A few days ago, while getting some work done in our neighborhood Starbucks, I realized it was being used as shelter for a drug deal. The two young men didn’t look well when I first glanced their way sitting down with my laptop and latte. Their clothes were relatively clean and fresh, unlike their faces, that had the worn look of one morphing into a drifter. One of them left, leaving seemingly without destination. The other picked up his flip phone and made a call mumbling something about where he was. In a few minutes a boorish-looking young woman came in and sat down and handed him some pills, trying to look discreet. He promptly popped whatever she gave him in his mouth, without so much as a sip of anything to wash it down. They didn’t seem to care that I was there, and I tried not to appear obvious as I observed the scene. The exchange complete, they chatted for a minute about a fight he was in earlier and she left.

The young man sat there, fidgeting with his beanie and looking at his phone for a few minutes and then walked out. I watched with sadness as he slinked down the sidewalk and met the friend who was originally sitting with him in the coffee shop. Who were those boys? What is their story? What ache was the drug taken to soothe? What demon was he trying to appease? When I see someone so fragile, I’m reminded of the incredible will to live inside of every person. When pain seems so great, and only a slightly less painful fix will satisfy, why does one go on living? This is mysterious. I’ve had a similar feeling meeting men and women in villages around Arsi Negele and Shashamene. I remember being stunned by the daily survival skills required by every single family. Millions of men and women throughout America work incredibly hard and long hours. Those people are typically well-rewarded for their work. Recently, our boys have gotten a kick out of watching Mountain Men on The History Channel. These gritty men and their families test harrowing living conditions in extreme locations throughout the U.S., surviving off whatever they can eat, grow, or make from the land. On the surface, their life shares some characteristics of those I’ve visited in rural Ethiopia, despite several key differences. First, the Mountain Men have chosen their path. In fact, many of them are the last in a long line of generations that lived off the land but have slowly migrated to cities and less earthy careers. The land is like a calling to them, a source of joy and sustenance. Families in rural Arsi Negele are essentially stuck. The risk of pursuing city life, at this time, is too great to leave their small Teff fields.

Additionally, the Men are rewarded generously through wisdom, ingenuity, and perseverance in the life they cultivate. What our friends in Ethiopia reap from their effort is not rewarding. Its enough to survive, but far from the thriving, vibrant life found in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina.

Which takes me back to my Starbucks junky. I’m assuming much about this young man but it’s not hard to guess where he’s headed. The desperation carved out on his far-too-withered-for-his-age face seemed destined for even darker days. What beyond another high is enabling him to live his days? For our Ethiopian friends who face daily challenges, devotion to family and fears of the unknown provide enough motivation to continue the monotonous farming life they always have. But what else?

The human spirit driving every man and woman is astonishing. Something inside every person compels them to get up and go every day, despite many opposing forces within and without. For some, the battle is easier than others. But, we still go on.

That drive that leads one to fry himself or others to work themselves to the bone for so little to show for it demonstrates the immeasurable value of human life. We are magnificent beings capable of incredible feats, even if the result is not much more than staying alive. The somber reality is that many are not living life as it was intended; they are “without God and without hope in the world.” Hope is possible without God, but it isn’t possible to be with God and without hope. And hope without God is temporary, at best. The surer our hope, the more alive we become. Our family’s joy in God and one another has overflowed into the hopeful pursuit of foster care. In fact, we cut our planned break from placements short just this week because we were ready to get back to the blessing of giving hope to a little one and her family.

In Ethiopia, we are committed to giving people the eternal hope of knowing Christ. But we want to instill a hope that enlivens men, women, families, and communities to experience more than meager survival. We hope to turn the fatalism and hopelessness that originally seemed to appear as laziness, into energized and creative pursuit of their human potential.

This is life as God intended. This is abundant life.