I’VE long considered myself a relatively generous person.
Here in Atlanta, I carry around McDonald’s gift cards for encounters with homeless men and women, build Habitat for Humanity houses and donate 3 to 5 percent of our family’s annual income to charity. In short, I’m logical about my giving on United States soil.
But when I travel to developing countries, all that logic disappears. The expanded power of a dollar, combined with what seems like infinite need, creates so many situations in which no answer seems appropriate. I find myself feeling like either a deep-pocketed patsy or a skinflint.