I had always thought that the economically poor lived outside the United States. Here in this country, we have opportunities everywhere, for anyone who wants them, I thought. Now, I look around at friends and family and think we almost have too much. Not that anyone I know is "rich" per se, but everyone seems to have TVs, VCRs, disposable incomes.

It's actually difficult to ferret out what is a luxury and what is a necessity. It bothered me in the past. So when I traveled, I deliberately sought out the poor. I talked with people, I volunteered with children, I gave money to organizations. Yet my concept of true poverty remained fixed in developing countries, outside the U.S.

A few years ago, I heard about an organization called Global Volunteers. I read their brochure about projects they were doing all over the world and I wanted to experience the "servant/learner" concept. Initially, I had my sights set on somewhere exotic-- Latin America, China, Spain. Still haunted by the thought of poverty and need here, I researched the service program in Arcola, Mississippi. As I was planning a trip through the South anyway, this site fit my agenda perfectly.

I was off to Arcola, Mississippi with Global Volunteers. The South-- gracious plantations, wrought iron fences and Spanish moss festooning the trees. The first hint that perhaps this was a misconception was when I couldn't locate Arcola on a map of Mississippi. King Cotton still reigns here though his power has been seriously undercut by imported cotton and doesn't provide much employment due to modern technology.

I don't think I realized how small a town could be. In a blink of an eye, I would have missed it. The dirt streets were lined with tiny homes made of corrugated iron, fiberglass, cement, even some chicken wire and cardboard. But the sound of gospel music danced an the autumn breeze.

Arcola, and nearby Greenville, are literally the cradle of truly American music-- blues, jazz and rock. Local juke joints still offer up world-class blues, rendered by musicians who bought their first harmonica for a quarter. Front porches, gas stations and community centers often host impromptu concerts featuring some of the best blues you ll hear anywhere.

I met the other volunteers at the city hall which vaguely resembled a recreation room. There we received our home assignments (volunteers stay with people of the community), our roommates and an orientation to the community and our building project. Small faces peered at us from doors and windows as we filed "home." I wasn't sure why we made such a curious sight, unless it was the fact that we may have been the only white people in town.

We helped teach classes in the school, coordinated after-school arts and crafts and activities, and helped to drywall the new city hall, a building of about 500 square feet. We shared smiles with the children and talks with townspeople. We heard about the struggle to put food on the table, work in cotton fields and the fight for human rights. We saw the successes in our little community and the failures. We saw the look of hope in the children and the weariness in the faces of the old.

There were many people in the community who were sacrificing to make the future better, and there were those who had given up and fallen into the despair of drugs. We were told that many people live on welfare because there is so little work. The work that exists is back-breaking and pays too little to support a family.

This in the country that I had always associated with unlimited opportunity. From this perspective, the dusty streets of Arcola are just as much a developing community as anything in Africa or Central America.

What I learned is that anyone can be successful if there is opportunity, but that opportunity is not as equally distributed as I had thought. I learned there is hunger in this country. There is oppression and inequality and hopelessness even though slavery was abolished more than a century ago.

But even more powerful, I learned about grace and goodwill. These people who had so little to give, gave with their whole hearts. They embraced the Global Volunteers. They fed us and housed us as if we were family. I remember one woman remarked that she could be in a kitchen with bare cupboards and she would cook up a feast. Feast we did. Everyday, someone brought us homemade goodies like fried catfish, okra or sweet potato pie. Everyday, people would stop to say "hello" and "thank you" and "we're all so glad you-all are here."

I will never forget my experience in Mississippi. My life was changed in such a short period of time. I realized I don't have to go far to find someone that needs my help. There are many people in my own country, in my own community, in my own neighborhood that need my time or energy.

More importantly, I learned that I received much more than I ever gave. I got love from people I didn't even know. I gained a perspective I couldn't possibly have gotten from a book, and learned lessons in courage and strength I will never learn at a university. We are not so different from one another. We all have hopes and dreams and a desire to contribute to the world in our own ways. By giving and learning about others, I learned that I was only giving and learning about myself.