Apple Seeds and Fabi’s Old Brown Shoes

It was another sunny morning at Casa Blanca, the warm house of Mabe and Fabi, we were bustling around expectant for our breakfast. We always eat out in the front yard on the little patch of white concrete while we peel mandarins and giggle in the grass. 

 

Our morning endeavor had a new surprise this morning, Apples! As a fruit we were well accustomed to, we leaped on the opportunity to have them with our breakfast bread. It is custom at Casa Blanca to eat every little thing on our plates, never leave a trace, even for the first few days there wasn’t a trash can to sneak off to throw away a scrap. Fabi explained to us that it is the same with apples, how he was astonished at us North Americans and how we eat our apples.

 

To be honest, before that day I had eaten apples the same way, taken bits around the middle that seemed “good enough”, avoiding every part that would be slightly uncomfortable to eat. I would throw out the entire middle when I got bored and never thought twice. 

 

That morning, we struggled to gulp down the apple, then the tough core, then the seeds and finally the bottom stem, so the only evidence of the apple left was the little top stem laying on the clean plate. Many of us struggled with it that day, slightly annoyed at being forced to eat little apple seeds, did it really matter that much? Wasn’t eating supposed to be enjoyable, not forced?

 

Fabi tells us everyday, be grateful with God today, be grateful with God today, we listen but sometimes I don’t know if we understand. 

 

One day he sat us down told us he had a teaching for us. With eager hearts we poured into the open living room and opened our ears. He sat down and looked at us for awhile and then told us about the Venezuelans. 

 

He told us with a heavy heart, stories about the millions of Venezuelans that pour into Ecuador’s border’s everyday. The millions of Venezuelans that walk on foot for days, months, even years without sufficient food or water and sleep on the side of the road. The millions of Venezuelans that either die along the way of fleeing to either starvation or the gun, shot dead with their bodies lying in the streets, unmoved, unnoticed, without respect and without justice. All of this because lying shot in the road is better than living in their country right now.

 

 Fabi’s eyes started to well up a tad as he convicted us of all those apple seeds that we didn’t eat that they would die for, or all our white, clean, nice shoes that we threw around outside. 

 

I felt a lump in my throat and my heart started to pound as I was slapped into the reality of the world around us. I thought about the United States, to the kids who cry at Christmas when they don’t get the new iPhone. To the mansions of lavish expense to house a couple of two. I felt disgusting. My privilege overwhelmed me and my ignorance made me ashamed. 

 

Fabi continued to tell us how blessed we were, and to understand that ever single thing, even if we don’t realize it, is a blessing and furthermore, from God. He explained to us that as recipients of these abundant blessings, we MUST be good stewards of them. Meaning that every little thing has purpose and blessing, everything we have we should treat them as what they are, a gift from our good good Father. Even if that’s our shoes that we can replace is a few months or even those little apple seeds. 

 

Understanding things like this isn’t meant to shame us about our privilege, it’s meant to remind us of his goodness, it’s to remind us to leverage our privilege and encourage us to not sit in ignorance but sit in utter gratefulness. 

 

As Fabi stoped speaking, he prayed, did some weird sort of dance that made our heavy hearts giggle, and then walked outside and put on those little, beat up brown shoes that he hasn’t replaced in decades, and suddenly I understood.