The corner store is smelly, and crowded with others like me—coming for something quick and small. Some vegetables to make dinner maybe. Gas for the stove. For me, I’m searching for more time—for my phone.
These are my neighbors. Some live in houses like mine—with furniture and plants and tiles on the floor. One of the ladies, though, lives in a shack made of scrap material—her stuff plucked from the trash piles.
I count out my paper blessings and pay the store owner the maximum amount of minutes to last me, I hope, for a couple of months. But I’m embarrassed as I pull out the cash. My neighbor probably has that amount to buy her family’s food for the month.
Find out the rest of the story of how I am learning to both give thanks and give it away.
photo credit, Saxon
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