I recently found out that my health insurance is going up
ten dollars a month. Uuuuggggggh. I groaned.
I griped. I felt my stomach
tighten slightly with stress, that I would have to re-shuffle my budget
again. All those ten dollar increases
here and twenty dollar increases there add up.
That afternoon, I stopped by my neighbor’s house. They recently had a death in their family,
and I wanted to check in on them. I had
also heard they might be running low on food.
They weren’t low on food.
They were out of food, other than some rice. As a friend and I helped them fill out a food
stamps application, it came out that between all five members of the household—counting
loose change from pockets and crumpled dollar bills—they have just over $87 to
their name. Total. No bank accounts, no assets. Only one family member works, and he brings
home less in a week than I sometimes make in a single day. Their electricity is going to be cut off this
week unless they find a way to pay their overdue bills.
… Somehow, a ten dollar increase—and that on a
service I’m blessed to have in the first place—doesn’t seem worth complaining about.
