Mite and Mighty Giving

The true measure of a gift is the self-denial involved.

The widow who gave the two mites gave her all. Was it inspired and dedicated giving which we should emulate or foolish extravagance and showmanship?

A current-day “poor” lady contemplates giving compared to Biblical suggestions.

Cast: 1 (monolog)

Bible Reference: Mark 12:42

Set: standard

Sound: wireless mics if available

Song: none

Lighting: standard

SFX: none

Props: none

Costumes: standard

Special Instructions: none

Time: 7

Sample of Script:

(Actor comes on stage.)

Actor:
I am home!
How are you, husband? . . . Did you eat properly?
Yes, it was a busy day—a long day at the artisan’s market . . . But even so, a profitable day.
Today, I sold ten of my paintings, each for $35.
The most popular by far is the scene of the cabin by the mountain stream.
Folks seem to like that one.

Yes, dear, I remember when we visited that area near the mountains, before you . . . took ill.
One day, we will visit it again, when your health allows it.
Don’t talk like that—of course, you will get better! . . . Why, even today, I see more color in your cheeks, your eyes more clear.

I walked by the Queen’s House shelter on the way home.
So many homeless women and their children are in such desperate circumstances there, lost and alone.
I just can’t imagine what it must be like.
No home . . . No income . . . No one to support you.
Yes, I am truly blessed.
I have you.

Anyway, I know every penny we have is precious, but seeing the women and their children sitting there, hopeless and spent, I just couldn’t help myself—I went in and gave the receptionist $100.
I only intended to give her twenty when I went in, but . . .
There was this child—a little girl, about five, I would guess, but small for her age, skinny, undernourished, bruises on her arms and legs.
She said, “Lady, are you going to live here with us?”

I told her no, I have a home to go to, a husband.
And she said, “Did you come here ‘cause he yelled at you, beat you?”
I said my husband never yells or beats me.
She just kinda smiled and said, “Yeah, my Daddy told my Mommy the same thing—not to say anything to anyone or he would just make it worse for us.”

“But you can talk to me,” she said. “I ain’t gonna rat on you, I promise.”
I asked her about her brothers and sisters . . . she said the lady from Welfare took them away because of what her daddy had done to them.

My heart just broke for her.
So young . . . So hopeless.
What future?

Anyhow, I gave the receptionist $100.
I know we needed it here—after all, charity does begin at home.
But we have so much—I have so much.
It’s not much, but we do have your insurance . . . and I make out OK with my paintings.
But that little girl has nothing . . .
No money.
No hope.

As I left the shelter, walking home, I expected I would feel really good and, well, kinda self-righteous even.
Funny.
I felt cheap and callous and . . .
I couldn’t help thinking about what that little girl and her mom could have done if I had given all of the $350

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