Years ago I was sitting in a small shack that a family called home. The father, about my age, was afraid of what the future might hold for his family. He expressed his fear through his language, his sad eyes, his forlorn look.
I left that meeting more aware of how the poor – the truly poor – often live in fear. There is no margin for the poor. One setback could set off a downward spiral that undoes years of progress. Thus the fear – perpetual, consistent, draining fear of all the uncertainties of life.
A few years later …