Managua, December 31, 2022, Christmas Wish Program
I woke up this morning with a familiar pang of guilt. As I gave out gifts to Nicaraguan children this week, a few hundred received something, and many others I passed on the street received nothing. I know there isn’t a solution. Compassion requires unfairness by its nature. Even if we gave a perfectly equal amount to everyone we are in contact with, many more would receive nothing. It’s always going to be unjust to someone left out.
One of the harshest illustrations of this tension is adoption. Families enter an orphanage of 400 kids to adopt one. The moment the family enters the orphanage, all the kids know what’s happening. It’s excruciating to see the hope in their eyes. Will they be the one chosen? The family is showing one of the most incredible acts of compassion, and at the same time, the hearts of many children are about to be crushed. What are the options? Adopt no one? It’s simultaneously compassionate and brutal. Holden Caulfield can’t save all the kids running through the rye, and the child on the beach can’t rescue all the starfish, but they can save some.
When I arrived in Nicaragua, I passed by a dirt-floor shack with several kids running around. Those kids in that shack were on my mind all week. I returned to that shack today and gave out candy and stuffed animals. Why them? In truth, I don’t know. It made no sense, but I made them happy for a moment—random acts of senseless kindness and joy. Do for one (or five) what you wish you could do for all. The only other option is to do nothing.
