Today, it is an honor and pleasure to introduce you to my brothers and sisters in Haiti. Fellow human beings. Moms. Dads. Brothers. Sisters. Grandmas. Grandpas. Aunties. Uncles. Children. All of us, all of them, children of God. I am honored, their lives are honored by anyone who takes time to read this whole story. Unique in that it is the only blog post I’ve drafted completely on paper, much like a journal entry, and unique in that it is by far the longest post I’ve written besides the one about my sister. There are some stories I’m simply not willing to water down or skip over details for the sake of a reader-friendly 300-1,000 word blog post. This is one of those stories. In honor of Antonio.

I watched the sun rise over Haiti. It was Tuesday, October 16, 2012.

Our family was cruising on one of Royal Caribbean’s largest ships, Freedom of the Seas, stops at Haiti, Jamaica, Cayman Islands, and Mexico. Haiti, our first stop. Haiti, a port that especially piqued my interest when we booked. I first thought we could visit an orphanage where family friends have two babies they are adopting, only to discover the orphanage is across the island, not to be traveled in a short day. Then I thought we could sponsor a child and make a visit, only to discover that Royal Caribbean owns this private peninsula in Haiti known as Labadee, and doesn’t allow passengers to travel beyond the borders of that space for safety concerns. I’ve devoured blogs about Haiti – Ann Voskamp’s trip with Compassion International in July, this month the Help One Now bloggers in Haiti, Kristen Howerton had a little girl refer to her as “mommy” at an orphanage, a father tried giving his son to Duane Scott, Jen Hatmaker described a little girl sweeping the dirt floor. Those blogs made my heart hurt. I knew more than enough to know there was no way I was going to spend that day on a roller coaster or inflatable water toy in Haiti. We discussed and decided to forgo all shore excursions that day and instead sponsor a child in Haiti through Compassion International, spending all of our dollars at the market, directly in the hands of locals.

We got off the ship as early as we could, some of the first on the peninsula. We went all the way down to the end to the market, people begging us to come and see their items for sale. A hat for me and my daughter, bargained to $30 for the two, way overpriced (the ship sold similar hats yesterday for $10), but not worth further haggling considering what we knew about the need. A handmade sword for our son, and a mini painting, handmade easel and magnet for us. The man next door begging, pleading for us to visit, pointing out #4 on his tag. I told him we’d be back later.

Our two oldest kids’ first visit to another country and first time at the ocean, they were behaving like brats when we got to the beach that morning. I told them I was so sick of hearing them complain, I was going to write down what they said. “I hate this zipper.” “This is too rocky.” “This is the dumbest place ever.” ” Agh! I want to go to the market.” “All you guys do is sit.” “Wow mom.” With all seriousness, I reminded them that there are people on this island that might not have a thing to eat today, and they’re complaining about rocks and zippers.

My husband and I decided this was not working, so we would bring the kids back to the ship so they could partake in the day’s childrens’ activities. First, though, we were going back to the market. At first I thought the market trip might be rewarding bad behavior; now I know it was just what the kids needed.

This time, we went up on the right, past the colorful display of canvas. The first row of vendors, Max came out to greet, introduced himself, invited us in, “No obligation,” he said. “Come see. We are family.” We barely got in, plaques on the right at eye level carved with God Bless This Family and Jesus is My Boss. “You like these? Which one do you want?,” said Max. Sure, we’ll get one of these, I thought. Why not? Although I hadn’t a second to look at anything else. We bought the plaque and met the woman with Max, I can only assume his mother whose name I couldn’t understand, but she was warm and inviting and I gave her a hug and we bought a small square pot from her.

Next there was Margaret. She showed us dolls she sewed herself, oddly similar to ones we noted at Downtown Disney two days prior, only these black and red and white and so much more meaningful and authentic, ALL painstakingly hand stitched I noticed days later. We bought a doll and I took Margaret’s name. Her smile motherly and full of pride and joy over our love for this doll she had crafted.

It took me a while to realize and process that a man had taken our bag with plaque, doll, and pot, and was guiding us to his booth down the row. He offered to carve our name on the plaque we had purchased at Max’s booth. PEDERSON, on the back. He asked if we wanted anything else, showed us his wares. The kids, likely completely overwhelmed, had not a want for anything. “Sword?” said Derby. Already got that when we first arrived. Bracelet, Max had given us one. “Nothing? You don’t want anything?” Derby said. My heart broke. All I could keep thinking was my kids want for nothing, and it is possible this man might need for everything. To want for nothing, unimaginable. I find myself embarrassed for my children, our culture of excess, of everything all around. The look on his face when the kids wanted nothing will be seared on my heart forever. My kids wanting nothing might mean him not eating today, tomorrow. He was not just sad, he was disappointed, a devastated kind of disappointment. I could see it in his eyes. A reason for payment came to my mind – I paid him for carving our name on the plaque, thanked him generously, and left, many others calling. Looking back, I realize this moment was in a complete frenzy, another state, I was barely processing what was happening. We should have stayed longer at Derby’s place.

Jocelun led us to his place. He said in reference to my son “He is my friend. I like him.” and touched my son on the shoulder, all wrapped up in his cruise ship towel. Before I knew it, Jocelun had a necklace on my son, blue and white. Yes, we would buy. I asked for his name, I could not understand so he wrote. He scratched JOCELUN on my tablet. He said again to my son “I like you. You are my friend.” Tears streamed, overwhelmed. Jocelun wanted me to take another look. I told him I had promised a man down the row we would come back to visit. Only $2 left, I wanted it to go to this man and keep my promise. Jocelun realized I was serious and said “he’s a nice man, go” as he led me to the booth.

Wilfred was his name. Friendly man. Pots 2 for $5 he said. $2 accepted for 1 when I told him that’s all we had left. I took his name, shook his hand, big smile, clearly a warm and gentle heart.

Then, the floodgates opened. A crowd of Haitian vendors behind us, around us. One had somehow gotten my daughter’s small pot and carved her name on it with hearts. “I want you to remember me too. You come back and you see me.” Josias, the name he wrote on my tablet. I snapped a photo.

Another man approached, wanted to write his name on this tablet of mine. Leiys, I believe it was, barely intelligible. At this point, I realized I had stumbled upon something. These people were not only willing to share their names, they were eager. It meant something to them, more than I could grasp. They saw me writing their names on the little tablet of paper I brought in my bag and they wanted a place on that space. To be recognized, to be known, to be called by name. Isn’t that what we all want?

My husband, family, Royal Caribbean, and future cruise-goers will also be glad to know it was at this time I realized a security guard was close by, monitoring our interactions with the vendors, although I didn’t feel in danger, not even for a second. If I had felt in danger, we certainly wouldn’t have been there or stayed.

We went back to the woman with Max to find out her name. Between the two of them, they struggled to know each letter, silent glances to each other before each letter to verify that was truly the right way to spell her name, Almagor.

Returning to our spot on the beach, my husband took the kids so I could take a break. Stood for a while. This is no place to sit on the beach. Finally I sat. Looked down. I had forgotten the bag I packed at home to give to a local at this market. I looked through the photos I had taken of the vendors we just met at the market. Was the bag for one of these? Derby. The sadness in his eyes struck me. I processed the disappointment I sensed when the kids wanted for nothing at his booth. The bag was for him, his family.

Venturing back to the market by myself, I entered by Max. Max and Margaret and Almagor approached, others swarmed around. I explained I forgot I had this bag of clothes and was bringing it for Derby, 4 booths down. A man spoke definitively “I have a baby ma’am.” I had brought two receiving blankets and gave them to him. Margaret and Almagor hovering, nearly reaching in my bag, one of them said “I need something.” My hands could do nothing but take out each item and give to those who were asking. A dress for one woman, a dress for another, a shirt and skirt for Margaret, two bananas for a man. Margaret gladly took the bag, “I need this.” If I had only known, I would have brought another bag full, or two or three.

Then, more I didn’t anticipate. The others, swarming around to see if they could get just a piece from this bag that had been emptied and now was gone, started to tell me their names, their vendor numbers, what they needed. Too many to count, too many to even be able to notice, to process. I started writing.

Alfred, #22, clothes for a 7-year-old and 10-year-old.

Antonio, clothes for his 2-year-old son. I didn’t get his number. I wish I would have.

Jackson, #19A, he pulled me aside a bit to ensure I heard his need. Men’s pants, jeans, shirts, “anything.”

Reno, I had seen him earlier. He approached now again. “Remember me, Reno.” I wrote his name.

And Max. “Remember me. I’m the one that showed you here.”

Empty handed. Said I would do my best, but can’t promise. I remembered stories of Americans who promised they’d come back but never did. I didn’t want to be that person.

Before I left, those to whom I had given lavished me with smiles and gifts and gratitude. Bracelets, a hand painted shell, a small pot, and many “God bless you.”

Back to the beach. Husband and kids still gone. Looked up. Looked around. Still no time to sit. Walked the beach a bit. A mom rushing on the shore and so mad at her kids, a man’s fat belly, sunbathing, buffet being set. Did they know the need just beyond the arches in the market, beyond the fence that bound us in and them out? A Haitian man raked a patch of sand back to perfection.

As I thought and moved about, I was especially concerned about this man, Antonio, who needed clothes for his 2-year-old son. I knew I had none. I’d have to leave him empty handed, hopes dashed, or search and make a plea to some random mom. We were at the beach, a distance from the ship; a mom would have to give the clothes off of her son’s back or go all the way back to the ship to suitcases. This was my journey that day, not some other mom’s journey, or was it? I was confused, torn. Search for a mom with a  2-year-old  boy (there weren’t that many) and ask them to surrender part of their day vacationing with their family to meet the needs of a man I had met at the market? I couldn’t bring myself to ask even one, but kept thinking of the moms at home and how they’d all give the shirts off their sons’ backs for this toddler in need. Kept thinking of the boxes of clothes I had sitting in our basement. I didn’t even ask one mom. Two worlds collided. The reality I saw on one side, the reality I saw on the other. Could the two connect today? Was I telling myself truth that people wouldn’t want to know or didn’t care or just wanted to enjoy the beach? I think, I hope, my beliefs were flawed that day.

I do knot know. I still do not know. Not asking a mom still one of my regrets 10 days later. Why was I afraid to open eyes and hearts on that beach? Why not just one? Has a distrust of human kind grown in my heart? Why do I believe strangers want to sit on the beach in oblivion more than they want to meet someone’s most basic of needs? What does it say about my character that I assume such things about others and I didn’t even ask one? Didn’t Jesus say that whatever you do for the least of these, you do for me? Was I only partially fulfilling this command rather than wholly by my unwillingness to ask on behalf of someone in need?

Husband and children returned, I explained what I had done, listed the needs, my uncertainty about the 2-year-old clothing. My husband supported the kids and I going back to the ship where we had more. Somewhat close, but not a quick trip. Tram, lines, security, and a long, hot pier.

A pile of clothes for Alfred, a men’s outfit for Jackson, a pile of fruit for Antonio, the very least we could do in lieu of clothes for his son. (I have notable regrets about not getting more on that ship. We should have come back all hands loaded, bags and bags overflowing. Again, some of this was mere lack of time to process it all.) Security noticed all that fruit at the bottom of the bag and made us drop it in a plastic bin before we deboarded. Almost in tears, knowing I would now return empty handed to Antonio, no clothes, no fruit, nothing, I obeyed. A woman standing by said “you never know if you’re doing the right thing, do you?” Little did she know. Even my daughter knew this was bad.

We headed straight for the market. The buffet had been served while we were gone, and my husband was sitting at the beach. I was feeling a tear between these two worlds, again. Wanting, needing to help these people, knowing there was much to be done, yet also cognizant of the fact I was on vacation, precious hours together as a family, now ticking away, only a couple hours before we had to be back on the ship.

We approached. They swarmed immediately. I don’t even know how many, just swarms. So much, so fast, so overwhelming, so difficult to process it all. Alfred, Antonio, Jackson, Max, Reno and all the others were there. Alfred pulled me aside to his booth. I gave him the bag of kids clothes, he smiled, seemed satisfied.

Then Reno was there – I had seen him twice now, he told  me his name and then said “remember me,” but I became keenly aware  at that moment that “remember me” meant something much different to Reno than me. I remembered Reno, I noticed him and would remember him beyond this place, but he wanted me to remember him because he needed to be seen, he needed something and needed that to be remembered, wholly acknowledged, tended to, acted on. I hadn’t brought anything for Reno. All I could do was give him the shirt I brought for Jackson. After all, something would be better than nothing. I gave it to him, apologizing that’s all I had. He took and said “God bless you.”

Then Antonio – oh Antonio. “You remember me, I need clothes for my son.” I explained we had no clothes small enough and we tried to bring a lot of fruit for him, but security wouldn’t let us bring it off the ship. “I’m so sorry,” I said.

I felt so disregarding to Antonio’s unmet needs when I was pulled away by Jackson. He wanted to know what I had for him. Shirt to Reno, now all I had was a pair of shorts. They looked big for Jackson. I asked if he had a belt, he did. It will work.

And there was Max. “You have anything for me? I told you to remember me too.” Yes, of course I would always remember him, but I did not know he too intended me to remember him with something, anything tangible that he needed. “I have a son,” he said. He glanced at my backpack, I took it off and looked in. My husband’s shorts and a belt he was wearing that day, my son’s shorts and  refillable bottle of Pepsi leaking out. My son’s shorts – I had asked him on the ship if I could give those to the children in need. “No,” he said, “they’re my favorite.” “And the shirt,” I asked?” He was wearing both today, both his favorites. Two worlds collided, again. To honor my son and keep our trust, or take the the clothes off my son’s back and teach him our call to give to those in need? Could my son really process that he was giving up his favorite shirt and shorts, the ones he was wearing today, for a child he couldn’t see? Doubtful, but I was still unsure. Max clearly wanted the shorts and I even began lifting them out of the bag for him, but a man overheard and said to Max “don’t push too far, it’s not good,” clarifying for Max those were the shorts my son was wearing today. This was humbling. It felt so wrong but a little right all at the same time. Right we were honoring my son and not taking the shorts right from under him, wrong another child’s need was going unmet. I honored the elder figure who urged Max not to push and closed my bag reluctantly. It all seemed so selfish. I could have, should have just handed over the whole bag. We would have done without for a couple hours.

People still swarming all around and we were on our way out of that row, hands empty again except for the backpack. Antonio made his way forward again. “You don’t have anything for me? I have a 2-year-old. I need clothes for my 2-year-old.” I couldn’t help but think later – Who imagines themselves begging a stranger for clothes for their child? What a horrible reality. I had to tell him again we don’t have little ones (pointing to my bigger children) and how we had fruit but it was taken away. He clearly needed those clothes so bad. I told Antonio we had to leave soon, “I’m SO sorry.” NO words would suffice. “Good bye,” I said apologetically. “Good bye.” “I’m so sorry.” They wanted to know if I would be back. I said back to Haiti, probably not Labadee. “God Bless,” “Thank you,” is what I remember.

We returned to the beach. All were eating the buffet. My husband had been waiting, “perfect timing” he said. We talked about the people, what we gave, Antonio’s need for his son. My husband reminded the children that we can’t possibly help everyone, but we can hep some, and that is what we had done today. We ate, I almost became sick looking at the food, contemplated not even taking any, thinking of all the people so near in so much need. I took a burger, some fruit, an extra hot dog and two extra bananas. The hot dog I passed to a man in a band playing by the eating area, bananas later to a man lingering behind a bar near the pier, quiet desperation, waiting on survival.

I took a moment to quiet myself after lunch and enjoy the remaining moments for what they were. The beach was already clearing.

I kept thinking of Antonio still in need and how I dashed his hopes, Max, Derby too. I wanted to go back, but I was needed here now, and anything but clothes for their children would be such a consolation prize.

My children made a sand castle. A circle of castles, one in the center. I didn’t notice its beauty and symbolism until it was complete. Two clearly imperfect, my son pointed out to my daughter “those are horrible.” My daughter tore them down plus two more. Frustrated she could not fix them and make them perfect, I said quietly “Try. It won’t be perfect. Just try.” She remade all four and the creation was better than it was before. Better, not perfect.

None of this makes perfect sense to me, but as I watched the sun rise on the ship days later, still overwhelmed and tearful about the unmet needs, I realized God is in control, God has a design in mind, a bigger plan. And I want to be part of it. This? This solidified in me the desire to come back to Haiti. To do God’s work here. I have unfinished business here. My mind has already been working, dreaming up ideas, and something very specific already blazed its way to the front of my mind a day after we returned. I did notice, and I will remember.

Some day I hope to meet all of these sisters and brothers in heaven, and I will tell them I wanted to do more that day, and we will dance, and all will be well and all the injustice will be wiped clear.

And to the critics online that say the vendors in Labadee “virtually attack,” are “aggressive,” “hovering,” and “pushy.” I wish they could experience even an inkling of truth about the people of Haiti so they would realize that “aggressive” means I really desperately need something. “Hovering” means I want you to notice. “Pushy” means I really, really need something now. Please. “Virtually attack” means I am so desperate I just need you to see me, remember me, I am a person just like you and I need so much and you have no idea how bad it is.

As for my children…they were transformed after that second visit to the market. We never brought them back to the ship for childrens’ activities. They stayed with us all day and were delightful, never again complaining. Maybe it is service that heals selfishness? After the market visit, from my daughter “Mommy, Haiti’s a nice place.” Then later she had another realization “Mom, after this we turned good. It feels good when you’re nice to others.” And hours later, “This is going to be a big remembery for us, isn’t it?” Yes it is. Yes it is.

Our family took the path less traveled back to the ship. A little platform overlooked the ocean. The ship, man-made beauty. The ocean, God’s beauty. A small boat filled with market vendors and other employees from Haiti on their way back to the village placed it all in perfect perspective. My husband noted, the boat was named “Thank God.”

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’  Matthew 25:35-40

Amy

September is Blog Month at Compassion International. As a Compassion Blogger, my goal is to share my heart for children in poverty and encourage others to change lives through child sponsorship.

This is the last week of Blog Month. As of this afternoon, 715 children still needed sponsors if we are to meet Compassion’s goal of 3,108 children sponsored in just 30 days!

Together, we can change the lives of children in poverty! If you have ever felt called to sponsor a child through Compassion International, I strongly encourage you to take a leap of faith and click here for more information.

This week, I gave my seven-year-old daughter an opportunity to step into the shoes of a child waiting for a sponsor. She whole-heartedly agreed, so we looked through the Compassion website for a special little girl that tugged at her heart. We found a sweet three-year-old from Bolivia named Alejandra.

I told my daughter she should write about how she would feel if she was Alejandra, and gave her four writing prompts.

1) How do you feel?

2) What are you scared of?

3) What do you need?

4) What do you wish for?

This evening, I humbly introduce you to the “voice” of three-year-old Alejandra as written from the perspective of my seven-year-old daughter. 

I feel sad and lonely.

I am scared of robbers and storms.

I need food and friends.

I wish for sun and rainbows.

It’s as simple as that. Little Alejandra is still in need of a sponsor. For more information about Alejandra, click here. Imagine how much love and hope Alejandra will feel when she gets a sponsor!

These are the final days of Compassion’s Blog Month, and hundreds of children are still waiting for a sponsor. Let’s rally around this goal and sponsor those remaining 715 children! 

One last call (for now!)…if you want to sponsor a child through Compassion International, click here!

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 

September is Blog Month at Compassion International. As a Compassion Blogger, my goal is to share my heart for children in poverty and encourage others to change lives through child sponsorship. This is week number three of Blog Month. As of Monday, 1,515 children in poverty had been sponsored this month! 1,593 sponsorships are left to meet Compassion’s goal of 3,108 children sponsored in just 30 days. Together, we can change the lives of children.

If you feel called to sponsor a child through Compassion International, click here.

It was an odd week of anxiety and inspiration for me. Late Tuesday night, in the midst of swirling thoughts related to stress and anxiety I was experiencing about things done, things undone, and things that needed to be changed, I had inspiration for a blog series titled “Meet Me At This Moment.” I have a plethora of thoughts going on in my brain at any moment in time, and I thought it might be interesting to share glimpses of those thoughts with my readers! I have also been getting acquainted with a wonderful group of bloggers that meet on Twitter every Thursday night and write a blog post for Five Minute Friday centered around a single topic, all in just five minutes. I need a regular outlet for processing and expressing my thoughts, and also need to work on writing (and living) without editing myself so much, so I thought Five Minute Friday and Meet Me At This Moment would be a perfect pairing!

So…here goes the start of what I’m hoping will be a new series on this blog, Meet Me At This Moment on Five Minute Friday. In the words of Lisa-Jo Baker, creator of Five Minute Friday, “We write for five minutes flat,” this is “Unscripted. Unedited. Real.” The word of the week is WIDE.

(And if you’re wondering how all of this ties in with Compassion International, just be patient, you will see!)

READY, SET, GO…

My life is way too wide at this moment. Too much stuff, too much to do, too much on my plate. Why am I to lead a life of wide? Three children to love, clothe, feed, educate, support. A husband to love, a marriage to nurture. A private practice that will balloon out way too wide if I let it. Always keeping things under control. The wideness will not stop. Dishes everywhere, crumbs, spots on the floor, laundry spewing, clothes unfolded, beds unmade, finger marks all over the fridge, water stains on the walls of the kitchen, remnants of fast food in the car, this show and that show to watch, books piled up everywhere, unread or partly read. A blog I so desperately want to use to widen my reach, open wide my thoughts and my feelings, open wide the stories of so many awesome people God has placed in my path.

Yet, the anxiety is wide. My thoughts race as I try to grasp it all, grasp any of it. I am torn this way and that, which thing to do first, will it all ever get done, will I ever have time to do it all? Should I even be doing it all? Which of it is worthy, which of it is not?

Then it is all put in perspective. I’m making macaroni and cheese and apples and caramel dip and milk and salad and tomatoes for my children, and my husband is gone on a three day business trip and I’m trying to participate in a tweet chat with the Compassion Bloggers. Here I am in my stress, moving this way and that way, my anxiety of this first world, preparing what is really a banquet feast for my children. All of my stresses really a blessing, I’m on my smart phone with an unbelievable group of people and all for Compassion International. What is the purpose, what is the point? We are all gathered to work together for children in poverty, children in need, families in need? What is the purpose, the point? I have a voice, the children do not. All the excess, the wide expanse that is my life, is all so narrow for someone else. For the little child in poverty, life is narrowed, the wide life completely unknown. All the wide open and available, if only the resources available. I can be that voice, in my wideness, I can provide for someone in the narrow. Even if it is just my voice. My wide expanse of a life can be narrowed to make someone else’s life wider.

STOP. (Well, good for my first try. I wrote for 8 minutes!)

If you would like to sponsor a child through Compassion, click here!!

On a related note, Compassion is having a Pinterest contest this week! The contest runs through Monday, September 23rd, so you still have three days to participate! Every contest entry gives you a chance to win a $25 or $100 gift for your sponsored child! Here is the rundown. If you want full details, click here.

1. Create a Pinterest board titled “My Sponsored Child.”
2. On the board you create:

• pin the image in this post and associate the following link with the pin:
  compassion.com/my-sponsored-child.
• pin any one of the following and tag this second pin with #mysponsoredchild.
  • A photo of you and your sponsored child together.
  • A photo of you with a letter from your sponsored child.
  • A photo of you holding a photo of your sponsored child.
• pin anything else you want that is relevant to your sponsored child or Compassion.

Once you have created your board, share the URL with Compassion International, along with your contact information, using the form at the end of this blog post.

You will receive one contest entry for every repin your “Pin It for My Sponsored Child” pin receives.

You can also enter the contest by sponsoring a child via compassion.com/my-sponsored-child during the contest period. You will receive 30 contest entries for each child you sponsor.

Amy

 

September is Blog Month at Compassion International. As a Compassion Blogger, my goal is to share my heart for children in poverty and encourage others to change lives through child sponsorship. This is week number two of Blog Month. Last week, 837 children were sponsored! 2,271 sponsorships are left to meet Compassion’s goal of 3,108 children sponsored in just 30 days. Together, we can change the lives of children.

If you feel called to sponsor a child through Compassion International, click here for more information.

 

Dear God, Heavenly Father:

All of humankind is reflected in your beautiful creation.

Every single one imperfect, but all together perfect in you.

You work one at a time, delicate lives hanging in your promise.

The wild, it comes, but your plans are already underway.

We are blown by the wind, this way and that.

Dead and alive among us.

Old remnants of beauty wait for your joyful return.

We can’t help but hear your whisper.

We need our dried up days, our dried up hearts to be softened by you.

Our hands reach out, you are the roots, we are the branches.

There are pricks, there are pokes, yet all is so beautiful. Sometimes we don’t know what we need, Lord.

You cover all wrong.

We lie, broken nothingness from the battle, awaiting your glory.

Borders and boundaries restrict, fire destroys and ash remains. You know no borders and promise beauty for ashes.

Some push and pull and grow up in spite of earthly limitations, only because of you.

Sometimes as one, standing alone for what’s right, knowing your light is needed.

Even the rugged, the worn down bend in the way of your light and grace.

The colorful, unafraid to stand alone, hope amidst chameleon green and brown.

The quiet ones, bowed down waiting on you.

The straight and narrow ones, all in a row, working to fill the cracks in your name.

The ones full of fruit, bearing witness to your Spirit.

The little ones, delicate dancing beauty freed in your presence.

The nails, bent down this way and that way, remind us of your sacrifice.

Arms lifted high, our lives sing a song of surrender to you.

All filled with imperfection, we gather others imperfect, surrogates for you, and you bundle us up tight in your perfect grace. The imperfect are perfected in you.

In all of this, we await your glory, loving in your name.

Lord, come and be in the middle of our brokenness, our ruggedness, our worn down lives. The pricks and pokes and weeds, the imperfections everywhere, the wildness and brokenness, the loneliness and all these remnants.

Take our hearts and mold us to be like you.

Show us the way.

Lead us to the precious little ones, delicate buds lifting high, reaching across all hopeful, waiting.

All connected, all one in you.

Sponsor a child through Compassion International, and change a life.

To find out more about child sponsorship, click here.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Matthew 5:3-10

Amy

Today, it is my duty and delight to introduce you to precious children who are so patiently waiting for a sponsor through Compassion International.

A few weeks ago, I shared with you my journey to child sponsorship through Compassion International. I believe God placed in me a heart for child sponsorship since I was a child. Now that I have finally taken the leap of faith and answered that call on my life, I am no longer willing to stand by silently, just hoping, just assuming the rest of the children will be taken care of by someone else.

The care of children in need should not be assumed. The health and well being of children is not something we should leave in the hands of that nebulous, unnamed someone else. The care of children around the world is my duty, my delight. Our duty, our delight. Deep in my heart, deep in my soul I know I can do something, I want to do something, I must do something. In fact, I believe God calls each one of us to do something.

The children of Compassion did not choose where they were born, nor the set of circumstances they face every day. They are hungry and need clean water, they love and want to be loved, care and want to be cared for, they have desires and longings and will thrive given the right opportunities, and were created in God’s image just like you and me.

I will no longer sit back and let these children go unnoticed. I commit to acting as an advocate for the children, so they have hope of a future beyond their circumstances.

As a Compassion Blogger, I stand up on behalf of the children, revealing their faces, telling their stories, humbly but boldly voicing their needs.

I challenge you not to get lost in the sea of photographs, feeling hopeless or overwhelmed, but to look into the face of each precious child and simply ask yourself if you feel called to sponsorship.

There are thousands of children waiting for a sponsor. It is my prayer that if you feel a call on your heart to sponsor a child, you will take that leap of faith sooner than I did. There are parents hoping and praying, children who have been waiting months for a sponsor, children whose life line is child sponsorship.

 

 

Children waiting for a sponsor, like beautiful little Fatoumata Cisse. Fatoumata lives in Burkina Faso. She is five-years-old and has been waiting for a sponsor for 403 days. She lives in an AIDS-affected area and lives in an area with higher risk of exploitation and abuse. Fatoumata is not presently attending school.

If you feel called to sponsor Fatoumata Cisse or prefer to search Compassion’s database of children waiting for a sponsor, click here.

 

 

 

 

 

Children waiting for a sponsor, like sweet Makendy Terasmon from Haiti. Makendy is seven-years-old and has been waiting for a sponsor for 281 days. Makendy’s duties at home include carrying water and gathering firewood. The Compassion website states “He is also in primary school where his performance is above average.”

If you feel called to sponsor Makendy Terasmon or would like to search Compassion’s database of children waiting for a sponsor, click here.

 

 

 

 

 

Children waiting for a sponsor, like little Jenelleden Daylosan from the Philippines. Jenelleden is four-years-old and has been waiting for a sponsor for 310 days. She lives with her aunt and uncle and there are four children in the family.

If you feel called to sponsor Jenelleden Daylosan or would prefer to search Compassion’s database of children waiting for a sponsor, click here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Children waiting for a sponsor, like Sachin Vital Kodape from India. Sachin is nine-years-old and has been waiting for a sponsor for 241 days. According to the Compassion website, Sachin’s duties include carrying water, cleaning, and buying or selling in the market.

If you feel called to sponsor Sachin Vital Kodape or prefer to search Compassion’s database of children waiting for a sponsor, click here. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Children waiting for a sponsor, like precious Vivian Asamoah from Ghana. Vivian is four-years-old and has been waiting for a sponsor for 371 days. There are six children in Vivian’s family. She helps by running errands, and running is her favorite activity.

If you feel called to sponsor Vivian Asamoah or would like to search Compassion’s database of children waiting for a sponsor, click here.

 

 

 

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ Matthew 25:35-40. 

Amy

*Photographs and information about the children used with permission from Compassion International.