“The Less Fortunate”

Today I headed out to what the abrunies (the white people) call "the pit." The area is aptly named in meaning and literally. The pit is a roughly 100 yard square impression off on the side of an off-ramp to a major road. We simply parked on the side of the off-ramp and took the stars down into the pit. You will see from the picture below that we descended a small hill into a mall much like Gateway. Ok there were some differences, such as pavement, music, and well electricity. But the service was excellent. Every owner came to his door (opening) to personally escort us into their shop. We haggled and bartered. I ended up buying an ebony hippo for Baby Syd. (Thanks to Uncle Luke Syd loves hippos). I looked for nativities but was not pleased with any that I saw. The highlight of the trip was meeting Samson. A shop owner in "the pit," Samson makes women's bags and but also sells paintings, rugs, and jewelry made by his sister. But what makes Samson different from all the other owners is that he accepted the Restored Gospel of Jesus Christ a little over three years ago. Like the other owners Samson met us in the front of his shop and showed me around personally. As we inspected the merchandise, I began asking him about the Church. Tears glistened as he shared his testimony with me in the back of his little shop. With mud on my feet and tin over my head the Spirit of God flooded the small shop and we shared a precious moment together. Samson told me of the missionary who found him and introduced him to the Book of Mormon. In his own words, "the book that has brought more happiness into my life than anything else." He beamed with joy and gratitude to have been baptized a member of the Kingdom of God, to have learned to find joy through the atonement. I think that is what struck me most about Samson. He was so happy. It was clear that nothing meant more to him than his membership in the church; or, perhaps better said, his newfound oneness with the Savior made possible thought the principals and ordinances accessed through his membership. Here we were, two twenty-something's, born into incomparably different lives. The rich and the poor, the white and the black, the American and the African. Together we wept in the back of a small shack with mud for a floor and scavenged tin for a roof. We cried because we both knew that material things faded and perfect joy was freely offered to all. For a brief moment there was no such thing as "less fortunate." At that brief moment life was perfect; perfect in Christ.