'LL NEVER FORGET HER, THOUGH I'M NOT sure what she looked like. Her appearance has merged with a hundred other beggars. One day she is young, with a baby in her arms. She sits, squinting, under the hot Thai sun. Beside her is a white plastic bowl with only a few coins lying at the bottom. She looks desperate.

At other times there is no baby. No plastic bowl. No look of desperation. This time she's elderly-her outstretched arms withered, her face creased with too much sorrow, her dress faded to colorlessness.

It's About Me
Eventually I realize that the story is not about her at all. That's why I can't remember the details. The story is about a wide-eyed student missionary. She has come to Thailand to teach English. She yearns to make a difference. She is wearing a long flowery dress. In her hand she clutches a Styrofoam container of sticky rice and mangoes.

She had spent the entire morning dreaming about sticky rice and mangoes. The children were cranky. The fan was broken. Sweat had trickled down between her shoulder blades.

On her lunch break she caught a tuk-tuk to the market. She quickly bought the sticky rice topped with slices of golden mangoes-which all came with a minuscule bag of coconut milk. (Anyone who's tasted this Thai dessert can never forget it. It's exquisite.)

The student missionary sees the beggar. Their eyes meet. The student missionary's heart twitches. In a flash she knows she should give away the sticky rice and mangoes. She knows it in the same way that you know your mom's going to call you on your birthday. She looks at her watch. She doesn't have time to go back to the market. It's all or nothing. It's now or never.

Her stomach rumbles. She knows there's no food in the fridge. She sets her mouth, fumbles with her wallet, and drops a couple baht into the bowl. Then she walks briskly away-deeply ashamed.

I was, of course, that idealistic missionary. I don't remember eating the sticky rice and mangoes. I don't remember the taste. I don't remember the pleasure. I just remember that when push came to shove, I wasn't willing to make a sacrifice.

The Rich Young Ruler in Me
In the worst possible way, I can empathize with the rich young ruler. Here was a good kid-religious VP type, pride of the family, a guy who played with small children and would never, ever kick a dog. Here was the kind of guy that pastors long to have join their congregations. He was rich, charming, spiritual. But when push came to shove, he wasn't willing to sacrifice.

He had a lot more at stake than a Styrofoam container of sticky rice and mangoes. Jesus wasn't asking the rich young ruler to give away 25 percent of his money. (A bit challenging, but no problem for someone wealthy.) Jesus wasn't even suggesting 50 percent. (A sacrifice by most standards, but still doable.) Jesus was asking him to give away all his money. Now, that's a sacrifice! No wonder the road is narrow.

Making sacrifices is not easy. I think that's why I so often trick myself into thinking I'm making a sacrifice.

Sacrificing Ketchup
When I was young my parents worried about my health. I was a slender, picky girl who was always sick. We lived in postwar Uganda, and there weren't many food options. When I grimaced at the avocado on my plate, my mom's inevitable response was "Eat it anyway. It's good for you." That, and there was nothing else in the cupboard. (There were always avocados. We had six hopelessly robust avocado trees in our front yard.)

One day, tired of constantly hearing about my health, I decided to be proactive. I would dazzle my folks with my healthy food choices. The problem was, I still wasn't keen on munching avocados. I finally decided that I would give up something "unhealthy." The bag of candy sent by relatives, however, was not an option.

What I finally settled on was ketchup. My parents had bought a bottle on our most recent furlough. I'd never tasted ketchup before. It had a strange consistency. It had a weird look. It had a strange flavor. I could definitely give up ketchup.

I laugh now at my childhood "sacrifice." I laugh when I go into McDonald's and eat french fries without ketchup. I'm wiser now-I just don't like ketchup.

But am I really wiser? How often am I still sacrificing ketchup? For instance, I'm still routinely appalled at homelessness. On the subways of Korea I pass beggars on my way to the university where I teach. Always I pause to drop some change, occasionally a bill, into the beggar's bowl. I leave feeling good.

But the fact of the matter is-it doesn't impact me in any meaningful way. I'm not giving enough to miss the money. Nor do I miss the second it took me to do my "good deed." I can give without really sacrificing anything. Sadly enough, I have to admit that that's the way I like my good deeds. Simple, affordable, fast.

All or Nothing
I wonder how often we as Seventh-day Adventists play the substitution game and focus on appearances rather than reality. We give up meat and eat doughnuts instead. We won't wear earrings, but we buy portable CD players or expensive cars or adorable shoes. Wouldn't it be better to wear the jewelry and give more away, rather than confusing habit with sacrifice? (Of course, it is possible to do both.)

But I digress. I rant. I get scared of the very implications that the word "sacrifice" holds. Sacrifice means giving up everything. How much is everything? I don't think I even want to know. The word terrifies me. And I don't even have much.

No wonder it is so hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. The scary part is that by ancient Israeli standards the average American is rich, rich beyond imagination. And yet poverty is still rampant. I'm reminded of the grim statistic that 20 percent of the world lives on less than a dollar a day. And I'm eating expensive chocolate.

Perhaps giving away money is only part of the answer. Perhaps we need to give away some of our time as well. Perhaps we need to get personally involved. Perhaps we need to step out of our comfort zone.

Ultimately, that's what sacrifice calls for. It calls for going out of your way. It calls for stretching yourself in ways you never thought you could. Sacrifice is drastic; it's life-changing. It's what Jesus asked for; it's what Jesus did. And it's still the example we are to follow, even with treasures as simple as sticky rice and mangoes.

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Sari Fordham teaches English in South Korea. Her e-mail address is: sarikf@yahoo.com .