In the quiet of a Saturday morning, before the rest of the family was downstairs, I opened my email. Compassion International was at the top of the inbox. The message had just arrived. I might as well have struck gold. They were looking for volunteers to help obtain child sponsorships at the Michael W. Smith and Third Day concert in St. Paul the following Saturday – six to work the table and 30 to work the concert aisles.

In the quiet, I sent an email to my son’s basketball coach. Within the hour, I received notice that his tournament was miraculously moved from Saturday to Sunday, which freed me to attend as long as I had my husband’s blessing.

In the quiet, my husband said yes.

In the quiet, as concert goers arrived, volunteers took sponsorship packets out of boxes and placed them neatly on a table.

In the quiet, four of us stood next to the Compassion International banner, listening to comedian and Compassion child advocate share about his trips to visit his sponsored children in El Salvador and Africa. During his trip to El Salvador, he asked his sponsored child’s mother what her hopes and dreams were for her child. She didn’t have any hopes and dreams for her child other than having food to eat every day.

In the quiet, Zac, a young boy, 14, maybe 16, approached the table. His eyes were sparkling, his smile contagious. He held a sponsorship packet in his hand and wanted to know how he should proceed. Mom stood close behind, her eyes welling with tears. He came back later and handed me a completed sponsorship packet, his smile, big as ever.

In the quiet, a woman asked if we had a child whose birthdate was March 15th. I grabbed a stack of sponsorship packets and started down the pile. March 15th was 5th from the top. Of 365 possible dates, March 15th was 5th.

In the quiet, an older couple shared their sponsorship of 12 children. They’ve visited many of their sponsored children and refer to them as sons and daughters.

In the quiet, a gentleman approached the end of the table and handed me three completed sponsorship packets.

In the quiet, I couldn’t help but notice Blair. He spent an unusual amount of time looking through packets, and missed the first 15 minutes of Michael W. Smith’s performance because he was determined to find children from Ecuador. After a long search, he found two. He apologized out loud for not being able to sponsor additional children as he placed their packets back on the table.

In the quiet, a pregnant woman and her husband searched diligently for a child the same age as their own. They were inquisitive and had never done this sponsorship thing before, but they were excited, all in, together. When they found that special someone, mama-to-be glowed like she’d just birthed her own.

In the quiet, as he scanned the table of sponsorship packets, I uttered “let me know if there’s anything special you’re looking for.” He looked again, with astonishment and humility, at all of the children. “How incredible it is that every single one of these children are in need,” he noted.

And it was true.

In the quiet, after everyone returned to the concert, I stacked the childrens’ photographs in neat little piles. And as I did that, I couldn’t help but realize these were real live human beings, real children, God-breathed individuals with hearts and souls, a million times more precious than a photograph and sponsorship packet could ever convey.

In the quiet, I slipped open the black curtains and walked through to the concert.

In the quiet of a blue light, Michael W. Smith told the simplest and most beautiful story of Jesus’ life I’d ever heard.

In the quiet, hours later in the dark of the middle of the night, I woke at 3:03 a.m. after dreaming about Compassion. It was my own whispering out loud that woke me from a deep sleep – “These people are interested.”

In the quiet, I realized – maybe it never was about the hundreds or thousands or even the ten thousands of children living in extreme poverty – maybe it’s always been about one. One child in need. One beautiful heart who’s waiting. One child, chosen.

I was folding laundry, a medium load with lime green polka dotted pajamas, Hawaiian print sundresses, and neon pink shorts. My 8-year-old popped in wondering what she could do to pass time. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. Suggesting creativity was in order, I asked her to think outside the box.

Moments later, I walked upstairs and looked right to find her wiping down the toilet. I figured she was up to something, but continued my mission of getting laundry back on hangers and in drawers. Before long, she came into our bedroom, asking “can you get all of this stuff off of your dresser? I want to make this all clean. I’m going to clean our whole house in case my friend comes over later.” I praised her for her initiative, creative effort, and hard work, and a while later she invited me to see all of cleaning she had done.

The entry way was spotless. She removed what she called “a big mess!”

Her bedroom of cotton candy pink and celery green was perfectly picked up. On top of her bed was the cozy fleece blanket she once noted our sponsored child Bethchaida would love.

And as for our dresser? She managed to displace the clutter elsewhere (which also prompted me to fix a ripped board book that had been sitting there for weeks).

The baby was sleeping, so she put all of the baby’s belongings outside of her bedroom door.

Brother wasn’t home and his room was a wreck, so she shut the door so “nobody would see” or “maybe no one would even know there’s a room there.”

As my daughter led me through the tour of our home, now meticulously cleaned for her friend who might come over, my mind jumped to Angie Smith’s blog post from the November 14, 2012, Compassion Bloggers trip to Peru titled “Esperanza.” That post has lingered in my mind since the day I read it:

She is wiping her brow, and her expression tells me our arrival is a surprise.

The door is wide open and she is welcoming us in, but her other arm motions to the ground, points to the pile of trash, and ends up on the unmade bed on the far side of the room.

I know what she is saying. I’ve done it many, many times myself.

Come in, please…come in.

I wish I could have made it more beautiful for you.

I begin to shake my head before the translator gets a word out, and as he confirms my suspicions I smile and nod at her, assure her that her home is beautiful and we are grateful to be in it.

She wipes her hands on her shirt, explaining that she was just about to leave for the market. I wonder if they forgot to tell her we were coming, or maybe, like me, she’s just lost track of time.

In any case, it doesn’t look messy to me. It’s dotted with stray posters advertising popsicles and bargain prices. Most of them are in English, and she explains that she doesn’t know the words but she wanted to have color on the walls.

She strikes a match and lights a stick of incense, and immediately the room fills with a musty, perfumed scent. She waves her hands, willing it closer to us as a smile finally drifts across her face.

Her son Anibal is 12, and he has the kind of grin that will no doubt make girls weak in the knees one day. I can tell he has a little mischief in him, which I love. He is undeniably charming, gentle in his mannerisms, and shy enough to make you work for sustained eye contact. In other words: a challenge I accept.

His mother begins talking about his animals, and I decide I won’t make the same mistake I did yesterday, when I urged my girls to look at the precious guinea pigs caged in the backyard, only to then have to explain that they aren’t so much “pets” as they are “ the main course.” (continue reading Angie Smith’s post here)

And later in Angie’s post…

She pushes the window open, and then the door.

She’s still apologizing with her body language, no matter how many times we reassure her. She tells us about her other son, a younger boy, who is also in the Compassion program. He receives special services for what they believe to be severe learning delays, and she tells us she doesn’t know how she would do it without Compassion.

One of the other team members begins to ask about the boy’s sponsors: Where are they from? Do they write? What are their names? Does he save the letters?

She motions to the bunk bed where the three of them sleep. I don’t know how long it has been since their father was there, but years at least. She walks quickly, tapping Anibal on the back and urging him in the direction of the bed.

There are moments where you watch with your eyes and know that later, in the quiet, you will hear with your heart.

Her fingers move swiftly, raise the top mattress, and reach deep underneath. Clenched in her hands come letters, one on top of another, and she smoothes the pile and hands it to her son. (read Angie’s whole post here)

Esperanza, a mama in Peru, embarrassed by the lack-of-cleanliness of her home when unexpected guests arrive. Me, my daughter, tend our house like it really matters how clean other people think it is. There’s something that ties us, binds us together across the miles. We’re human, we’re family.

Esperanza, she posts advertisements of popsicles and bargains on the walls of her one-room home for color. And now that I know, I look twice through the magazine I was about to throw in the recycling just to get it out of the way. What pictures might bless our sponsored child, our correspondent child, their parents? What windows of hope might I provide by sending pictures of colorful bugs, a mountain top, a flower-filled valley?

Esperanza, she has her sons hide their sponsor letters under the mattress so they won’t be stolen. I take note, whole-heartedly, and I get it. For the dreams, the secrets of my own heart are hidden away in spaces no one knows but me. And special letters from loved ones? They’re tucked away in those same places. So when I haven’t written our sponsored child or our correspondent child for a while, I remember how precious that contact really is, and I write.

Later that morning as my daughter and I drove in the car, she rambled on and on about her cleaning adventure. She exclaimed “I would love to clean the whole world! First I would clean the insides and then I would clean the outsides.”

She knows knows I’m saving for a trip to visit our sponsored child, but shares that she, too, wants to save her money to visit our correspondent child. In a debate between saving for a manicure and a trip to visit our correspondent child, she decides she’ll do both. “I already have $2,” she says.

It’s true what they say. Once you’ve heard, once you’ve seen for yourself real need, you can no longer live blindly as if the need doesn’t exist. That need? It permeates your being, it changes the way you see, it changes the way you live your life. Because once you know better, you want to do better.

Follow the Compassion Bloggers June 18-22 as they travel to Nicaragua, online at http://compassionbloggers.com/trips/nicaragua-2013/ or on Twitter @Compassion and #CompassionBloggers.

And if you’re ready to make a difference in the life of a child in poverty, sponsor a child through Compassion International by clicking here.

Amy

I’ve crossed paths with this man more than once. This man who labels himself HOMELESS VETERAN on cardboard. On a street corner. In wealthy suburbs.

I saw him 10 minutes south at the top of an exit last spring and summer. Week after week, he’d be at the same spot. I saw him in passing from one therapy visit to the next, always running short on time. Only once did I have something to give him. I found it curious that he always stood at the same place, and I always saw him at the same time. Every week.

Months passed without seeing this gentleman, but just three weeks ago I saw him north 10 minutes at the top of another exit.

Gathered around the table, I talked about this man. How curious it is that I continue to see him, how long it has been.

Last week I found him again in this northern suburb, now in the heart of the city just two blocks from a mom with a fur coat and daughter with a fur vest crossing the street into a mall. My car approached him at a corner. This time I had something. Gave him a bottle of water and a bag of Doritos out the window. They were the only tangible things I had to give.

Thought a bit.

Drove around, watched him at the stoplight.

Headed for Arby’s to buy a sandwich, then realized I might be able to provide something more lasting than Arby’s for this man that has been on the streets, HOMELESS VETERAN sign in hand for months.

Scratched down the name of my church, names of the pastors, the street name, service times. All praying he might discover something greater, some help, some hope.

In a matter of seconds as I passed in my car, I handed him this scratched on piece of paper, he looked down and seemed to read each word as important. I uttered “I have seen you many times,” asked if he would like prayer from my blog readers, if I could take his picture.

“YES,” he said.

Join me? Take an opportunity to pray for a man in need? A veteran in need? And pray that next time I respond the way God would have me?

I know that the LORD secures justice for the poor and upholds the cause of the needy. Psalm 140:12

Amy

This post was written as part of the Five Minute Friday link up. I spend the last hour of Thursday chatting with a group of authentic and inspiring Five Minute Friday bloggers on Twitter (#FiveMinuteFriday #fmfparty). One minute past midnight EST Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker gives us a single word prompt and we all write a blog post centered around that word. We write for five minutes, and five minutes only. In the words of Lisa, this is “unscripted. unedited. real.” You meet me at this moment in time…my thoughts and opinions, my joys and sorrows, my dilemmas and dreams. And I receive one of the greatest gifts ever…a regular outlet for processing and expressing my thoughts without constantly editing myself. This is my life, my perspective, unfiltered.

The word of the week is OPPORTUNITY. 

Tuesday, October 16, 2012. Our one day in Haiti, the day that changed me forever. (Read full post here.)

It had been a long day. I was not there to sunbathe. I recognized the need, and I knew it with all my heart. God led us down a path that culminated in me scratching names on a little piece of white paper. These names, these men, the needs they had. Two of them needed clothes for their children. And although I could not see their children, could not see their homes or their circumstances, I could feel it. I knew with every fiber of my being they needed these things.

I acted, I moved, I brought my children and we provided. Not nearly enough, but we provided.

We gave.

But sitting on my heart remains one thing. One. big. regret.

I was able to provide for all of these men but one.

Antonio. He needed clothes for his two-year-old boy. I had a nine-year-old boy, and I was not courageous enough to ask fellow cruise ship passengers, random moms on the beach, if they would be willing to give the clothes off their sons’ backs for Antonio’s son. If I could turn back time, I would strip away all of my pride….and just ask. For Antonio.

The not asking has turned my world upside down. Everything looks different in light of Antonio and his unmet need. The sound of his voice, the way he asked not once but three times for clothes for his child, it will all be forever etched in my mind. And although it has haunted me, made me want to set out on a search for a future cruise passenger who can deliver a package to Antonio for me, I know this experience will ultimately be a blessing in disguise.

Since Antonio, because of Antonio, I experience life differently. Every day.

This just one example…

All it took was one foot in this magical place called the Disney store. Antonio came to mind, tears welled in my eyes. Such an unexpected place to experience memories of that day in Haiti.

Joy to the World and Hark the Herald Angels Sing played in the background.

And my eyes landed on this shiny red hat. Although Antonio’s son may never set his sights on this sparkly red hat that symbolizes youth and fun and play, I can give shelter, protection.

Although Antonio’s son may never find a pair of shiny red boots under a Christmas tree, I can give hope for a boy to keep on walking.

Although Antonio’s son may never get a cool Toy Story bowl for his goldfish crackers or a Toy Story boot cup for his juice, I can give food and drink.

Although some little girl will never experience girlish games of dress up, I can give confidence to press on with a brave and beautiful spirit, a sense of worth.

 

And although some little girl may never get to look in a mirror as glorious and as wondrous as this, I can give her the greatest gift, the greatest reflection of all. That she was made in the image of God, knit together for a very special purpose here on earth, that she is precious and beautiful in His sight.

So today my pride is stripped. I come to you on behalf of little children in poverty around the world and ask for you to take a second look, think about what extra you might give this Christmas.

Compassion International has a goal of raising $20,000 from the Christmas Gift Catalog this month. There are 2,000 Compassion Bloggers. If each site raises $100 from the Christmas Gift Catalog, the goal will be met, and thousands of children and families in poverty will be given hope this Christmas and beyond.

Today, I commit to giving through the Compassion International Christmas Gift Catalog in honor of Antonio and his son.

Will you consider giving…

$4 to protect a child from parasites?

$13 to help a malnourished child survive through emergency feeding?

$20 a Christmas gift for a mom and a baby?

$23 help build water reservoirs for children and families?

$25 to help a mom towards a safe birth?

…or more?

Give creatively, give compassionately this year at the Compassion International Christmas Gift Catalog. To help a child, a mom, a dad this Christmas.

Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. Luke 6:38

Amy