September is Blog Month at Compassion International, and this year’s goal is 3,160 children sponsored by September 30, 2013. As of September 17th, 1,747 children had been sponsored during blog month. Way to go! We’re well on our way to meeting the goal! As a Compassion Blogger, my goal is to share my heart for children in poverty and encourage others to change lives through child sponsorship. If you’ve ever felt called to sponsor a child, I strongly encourage you to take a leap of faith and check out all of the children waiting for a sponsor on the Compassion International website.

When you find yourself stuck, confined and defined by walls on all sides, trapped in places never meant to be your final destination, hope’s the only thing you really have. Hope’s the only thing you really need.

But sometimes you’re in so deep, so all alone, there’s no way you can do it on your own.

You’re desperate. Please notice, I’m barely treading water. Please notice, I’m not going to make it much longer. Please notice, I’m running really, really short on hope in here. Please notice, I need help!

And then…hope comes.

You realize hope’s not so much about being found as it is in actually being released, redeemed from this prison of hopelessness.

Hope picks you up. It carries you places you’d never have gone on your own. It tips you and turns you, and gently frees you to be who you’ve always meant to be. Hope reminds you that your temporary home is just that, temporary. And hope offers a promise greater than any other. Hope saves your life.

And so it goes for children living in extreme poverty. Hope’s long gone, barely detectable at best. Families, children barely treading the waters of life – clothes in threads, food a treasure sought daily, shelter a storm away from disaster, education a luxury, and just surviving’s a battle to be won.

Hope’s long overdue, but hope shows up.

It’s Compassion International who hears and answers battle cries of poverty around the globe. Their one and only duty, to provide a message of hope and a future for children and families living in extreme poverty. (And they do it well through their Child Survival, Child Sponsorship, and Leadership Development Programs.)

After the paperwork’s been filled, the photograph’s been shot, and months, often more than a year of waiting, hope shows up in the blessing of a sponsor.

A sponsor communicates hope through words scratched, paragraphs typed, paper gifts hand-selected.

I chose you.

You’re beautiful, precious in God’s sight.

Fly high.

Dig deep.

Dream big.

You can do anything.

If God made these awesome bugs, it’s a sure thing he got every detail right when he created you.

I can’t fix your hurts, but these bandaids might make them feel a little better.

I love you.

God loves you, and He has wonderful plans for your life.

Hope.

It comes through child sponsorship.

Hope’s power, it’s undeniable, life changing.

Child sponsorship through Compassion International has the power to set a child free from extreme poverty. For a lifetime.

I urge you to consider sponsoring a child, today. Visit the Compassion International website and check out all of the children waiting for a sponsor. You’ll be shocked at the number of children who’ve been waiting for a sponsor for a year or more. Once you see their sweet faces, you’ll want to lavish on them the hope they so deserve.

 Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.  Hebrews 10:23

Amy

September is Blog Month at Compassion International, and this year’s goal is 3,160 children sponsored by September 30, 2013! As a Compassion Blogger, my goal is to share my heart for children in poverty and encourage others to change lives through child sponsorship. If you’ve ever felt called to sponsor a child, I strongly encourage you to take a leap of faith and check out all of the children waiting for a sponsor on the Compassion International website!

Sweet girl.

You just turned two, all cute and cuddly in that Daisy California Fruit box. Grandma’s been canning cherries in mason jars, and you don’t know it now, but you’ll never forget those rows of canned goods in her basement.

But don’t get too cozy in that box.

You see, for a while, in fact, for way too long – life seems best in that box.

You do as you’re told. You do what’s best. You obey and you listen and you stay right in that box on the straight and narrow path.

You’re a good girl.

But after a while, sweetheart? Staying in that box, doing what you’re told, doing what’s best becomes a game of people pleasing. And you’ll never win.

You’ll find yourself stuck in that box, and you’ll want to break free. You’ll want to tear it to shreds or cut it up into tiny pieces or just throw the whole thing out the door. And you won’t be smiling anymore either, little one.

The voices will tell you –

Do what’s right.

Do what’s best.

Do what everyone wants you to do.

Do what you think everyone wants you to do.

Stay in. the. box.

Whatever you do. Do not get out of the box.

But if you listen to those voices? If you let them rule you, guide you? God’s call on your life will be drowned out. You won’t be able to separate His voice from theirs.

So little one, step out. It’s ok. It really is.

Take my hand. Take His hand. Let Him guide you, and forget the rest.

Because His plans, His purpose for your life is out of the box, off the beaten path.

Your heart will beat louder, your smile will beam longer, your days will be brighter – if you trust, and step right out.

Millions of children around the world find themselves in the box of extreme poverty. Bound, constricted, limited – because of their circumstances. Seemingly stuck for a lifetime.

Wondering where the next meal is going to come from.

Sleeping on dirt floors with nothing more than a tattered blanket and flattened box for a bed.

Drinking dirty water, diseased, plagued with diarrhea and malnutrition, no medical care in sight.

Education a luxury, expensive, inaccessible.

And hope? Some days, it’s barely detectable.

But all it takes to help ONE child step out of the box of extreme poverty is ONE open heart. ONE individual, ready, willing to take a leap of faith and say YES to child sponsorship. By sponsoring a child through Compassion International, you help ONE child leap into the promise of hope waiting for him, for her.

Thousands of children are still waiting for a sponsor. Let’s rally around Compassion International’s goal and get 3,160 children sponsored this month!

And one little reminder – you don’t have to sponsor all 3,160 children.

You’re called to sponsor ONE. Or maybe ONE more.

So sponsor a child today. I promise you won’t regret it. The blessing you’ll receive will far outweigh any monthly cost, and you’ll rest easy knowing you offered your hand to a child in need.

But Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.” Luke 18: 16

Amy 

I’ve held one belief close for years.

{{Moms, lean in, this is for you.}}

We’re far too isolated in America.

Few have heard me mention my ideal alternative as if I’m joking, but truth is, I’m not joking at all.

On my worst of days, my most stressful days as an American mom, this is my desire. I’d like to be transported to another time, another civilization, where modern day expectations are blown to shreds, where I can live a simple life and it’s never questioned, not once. I’d like my husband to wake up and head out for a long day with the tribesmen. They hunt and gather, and as the day draws to an end, they come back with dinner in hand. While the men are gone, the women gather – weaving and braiding, cooking and preparing household things – together. We wear babes on cloth slings and the kids play all day. There’s no fighting, no comparing and no tattle-tale word slinging, just playing and running, singing and dancing. We gather over women as they labor, sing and love on them when they’ve lost their way. And we’re all dirty, like dirty beyond anything you ever see in America, and we don’t even care. Grandpas and grandmas, great aunts and great uncles, they’re wise constant-present council, and there aren’t cliques but community. There’s no comparing mini-mansions and mobile homes because we all live in huts so it really doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, there’s a fire where stories of old are told, the passing of one generation’s best to the next.

But I’m bound to my American life, and let’s be honest moms. This other world civilization isn’t happening anytime soon, unless, that is, we’re willing to sell everything, move to a deserted island and start our own tribe.

In the meantime, I’ve opened my eyes to this isolated American mom phenomenon…

Young mom, I saw her at Taco Bell. It was early for lunch, anyone would admit, but hey, when you’re mom it’s never too early for lunch and I had my three there too. She had two tinies in tow, a toddler and preschooler, and I couldn’t get over how angry she looked. While tinies babbled and chatted, she sat, fist balled up under her chin, looking out the window, eating her taco. Truth be told, it seemed she just wanted them out of the way. She just wanted to get this meal thing done, she was passing time. Her mind was somewhere else, and wherever that angry place was, it never let her go.

Then there was mom after swimming lessons. I saw a bag on the ground, just outside the exit to the parking lot, and wondered whose it was. A moment later, I heard this mom yelling “3-2-1 if you don’t pick up your stuff and come I’m gunna leave and go to the car.” Her anger escalated quickly, and I’m talking very quickly. I listened in discreetly as I walked with the kids to the car and got them in their seat belts. Mom managed to get her kid to the car, but by that time, she was beyond angry, at her wits end, raging. Kid was crying, mom yelled “If you don’t stop crying, I swear to God I’m gunna spank you.” And all of this in a parking lot. She was beyond caring what anyone thought.

Last was mom in Office Max. I was next in line behind her, she was hard to ignore. Mom questioned the $91 charge that remained after her $10 coupon. She was arguing with the cashier, but something was off, she was despondent, far off. Her responses were delayed, the cashier did a double take because mom wasn’t responding the way she should. Baby was in the cart calling “mama mama mama mama” repeatedly while the other three stood, waiting politely. I thought she might smile as she bid the cashier farewell, or maybe she’d even crack a smile when she realized her baby was still calling “mama mama mama” But no. She remained emotionless. She picked up her tiny bag, turned away, and abruptly told her children “go, go.” I smiled gently and looked into her eyes as she passed, but still, no response.

Do I share these stories because I like to hyper-analyze, criticize fellow moms, and point out their worst moments? Not so much.

You see, I’m no different.**

In my over-busy, beyond-stressed and way-too-isolated American life, I’ve had my own fair share of moments. Not exactly like hers nor exactly like yours, but uniquely mine.

Catch me any given day, and you might just find me stressed out. I’m talking the house is a mess and daddy left for work kind of Saturday. The sink is piled high with dishes, the TV’s on loud, and all I know is the kids need to eat something for breakfast. I break out the “good mom breakfast” of eggs, whole wheat toast, and milk, and the sink’s just piling higher. Kids are complaining that I’m taking too long, and the piled-high stack of mail and to-dos by the stove reminds me I’m inadequate to keep up with it all. One doesn’t have enough toast, the other needs more eggs, and the third’s got her sippy cup tipped over and she’s watching it drip all over the floor. By the time they all finish, I wipe baby’s hands, and sit down to my own breakfast, it’s time for more mess. Baby’s next to me on the floor, finger painting with the milk she dumped during breakfast.

Before I know it, they’re all three loving on each other in the chair. I breathe and I feel blessed, I’m grateful.

But then baby’s screaming, and they’re all over her, and she’s screaming even more.

And in that moment, I wish grandma or great auntie was upstairs or next door, I wish mamas were all around to wash up the mess so I could just eat, or maybe we could be transported to the hut with the dirt floor where the mess could just disappear deeper into the dirt.

I don’t have any great single solution to the isolation, anger, frustration, despondency, sadness, stress, or anxiety we sometimes face as moms, but here’s what I know.

This other-world community I long for has nothing to do with little, big or clean houses. It has nothing to do with being a stay-at-home mom or working mom. It’s not about doing life just right all on my own, and it’s not about proving I have it all together at all times.

It’s about community, it’s about grace, it’s about knowing beyond a doubt that this quote is true…

Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.

Let’s stand together as moms, for moms. Tend to others. Offer a helping hand. Give grace freely. Smile. Bend down low. Have faith that God’s in control and works all things together for your good. And breathe.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”  Matthew 11:28-30

Amy

 

**I do not approve of nor condone the behaviors of mothers I observed in this post. Mothering is hard business, and I do my very best to reserve judgement unless I know another woman’s situation intimately. I am simply observing and suggesting that mothers are far too isolated in our culture. Further, I am not suggesting the American mothering experience is all negative. There are, of course, many reasons why the positive aspects of parenting outweigh the negative. I am simply offering a glimpse of the other side of mothering that often goes ignored.

It’s a true honor to introduce you to Eva Piper, author of recently released A Walk Through The Dark. Eva is the wife of Don Piper who authored New York Times bestseller 90 Minutes In Heaven. In 1989, Don was in a significant head-on crash with an 18 wheeler. He was proclaimed dead on the scene, spent 90 minutes in heaven, and miraculously survived to share his account with millions worldwide.

Anyone who has experienced trauma knows it has a life-changing impact not just on the individual, but on family members as well. In her book, A Walk Through The Dark, Eva courageously shares her faith-filled journey as wife and caregiver following Don’s accident. Don had the privilege of spending 90 glorious minutes in heaven, but returned to find himself in excruciating pain, stuck in a hospital bed for months, and Eva was by his side every step of the way.

I read Don’s book, 90 Minutes In Heaven, and Eva’s book, A Walk Through The Dark, back to back, which I highly recommend as the books complement each other perfectly. One thing that struck me as I read each book was the powerful presence of a man named David Gentiles. David played a significant role in Don’s recovery after the accident, and was ultimately the one who convinced Don to share his story about heaven. I asked Eva to share more about David in this guest post, and consider it an absolute honor that she entrusted me with the sharing of this miraculous story today.

My husband had miraculously survived being hit head-on by an 18 wheeler on a rural Texas highway on January 18, 1989. It had taken 5 1/2 hours for him to finally arrive at Hermann Memorial Hospital in Houston. His right kneecap was shattered, his left arm had been lying on the back seat, four inches of femur from his left leg had been ejected from his body and thrown out of the car never to be found.

Those injuries were catastrophic themselves but now 17 days later we faced an even more dangerous situation. Following what was suppose to be a minor surgery he developed double pneumonia. Due to the massive injuries to his legs there was no way to elevate him in order to provide the needed breathing treatments. Don got worse and worse each day. The ICU staff, his doctors, and I tried our best to get him to attempt to breathe.

I found myself begging, pleading, yelling at him “Breathe, breathe you have to breathe.” Each time he would respond, “Hurts too much.” By the third day doctors were talking about putting him on a respirator. They told me that once he was on that his chances of survival were slim. I couldn’t believe God had brought him through the accident, the long trip to Houston, an all night surgery just to have him die from pneumonia.

I was exhausted from being at the hospital non stop. I kept questioning myself “Why can’t I get through to him? Why won’t he listen to me about how important it is to try and breathe?” In complete despair I took my fears to God. I began to pray, asking for God to help me know what to say to Don. I begged Him to give me the right words. I claimed His promise never to leave me. In the midst of the prayer I realized God had a different plan from the one I was seeking. I raised my head, walked over to the phone and called Don’s closest friend.

David Gentiles was living in Austin about 160 miles away. When David picked up the phone I told him all that was going on with Don. Before I could even form the question asking him to come to the hospital, David said “I’m on my way.” I thanked him and hung up the phone. Instead of praying for Don I began to pray for David and his safe travel.

Three hours later I looked up to see David walking down the hall towards me. His strong embrace said more than any words he could have uttered. Since David was a minister he was allowed into the ICU to see Don. I didn’t go in with him so I didn’t hear their conversation in person. I do know Don told David he didn’t have it in him to fight to survive to which David replied, “That’s alright. You don’t have to do a thing. We are going to pray you through this. We are going to pray all night.”

True to his word David gathered a group of believers who began an all night prayer vigil for my husband. The following morning Don’s breathing had improved. His doctors were thrilled with his progress and began to make plans to move his healing process along. It would require 34 surgeries to repair the damage to Don’s legs and arm. But they would not have been possible if his breathing had not improved.

Throughout the ordeal of Don’s wreck and recovery I was shown over and over that God always answers prayer. He answered my prayer that night not as I had asked but in His bigger and better plan. Because I was led to call David, and because David called others who prayed many had the experience of seeing our prayers answered. I’m so very thankful I didn’t try to do things my way but instead followed God’s guidance. His way is always best.

David continued to be an important part of our lives. It was David who realized Don had experienced something while lying dead in that crushed car and through his patient questioning helped Don share his remarkable experience. It was David who convinced Don to share his story of seeing heaven. It was David who co-officiated with Don at our daughter Nicole’s wedding. It was David who served as president of the board of Don Piper Ministries. It was David who prayed for my mom when she suffered a stroke. It was David who Don would call to talk baseball, football, ministry, life. David brought much joy, happiness, and love to all who had the privilege of knowing him. We miss him terribly. At times we still want to pick up the phone and call him. There is a big hole in our heart but we know one day he’ll greet us in heaven with that same big smile and huge hug.

Eva Piper

 

Eva’s book, A Walk Through The Dark, is available for purchase through many outlets listed on her website www.evapiper.com. Don’s book, 90 Minutes In Heaven, is available for purchase through Amazon and on his website Don Piper Ministries.

 

In February 2007, long before Pinterest boards existed, I created a vision board as part of a Whole-Life Coaching course offered at Lifetime Fitness which you can see has since been punched through and written on with pens by one of my kids. In case you’ve never heard of a vision board, it’s a way to vision your best, most ideal life through a collage of pictures. In other words, if all of your God-Sized Dreams came true, this is what your life would look like.

On one side of my vision board I pasted fanciful visions of cruise ships, mission trips, nightly family dinners, Pottery Barn bedrooms, and extraordinary health and wellness. On the other side, a God-Sized Dream bigger than life. And in the center of that vision? A  woman smiling kindly and genuinely, captioned We’ve never chatted at the grocery store, but I’ll help save your life.

While I don’t believe there was anything magical about pasting cut-out magazine pictures on a piece of foam board six and a half years ago, I do believe God creates us uniquely and places purposes in each of our hearts. If we follow His promptings one by one, our dreams can become reality.

We’ve never chatted at the grocery store, but I’ll help save your life.

That picture in the center of my vision was big and bold and it meant something to me in February 2007, but I didn’t know why. In August 2010 I joined Twitter, and three years later as I look at that board, I know without a doubt that part of the vision has been fulfilled, is being fulfilled, daily. That photograph represents the family of soul sisters and brothers I have found through Twitter – a family of bloggers, authors, and all kinds of extraordinarily ordinary people that have become my special place, my hiding place, the place where my heart feels known. Where facades are stripped and souls remain, speaking truths of reality and beauty from pain. We understand each other completely through the sharing and baring of words. And this place where words connect the world – is where I belong.

You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, known and read by everyone. You show that you are a letter from Christ, the result of our ministry, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts.  2 Corinthians 3:2-3

Amy