The reason I came on this trip with Compassion International was to meet our two sponsored children, Djino and Bethchaida. And I was so excited to meet them. But I have to admit, when I found out, just six days before my departure, that the “fun day” with our sponsored children was going to be at a hotel, a tentativeness stirred in me.

I worried that the children and families who lived in such extreme poverty would feel great sadness entering into such luxury only to have to leave at the end of the day. God placed a burden on my heart to make this day a great gift. Yvonne, our trip leader and Compassion representative, had reminded us the night before that “this day is about the kids.” So I tried to keep that in mind. I wanted to live the day for the kids. I wanted it to be a very special occasion, a gift for the families and accompanying Compassion country staff.

So after we met and took a tour of the facility, after I discovered that Djino had woken up at 1:00 a.m. and traveled SIX hours to get here and Bethchaida had traveled SIX AND A HALF hours down from the mountains on a motorcycle to get here, all eight of us (me, 1 translator, two Compassion country staff, an auntie, a mama, and 2 sponsored children) played a table game I brought from home. It went swimmingly well, and was a time of laughter and bonding over a singular purpose.

We were going to play another round, but Bethchaida said she was hungry. Mom concurred that Bethchaida hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning because they were in such an unfamiliar place. Djino piped in, he was hungry too. We agreed to go eat.

I had purchased tickets for food from the front desk, so I let the children know they could order what they wanted. Bethchaida chose a ham and cheese sandwich. Djino chose a cheeseburger with bacon. Bethchaida’s mom and Compassion staff agreed they would share with Bethchaida. Five Sprites and 1 Coke later, we’d placed our order for those who wanted to eat. The translator, a lovely man, also Haitian, had already decided on the Coke, but politely asked me when we sat down at the table if he could get a hot dog, too. “Of course, of course,” I said, and left to place the extra order.

They ate.

This eating soon after they arrived wasn’t what I planned or expected to do. But they ate every bite. And I couldn’t help but think about Jesus and His call for us to feed the hungry. And I couldn’t stop thinking about that pyramid we all learned in Psychology 101. Human beings need food first. Then, once that is provided, they’re freed up to focus on higher order needs such as education, socialization, emotional development and spirituality.

So today, I learned firsthand – before anything else – we need to feed the hungry. Hunger is real.

We feed those who are hungry, we nourish souls.

When bodies are fed, souls are nourished.

Little girls emerge with confidence, step out with dignity knowing this bathing suit was chosen especially for them. They’re empowered to try something new, encouraged without anyone having to say it out loud. That dream? That hope you had earlier in the day to swim? Today, that dream will become reality. God has the power to make His dreams reality for you, too. He will help you be grateful and say “I love my life.” No matter what it throws at me.

Boys emerge with courage, stepping out into the great unknown. That fear you had? That not wanting to swim because you didn’t know how and you thought you’d just watch on the sidelines? Today, you overcame your fears. Today, rest assured young boy, that God has the power to release you from all fear. He can and will claim victory over your fears. Go in the deep, young boy, go in the deep.

When bodies are fed, souls are nourished.

Little boys and little girls, aunties and mamas and staff working hard on the ground know – God’s desire is for abundance. He wants you to receive this taste of heaven. This plate filled higher than you’ve ever seen? It doesn’t even come close to the peace and joy and love you’ll receive when you enter the gates of heaven.

Yes, that is the burden we have to feed those who are hungry. We must let them know – you are worthy, He invites you to His table, He prepares a banquet for you, He provides what is needed –  for today. Your worries are not for tomorrow, for He provides for today.

When bodies are fed, souls are nourished.

Men and women reveal bits of God’s dreams for their lives. The dreams, they seem impossible. But they agree, they believe, God can do anything. If God wants to make these dreams reality, He will do it. No matter what. For ALL things are possible with God, through Christ. Though distance and circumstance may separate, God’s dreams unite His people.

When bodies are fed, souls are nourished.

God’s people share what they have with one another.

God says – I’ve blessed you with love, insight, sensitivity, and an abundance of resources – GO GIVE IT AWAY.

God says – I’ve blessed you with love, humility, graciousness, goodness, kindness and faithfulness – GO GIVE IT AWAY.

Whatever we have, He wants us to give it away.

This is what it means to give it away.

Feed those who are hungry.

Nourish their souls.

Reach out, and tell a mama – who rode 6 1/2 hours on a motorcycle with her baby girl, who bought the most beautiful dress at the market in Port-Au-Prince just because her baby girl was meeting her sponsor – you are so worthy of this abundance. It’s God’s abundant love for you. He wants you to have it. He wants you to receive it. He wants you to know, this is His special taste of heaven. Just for you.

If you’d love to feed those who are hungry and sponsor a child through Compassion, please click here to see the photographs of beautiful children waiting for a sponsor. I promise you, your sponsorship would be a gift.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

The mamas were giving their testimonies.

One by one, they came to the front with their babies, sharing how much of a difference Compassion’s Child Survival Program made in their lives.

One special mama had two babies, not her own. People didn’t understand why she’d taken them in. She couldn’t afford to care for the babies. She was shunned and found herself all alone crying near the street one day. A Compassion Child Survival Program staff happened to pass by and told her about the program, that she’d be able to get support as she raised those babies. She agreed and the children were enrolled in the program. The translator prayed over her, “even though family might not understand you, God does,” he said.

There was another woman with a baby of her own. But she’d also taken in her deceased cousin’s baby. Mid-way through her story, she broke into song. I had no idea what she was saying because there hadn’t been translation yet, but there was something beautiful and tremendously sad about this song long before I knew the words. She sang with courage, she looked up, towards the back of the church as she poured this heart-song out from her soul. There was hope and promise in her words, but in her eyes, I saw the sadness, the depth of pain. She said the Compassion Child Survival Program staff taught her to sing this song when she was feeling tremendous sadness and despair. They encouraged her, “You need to sing this song whenever you feel sad, and you will feel better.” The song, my heart be happy.

And then there was Archille.

She came to the front, holding her son close, tight in her arms. She spoke quietly and tears came to her eyes the second she started talking. She appeared to be hiding a bit behind her son, as if protecting him from her own pain. He was near and dear to her, you could tell. She felt alone, very alone, and I sensed that the moment she started talking, even before I knew why.

Archille shared with us, her son was born with one leg.

She’d been shunned and teased, disowned and laughed at for having a son with one leg. It was and has been immeasurably painful. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know where to turn. Her tears, the depth of her pain, visible. If there was a way I could’ve reached out to her in that moment, I would’ve.

Archille then proceeded to do one of the most brave things I’ve ever witnessed. She started taking off her son’s pants.

In that moment, we saw his one leg.

It was holy, intimate. We knew the reality she’d been telling was truth.

Archille was advised, Compassion’s Child Survival Program was the best way to care for her boy. Through her involvement in the Child Survival Program, Archille has developed “good friendships and relationships in [the] center.” Home visitors encourage her. And Compassion’s staff have compassion for Archille. They’ve worked with her and she’s “thankful for all they’ve done to help with [her] boy.”

The translator prayed over Archille and her boy, “If God accepts the boy as he is, as we do, we must love him.”

I recognized Archille’s pain the second I saw her hide behind her son, the second I saw the tears in her eyes and they couldn’t be held back anymore. I’d known that pain myself. When tears are so close to the surface that you cry if you speak even one word, you just need someone to listen to you, care for you, act on your behalf.

Perhaps there’s a purpose for our pain, that we might be able to more readily recognize it in others. And help.

We had an opportunity to ask the questions anyone would ask at that point. How does he get around? How would Compassion help this boy with his leg? Mama answered, indicating her boy is able to stand on one leg, gets around by crawling, and is often carried. Compassion has already sent mama Archille’s and baby to Port-Au-Prince where they’ve seen doctors about baby’s leg. He will get a prosthetic when he’s older, but for now he’s too young, so they have to wait.

Yvonne, our trip co-leader and Compassion representative, held the sweet baby boy as we sang songs and prayed with all the mamas and babies. Safe in Yvonne’s arms, Archille’s boy led our way to the Child Development Center.

We spent the next hour or two meeting children and engaging with teachers in the Child Development Center. (I’ll share more about that later!) But Before we knew it, it was time to visit the Child Survival Program building where mamas and babies meet with Compassion staff. It was a lovely space with boards tracking immunizations and child growth, as well as toys and cribs for the babies. This felt like a safe haven, and it was.

I was one of the first to enter the building. The seat next to Yvonne and this beautiful boy with one leg was open. So I took it. There was a part of me that thought the seat would better be taken by someone else, all the others who cared about this boy and wanted to be close, too. But there was me. Perhaps it was God who brought me in among the first. Perhaps it was He who left the seat open.

I had an opportunity to talk with Yvonne about this boy as others entered the space, the hope I had to share his story. We talked about the possibility of getting crutches for this sweet boy, as usually, he’d be walking around this age. Yvonne commented how heavy it must be for mama to carry her boy around all day since he’s getting so big. And I asked, did mama have a sling in which she could carry her son?

Before long, we noticed mama standing right behind us, outside. We invited her in to join us in conversation.

Yvonne told mama Archille that she’d like to work with the project director to try to facilitate getting her boy some crutches so he can start moving around and develop muscle tone in his leg. She couldn’t promise it would be done, but she was going to talk to the director and do her best to help. And Yvonne asked mama, “Do you have a sling you carry him in?” Mama Archille said “no.” I asked mama, “Would you feel more comfortable carrying him on your back or on your front?” “I’d prefer to carry him on my back,” mama said, “but he likes me to carry him in the front.” Yvonne reminded mama once again that she couldn’t promise, but that we’d try to get something to help.

An opportunity came for me to ask mama Archille questions that had nothing to do with sweet baby boy’s leg. “How old is he?” I asked. “Two,” mama said. “When will he be three?” asked Yvonne. Mama replied, “December.”

“Same as my baby” I exclaimed! “Three in December!” Mama Archille and I smiled big smiles, huge, like divine appointment huge. We discovered, our babies’ birthdays? Only NINE days apart!

Everyone was elated. It was a moment out of time for the folks that had gathered. Well, a moment out of time, at least for me. I’d barely even noticed the rest of the group had arrived until I looked up and realized, they were there.

Yvonne, still right next to me, stepped in at just the right moment, with just the right words I would’ve never imagined possible – “You know you can sign up to sponsor him even before he’s officially enrolled in the Child Sponsorship Development Program? I don’t want to put you on the spot, though.” Um, ya. There was no putting me on the spot. It was a no brainer, taking the opportunity to sponsor this little guy. Of course, I’d say yes.

After some brief conversation with the translator, Yvonne, and another Compassion staff, it was determined that I’d need to take with me the baby’s name, baby’s date of birth, mama’s name, and the Compassion Child Survival Program in which which he was enrolled. Then, when I get home, I’ll need to contact Compassion and indicate I’d like to sponsor him when he becomes old enough to enroll in the Child Sponsorship Development Program.

We all decided, this was meant to be. I’ll be the boy’s sponsor when he comes of age.

The translator spoke with Archille and wrote down all the information I’ll need when I contact Compassion back home.

Before mama placed her boy on my lap for a picture, I’d noted, her beautiful baby boy’s name was Charles.

Pain, it’s true and real for all of us. Pain, it pulls us down, makes us want to run and hide or grab ahold tight of anything that’s near.

Hope, it comes in any package. Hope, a promise of better days to come.

Would you like to give hope to a child in desperate need of it? Check out the Compassion website to take a closer look at all the children waiting for a sponsor. These are real. live. children. Not just pictures on your computer screen. They’re real children with real families with real lives, and they could use your help. If you’d be here, you’d see. You’d choose to say yes, I guarantee. We have so much, it’s time to give. And hope’s where it’s at.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

After we folded and set out a couple hundred place cards in preparation for the wedding, Jerry, father of the bride, overheard my son ask me for money from the ATM. My son had seen all the video games upstairs and wanted money to play them at the reception later that night. I explained we were going to have to find an ATM that was affiliated with our bank because there was no way I was paying all those ATM fees!

Great uncle Jerry came to the rescue.

He pulled two $10 bills out of his wallet, one for my son and one for my daughter. They could use the money for video games if they promised one thing – that they’d never smoke tobacco. Jerry extended the deal – if they haven’t smoked AT ALL by the time they’re 21 years old, he will pay them $100 each.

So the kids took their $10 and looked forward with anticipation to the night ahead.

But here’s what Jerry didn’t know – that $10 offering of his extended joy to more than just my son and daughter.

You see, my son? He’s not much of a social butterfly. Mingling, conversation? It’s not his gig. So those dollars were actually pretty crucial to him having an enjoyable evening at the reception, crucial to getting him engaged with others in a way that made him most comfortable.

We changed that $10 bill in for $1 bills, changed those $1 bills into quarters, and played bubble hockey most of the night.

He invited me first. I was a little reluctant as I was enjoying myself already in adult conversation with people I hadn’t seen in a long time. But when this little boy invites you to do something, you better do it. So I took him up on his offer and played my first ever round of bubble hockey!

Then he invited daddy and uncle Steve to play. I’m not sure daddy had ever played either, but uncle Steve? He’s a pro at these kind of things. Everyone had fun, and it was a perfect way to engage in something other than conversation.

Later, after dinner, he invited me to play again, not once but twice. At that point, it was a jaunt because we ate downstairs and the games were upstairs. But hey, the special time with my son was well worth the walk. When he took off his coat and wanted to try the foosball table, too, I knew this was serious business.

This business of seeing, of hearing the voice in the crowd that needs something different to be at ease, to feel better about their day – it’s what I love. And this business of playing, it’s something I really need to do more of.

So thank you, son, for inviting me to play.

And thank you, Jerry, for providing the $10 that allowed us to do so. The way you noticed my son’s need did not go unnoticed by me.

(Now let’s hope they claim their $100 deals!)

Amy

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.

 

We were college sweethearts, among the first of our friends to get married.

I was just 5 days from 22. He was 24. They say youth is a predictor of divorce, of marriages doomed to fail, but I say the success of marriage has nothing to do with youth and everything to do with faith.

Because today, as we mark 15 years of marriage, it’s not been so much about romantic wedded bliss as it’s been about living out our marriage vows day after day. To have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, till death do us part.

15 years of to have and to hold means an arm’s around me as I lie awake worrying in the middle of silent night darkness, long embraces after exhausting and pain-filled days, hands squeezed together hard in labor and delivery rooms where the fruit of love becomes real life x3. It means you promise to lead the way, support through change, and assure “I’d love that for you and our family” when God-sized dreams are uttered in quiet moments of speaking truth.

15 years of to love and to cherish means a kiss every morning before work, no matter what. It’s dancing in the hallway when make-up runs and nipples sting from a blocked duct and a toddler dancing to the iPhone in our bed at 7 a.m. It’s committing to change for the sake of the union, making me feel like I’m the one for you, trusting through trials, and believing, really believing till death do us part is possible.

15 years of for better for worse means Mexico and Hawaii and the Caribbean and five vacations to Disney only to realize it’s been six years since we’ve had more than 24 hours alone, just the two of us. 15 years means 15 Christmases, 15 Easters, 15 birthdays, and 15 anniversaries. 15 years of opinions divided, families split, friends divorced, grandmas and grandpas passed away, and letting go of our time to give them more time.

15 years of for richer or for poorer means beautiful dresses for birthdays, apartments and houses, gazebos and decks, once-in-a-lifetime orange carpet experiences, and jobs that provide. Christmas parties with wine and cheese turn to mac and cheese with hot dogs, piled up medical bills after baby’s born, income that’s less because I’m staying home more, and decisions to live with a little less because we’re giving more.

15 years of in sickness and in health means loving and encouraging when the scale says + 5, +10, +15, waking in the middle of the night to puke-filled beds, cleaning up other kids’ puke at birthday parties, and patience when an 8:30 bedtime means it’s been a hard day at work. It’s a treadmill in the basement for you and seven years of gym membership for me, pizza rolls and potato chips, asparagus and grilled chicken, just two Oreos left in the bag and fruit for dessert tonight. It means you watch the kids while I get away for a moment because I can’t do this anymore.

15 years of from this day forward, till death do us part means we refuse to be another statistic. We’re committed, day after day, to making this work. It means we keep our eyes on the prize, which is, God willing, wrinkled hands held with wedding bands thinned, failing eyes fixed, and “I love you” uttered quietly but assuredly while one of us passes from this life to the next. And once we’ve both passed, from this day forward means our children and grandchildren live in peace, assured beyond all doubt that we’re dancing together in heaven.

Yes. That’s what 15 years looks like, that’s what 15 years believes, that’s what 15 years hopes.

Happy 15th Anniversary to my loving husband, Seth.

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues,they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.  1 Corinthians 13:1-13

Amy