Who am I, that I should be able to to sit on my front porch in a rocking chair and feel the breeze against my skin and hear the rustling of the leaves. I hear the birds call to each other, a dove cooing in the distance. Who am I? I have peace at home, a full stomach from dinner that I was able to make in my oven. Who am I? I have thriving kids and a thriving marriage. I have a church family that extends on and on. I have love and support on all sides. He has hemmed me in before and behind. Who am I? I am well aware that I am entitled to nothing. I have earned nothing. My father cares for me anyway. He loves me, anyway. I remember the "dump-people" in Tijuana Mexico. They were so grateful for a bottle of water and hotdogs wrapped in tortillas and ketchup. They have tent communities that people were born into. They will never know about the world that lay 5 miles outside of that community. They work tirelessly just to have the minimum requirements for survival. They don...