On this trip to Egypt, the beggars were the ones who gave

A world traveler was used to beggars. What he hadn't counted on was the lesson these two taught him.

from the August 3, 2007 edition

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After they finished, I reached into the bag and pulled out the cookie, extending it for them to take. Both boys fell silent now, and tears welled up in their eyes as they insisted this was too much.

They refused the cookie six times.

I knelt down beside them, looked into their eyes, and marveled at what was before me: two destitute boys who asked only for what they needed, unwilling to take a crumb more.

Still on my knees, I spoke with the same sincerity with which they had refused the cookie. "Please," I said, "take this cookie. It is yours now, not mine."

And on this seventh attempt, after a long and silent pause, they held out their hands and took the cookie.

I had seen many wonders in Egypt – the Pyramids, the Aswan High Dam, the temples of Karnak, the Valley of the Kings, the treasures of King Tut. But it was this scene outside Hardee's that left me truly awestruck, for here I found people who, amid their grubby poverty and outcast existence, taught me – a "rich man" from the West – a lesson I've long remembered.

The events of that night are now in the past, but there are moments when I'm transported back to that empty square and to the earnest faces of two boys who, upon receiving a simple burger, took to praising God and to praising me.

I'm reminded of them, for example, when I hear again the story of a Pharaoh whose heart was so hardened that he ignored the desperate cries of his kingdom's Hebrew slaves. The slaves longed for wholeness, for the easing of their burdensome yoke, but the Pharaoh did not listen to their cries.

The story of Pharaoh reminds me of the two boys not only because both events were set in Egypt but also because, in the Pharaoh, I see something of myself. The imperfect heart, which so often fails to incline itself to the cries of those around us, isn't just a problem for ancient kings; it seems to be a chronic ailment of the human condition.

Similarly, the ones who cry for help are not just ancient slaves read about in the pages of a book; they are people we come upon even in the routine of our lives.

And this is why, five years later, I still ask God's blessings for those two Egyptian boys. I pray as sincerely as they had for me, remembering that while they had nothing material to give, they had given me something greater: an awareness of my spiritual poverty and a desire for a softer heart.

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