa, so rather than let them go to waste it was decided that they would be donated to local ministries where clthoes are always a much needed commodity.
While sorting through them, I began noticing the rather ragged, worn-out and out-dated condition of the clothing and I realized why they were being given away. It was apparent to me that the previous owners no longer had need of such clothing and perhaps in a good-samaritanesque effort, they decided to donate their used clothing to someone who could use it more than they.
1980's sweaters with shoulders pads that reached passed your head, blue jeans that were tattered and torn, t-shirts with sweat stained yellow under the arms and button-up shirts that even my grandmother is too hip to wear were only just a few of the articles that I pulled from the wreakage. "How could people donate this crap!?!" I angerily thought to myself. If this stuff wasn't good enough for the donator why should it be good enough for it's new recipient. After all, this stuff was getting junked just so room could be made for more junk that would soon inhabit the closet. In a country where wealth and excess are the norm, would it really be so difficult for a person to forego a selfish trip to the outlet mall to buy themselves something and pick up something brand new to ship overseas to people who may have nothing?

I was getting really ticked off as I sorted through this stuff, venting my frustration to the other guy who was helping me. Im glad he held the same opinion.

After everything had been packed up and made ready to be sent off to the next fashion victim, I decided to try and getting a different perspective on the whole thing. Fortunately, there just so happens to be a guy from Africa who would be the perfect person to ask. I ran my experience by him, expressing my frustration and dissatisfaction as I recalled just some of the things I came across. "So what do you think," I asked him, somewhat expecting him to side with me on the matter.

"Who cares," was his reply to me. Who cares!! But these people are getting third rate crap from people who buy themselves first rate crap just so it can sit on the shelf.

"But at least they are getting something they don't have. Something that may well enable them to simply live another day."

I really started to feel like a jerk. I had hoped that my African friend would vindicate me by getting upset and angry that his own people were soon to be victims of yet another ignorant American attempt at relief and aid. Only he helped put things into a better perspective for me, a perspective that I sometimes fail to realize as I attempt to peer through my rose-colored glasses.

Who am I to judge another persons motives for what they do... especially when I don't know what they are. Yeah, there was some crappy clothing in those piles, but how do know if that was truely the best those people could give themselves? Perhaps some house wife gave away the one pair of pants that made her feel skinny and good about herself so that another house wife in South Africa didn't have to walk around naked, risking the possibility of rape everyday. Maybe the 15 year-old kid who put his MXPX shirt in the box, knowing full well that the new owner of it would have no clue who MXPX was, thought to himself, "Maybe one day, some missionary will come across a kid wearing that shirt, recognize it, and have the chance to share Jesus with them and it's all because the missionary recognized a familiar face on a shirt." Maybe all those blankets came from a little kid who said to themsleves, "I know this is my favorite blanket. The one that helps me sleep through the night when I have bad dreams, but maybe there is another little boy or girl just like me who doesn't have a blanket to help them sleep through the night. So I'll give them mine."

Perhaps the most revealing(and disturbing) thing to me about my little tirad is the question of what did I do while all these clothes were coming in to be packaged? Did I lend a helping hand by giving up a few pairs of jeans? Did I put just 2 or 3 of the umpteen tshirts that I never wear into the boxes? How many pairs of brand new shoes that I have sitting under the bed that I never wear did I pack up to be shipped over to South Africa? The answer...I did nothing. Actually, no, I did do something. I complained about all the space these clothes would be taking up as they sat there for the next few weeks waiting to be sent overseas.
It is easy to overlook things when we fail to see them from other vantage points. And it is easy to overlook our own short-comings and downfalls when we are so concerned about everone elses. Most times, those short-comings we point out in other people are really the ones we wrestle with the most ourselves, were just to naive and proud to realize it.

Sometimes we need to stand back, remove ourselves from the situation and peer back into things from another persons view in order to see things not just for what they appear to be but for what they can be and for the potential they might have to reach others.

Forgive me for my ignorance Lord.

(later that day, I took 14 boxes of childrens clothing to a pregnancy center for single moms, and 12 boxes of adult clothing to a shelter for the homeless and poor)