EXPERIENCES - A Lesson from Two Vagrant Children
A Compassion in the Eyes of a Child
By: Ulysses C. Ybiernas | March 12, 2013
Recently, I stumbled upon an old blog entry from September 8, 2008, buried in a forgotten corner of the internet. Accessing it after years felt like unlocking a time capsule of emotions. What I found wasn’t just a story, it was a moment of deep reflection and a reminder of the profound lessons life offers in the most unexpected places.
At the time, I was navigating the daily grind of commuting to work, as my car was out of order, leaving me at the mercy of public transportation. On one particularly challenging morning, I stood under the blazing sun, unsuccessfully hailing a taxi. Frustrated, I opted for a tricycle to the nearest jeepney terminal, joining the queue of early risers navigating life in the bustling city.
Sitting on the far-right corner of the jeepney, I slipped into a quiet rhythm, half lost in thought, half daydreaming. As we passed familiar landmarks, I glanced at the school where my 9-year-old daughter studied. She had left the house earlier than I, determined to make it to class. The thought of her and my younger child adjusting to less expensive schools weighed on me. I reassured myself it was only temporary, a step back before we could move forward.
As the jeepney slowed near a construction site, a pair of children caught my eye. They were siblings, a girl of about four and her older brother, no older than seven. Their clothes were tattered, their faces smeared with dirt, and their presence carried a distinct odor that made passengers, myself included, instinctively recoil. The boy held a tin can, ready to drum up a tune in hopes of spare change.
The driver was quick to shoo them away, irritation etched on his face. Most of the passengers, including me, avoided them. I wondered where their parents were, a mix of disdain brewing within me. But when I looked closely at the little girl, her eyes met mine, innocent and wide, like my two-year-old daughter’s. That moment stirred something deep within me.
The driver barked at the children again, telling them to leave. But the boy, determined, pulled out a handful of coins, declaring that they could pay their fare. His defiance only fueled the driver’s frustration. "Keep your money," the driver snapped. "How can you afford to pay when you can barely eat?"
The jeepney fell into an uncomfortable silence. I reached into my pocket, wanting to help, but before I could act, the children leaped off the jeepney and ran to the next one. They disappeared into the crowded streets, their resilience both heartbreaking and inspiring.
The jeepney resumed its crawl through traffic, the weight of what I had just witnessed settling over me. As we paused near a mall, I caught sight of the children again. Watching them navigate the chaos of the streets with such determination, I felt a pang of guilt. My worries about finances and inconvenience paled in comparison to their daily struggle for survival.
Their presence transported me back to my own childhood. I grew up in a neighborhood where poverty was a constant companion. I remember accompanying my friends scavenging for tin cans and plastic, hauling sacks to junkyards for a few pesos. While some consider them as nuisances, they were simply surviving, doing what they could to eat another meal.
In my adult life, I had grown accustomed to the sharp contrast between wealth and poverty. Through my work, I often encountered individuals living in opulence, their lives an utter juxtaposition to the struggles of children like the two I encountered that day. The disparity was unsettling.
Some people spent extravagantly, indulging in luxuries they didn’t need, while others, like these children, struggled at an early age. How could the world be so unbalanced? If only a fraction of that wealth could be used to feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, or heal the sick, how much better off would we all be?
This experience brought to mind the words of Jesus in Matthew 19:23–24:
"Truly, I tell you, it is hard for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again, I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God."
These words are not a condemnation of wealth but a caution against letting it blind us to the needs of others. I prayed that if I were ever blessed with abundance, I would remember to use it for good, to help those who cannot help themselves.
Jesus’s teachings in Luke 18:15–17 and Matthew 18:1–5 also came to mind:
"Let the little children come to me, and do not stop them; for it is such as these that the kingdom of God belongs."
The innocence and resilience of these children reminded me of the humility and faith we are called to emulate.
That day left an indelible mark on me. It was a sobering reminder that our journey through life isn’t about accumulating wealth or status. It’s about the lives we touch, the kindness we show, and the love we share.
The two children I encountered may have vanished into the crowd, but their lesson remains: we are not solitary beings. Our lives are intertwined with those around us, and we have a responsibility to lift each other up.
So, we have to ask ourselves: when was the last time we paused to reflect on our journey? Have we considered how our actions might affect others? Let us strive to live with open hearts and hands, finding joy in giving and purpose in serving.
For in the eyes of God, the greatest among us are not the richest or the most powerful, but the humble, the kind, and the compassionate. Let us walk this path together while embracing the lessons in life with the innocence of the little ones.
"Children are the living messages of the time we will not see." - John F. Kennedy
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