#60 The Penny Jar
When I first came back from Nicaragua, I was appalled by the in-your-face wealth in this country. The transition from a society gasping for survival to one gagging on excess left me shell-shocked. I needed some way to hold on to the reality of what I had experienced, to not go back to taking this affluence for granted. But I didn't see any advantage in flagellating myself with guilt, or ranting to everyone I met about how terrible our society was.
How to remember? Maybe I could be more thankful for things I have that I would truly want for everybody in this world There's plenty of plenty that I don't feel thankful for, that I don't actually want at all, for me or anybody else: mind-boggling choices in junk food, three car garages, living rooms so cavernous nobody likes to spend time in them, the opportunity to buy a whole new wardrobe every season, limitless ways to "improve" our looks. I chose running water.
What a miracle to turn on a faucet and get good clean water whenever you want it. And, though it's probably not the best use of this precious resource, what an incredible luxury to be able to send off human waste with the touch of a handle. This is not something to take for granted. How to remember? I made a little jar with a slot in the lid and put it on the windowsill beside the toilet. Every time I flushed, I put a penny in the jar. It was a time to give thanks for running water, and to remember my connection to all those people in this world who don't have it. Gradually I collected pennies into rolls, took rolls to the bank and sent off checks to an organization whose mission is to address the joint evils of overabundance and poverty through funding development work in poor countries.
The amount of money is insignificant, but the opportunity to feel connected is priceless. (One thing that has happened as a result is that I've gone back to picking up pennies on the street. Most people leave them these days as not being worth the effort of stooping. But if in stooping, I remember, then they have real value. And I can add them to the jar on my windowsill.)
How could I share this simple little discipline with others, and invite them to a greater sense of thankfulness and connection? Leading a weeklong morning program for eight to eleven year olds at a summer religious gathering over the years, I've offered a theme of playing and creating with materials that might be available to children anywhere in the world-and put out my little penny jar as a possible stop on the way back from the bathroom. I remember how thrilled I was one year when a thoughtful sixth grader said she wanted to have one in her bathroom at home. The idea might even have stuck, though I'll probably never know.
So the penny jar sits on my windowsill. The habit has grown so strong that a flush without a penny seems somehow incomplete. Indeed I have not forgotten. My commitment to taking every opportunity I can to act on this connection, to throw my weight toward right sharing of the world's wealth, has not wavered. But I've felt lonely at times-me and my little penny habit.
Late this summer, I answered the doorbell to find a family I knew on a walk, with the twelve year old in immediate need of a bathroom. She had been in one of my groups two or three years past. I sat on the stoop visiting with the others, and when she came down she had something to tell me that warmed my heart. "Pamela, when I flushed, I found a penny in my pocket and I put it in the jar."
How to remember? Maybe I could be more thankful for things I have that I would truly want for everybody in this world There's plenty of plenty that I don't feel thankful for, that I don't actually want at all, for me or anybody else: mind-boggling choices in junk food, three car garages, living rooms so cavernous nobody likes to spend time in them, the opportunity to buy a whole new wardrobe every season, limitless ways to "improve" our looks. I chose running water.
What a miracle to turn on a faucet and get good clean water whenever you want it. And, though it's probably not the best use of this precious resource, what an incredible luxury to be able to send off human waste with the touch of a handle. This is not something to take for granted. How to remember? I made a little jar with a slot in the lid and put it on the windowsill beside the toilet. Every time I flushed, I put a penny in the jar. It was a time to give thanks for running water, and to remember my connection to all those people in this world who don't have it. Gradually I collected pennies into rolls, took rolls to the bank and sent off checks to an organization whose mission is to address the joint evils of overabundance and poverty through funding development work in poor countries.
The amount of money is insignificant, but the opportunity to feel connected is priceless. (One thing that has happened as a result is that I've gone back to picking up pennies on the street. Most people leave them these days as not being worth the effort of stooping. But if in stooping, I remember, then they have real value. And I can add them to the jar on my windowsill.)
How could I share this simple little discipline with others, and invite them to a greater sense of thankfulness and connection? Leading a weeklong morning program for eight to eleven year olds at a summer religious gathering over the years, I've offered a theme of playing and creating with materials that might be available to children anywhere in the world-and put out my little penny jar as a possible stop on the way back from the bathroom. I remember how thrilled I was one year when a thoughtful sixth grader said she wanted to have one in her bathroom at home. The idea might even have stuck, though I'll probably never know.
So the penny jar sits on my windowsill. The habit has grown so strong that a flush without a penny seems somehow incomplete. Indeed I have not forgotten. My commitment to taking every opportunity I can to act on this connection, to throw my weight toward right sharing of the world's wealth, has not wavered. But I've felt lonely at times-me and my little penny habit.
Late this summer, I answered the doorbell to find a family I knew on a walk, with the twelve year old in immediate need of a bathroom. She had been in one of my groups two or three years past. I sat on the stoop visiting with the others, and when she came down she had something to tell me that warmed my heart. "Pamela, when I flushed, I found a penny in my pocket and I put it in the jar."
posted by Pamela Haines | 1:22 PM
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