Rocks In My Dryer

Ever Wondered...

...if Compassion child sponsorship really does that much? If praying for a complete stranger makes a difference? Read this, and find out.

Compassion Bloggers' Trip to El Salvador

Another team of Compassion bloggers leaves at the crack of dawn on Monday, headed for El Salvador--a trip made all the more compelling by the massive flooding there over the weekend.  Follow along with these bloggers (Molly, Kelly, Heather, Shaun, Keely, and Patricia) at their own blogs, or at the Compassion Bloggers' hub site.

Please join me in praying for their safety, their hearts, and their families back at home. Pray that these bloggers will find the words to say what needs to be said and that children are sponsored.

A Few Random Thoughts, Because I Haven't Had a Complete Thought Since July

Even though this blog is utterly dead silent (do I hear crickets chirping?), I am writing many hours a day on this TypePad book. Many, many hours--hours I should probably be spending feeding my family something other than hot dogs and chips...again. Deadlines wait for no one, though, so hot dogs it is, and my family has been one big, collective good sport about it. While I can't say I'd be an advocate of operating at such a frenzied pace indefinitely, it's been good for my family to pull together for a common cause. They're pitching in, helping Mom get a job done well (and quickly), and I'm thankful to them. When it's all over, I hope we all have a great sense of accomplishment. And may we never, ever eat another hot dog again.

Speaking of the book, we're officially listed at Amazon now. When I learned that, I did not squeal or freak out or call Melanie because I am much too calm and professional to act that way. Ahem.

Let's see, what else. Ah yes, I almost turned into a pancake this week, driving my kids home from school during a massive thunderstorm. We crept along at a snail's pace (zero visibility, but just enough to see the STRAIGHT-LINE WINDS, which is never good). Suddenly, a giant oak crashed across the road, less than 50 feet from our van.

Branches from other trees started pelting down all around us, and it began to hail. Thankfully, I had watched the movie Twister only days before, so I was fully equipped for a Dramatic Weather Emergency. "LEAN TO THE MIDDLE OF THE CAR!" I shouted over the pelting hail, and the kids did just that. I swung that van around more like Jack Bauer than a happy housewife, and I floored it off that tree-lined street, dodging airborne branches the whole time. I glanced in the rear-view mirror to see the 10-year-old hovering protectively his 4-year-old sister, and I thought to myself that since we were surely about to die I was glad I could remember this about him, as opposed to the smell of the soccer cleats he left in my car all day.

We finally got off the Giant Tree-Lined Death Trap and parked in a neighborhood with no trees. I sat there, eyes closed, breathing an overwhelmed prayer of thankfulness. The eight-year-old's quiet voice whispered, "Mom?" I turned to look at him. "That was WICKED cool."

I'm glad I could entertain, son.

Last thing: my friend Scott (my husband's old high school friend, actually, but I've adopted him) is one of the only 3.7 male readers of this blog, and he sent me a link to share with you. It's the Dude Perfect guys, performing some unreal stunts, all in the name of--what else?--Compassion. You've got to see it. 

Revelation

Robin of Pensieve is my blog-friend-turned-real-life-friend, and she's is a fireball of energy, personality and heart.  She is so dear to me, and I have been especially moved, on a very personal level, to watch her passionate participation in Compassion's India blog trip.  She has shared words that are profound, gut-wrenching, beautiful and honest.  Before she left, I asked her if she'd be willing to guest post here at my blog while she was overseas, and she graciously agreed.  Robin's powerful words and photo arrived in my in-box this afternoon, and I can hardly wait for you to read on... 

I'm standing in the shower while a perpetual army of water soldiers fights off the day's sweat and filth and emotion when I notice the shelf in front of me.  I mentally tick off seven miniature bottles whose purpose is to clean, condition, soften and fragrance the top of my head to the bottom of my feet..when I lose it.

It's the second time today the tear dam burst when I didn't even know there was a crack in the dike. 

I've seen things this week I shouldn't have.

I've seen things this week I shouldn't have because they just shouldn't "be" to begin with.

Poverty is a wicked assault that seeks to strip away the dignity of those in its path.

January 26, 2009 is a significant date to me; it's when Shaun Groves called me for the first time to discuss the possibility of me joining him on the next Compassion Bloggers trip.   While there's an entire level of insanity for me to leave my husband and children to go, observe and write about a people I don't even know, it was never even a question I had to ask myself.  I said it to him, and in the ensuing months, over and over again to others, "I can think of no better reason to write than to lend my voice to those who have none of their own." 

"Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,
for the rights of all who are destitute.
Speak up and judge fairly;
defend the rights of the poor and needy."
Proverbs 31:8,9

If I'm not mistaken, God's tellin', not askin'....

And yet, less than a week ago I was blissfully, ignorantly living the cliched American dream when God appointed a time for me to fly.

For 18 hours and forever, He's given me wings. 

Poverty is no longer a word defined by Webster's; I've seen its generational reach as it self perpetuates.  It's a Machiavellian assault on the innocents.  I despise the injustices I've seen.  I'm angry at the inequity of life.  And oddly, though the potential exists almost to romanticize the poor, I see God at work in and through these circumstances.  Maybe it's in those who suffer, but maybe it's in those who have the means to relieve the burden. 

If you're a regular RIMD reader, you already know Shannon's a Compassion advocate; now, you've heard some of my story.  Compassion International isn't the only child advocacy organization making a difference in children's lives, but it it's the best one I'm aware of.

Look at these kids--they have hope!  Compassion kids are different, you can see it in their eyes (it's always in their eyes...).  We visited four different projects this week and I could see joy...peace...hope in their countenance, something that was noticeably absent in street kids or those wandering villages. 
  

If you've finally reached the tipping point and are ready to sponsor a child in need and release him from indignity of poverty, please click here and you'll meet children who are waiting to hear from you.  At least click through to learn more.

It might just be the first move in a domino effect that breaks the cycle of poverty in a family forever...

because young girls and old women shouldn't have to bathe in the streets.

Hope

I hope you've heard about the Compassion bloggers over in India this week.  Maybe a little part of you has steered clear of their stories.  It's painful to hear about dying orphans and oppressive poverty.  It might be a little more pleasant to think of that as a problem that is happening Over There, which is certainly Not Here, and it's awful, truly, but there's nothing I can do.

But here's the thing.

Compassion's story is, ultimately, a story of hope.  It's about a problem that is slowly but surely being solved, one child at a time, because people like you opened their eyes to the stories. 

So don't fear clicking on these stories.  When you take them to heart, when you take the plunge and sponsor a child, you've become part of the solution.   

Read on, friends, and do something....

Shaun writes about how the Sparkes family in the UK is changing the life of a 12-year-old Indian girl.

Anne writes about living with less so you can do more.

Robin shows us what real hospitality looks like.

Melissa really delves into what God thinks of the poor.

Pete shares a video that shows you what a Compassion project looks like.

And Angie tells us what it feels like when the Gospel sits in your lap.

And They're Off...

This is a big day today for a handful of bloggers.  They're headed to India, to the city Calcutta (or Kolkata, as I think we're supposed to call it now, but I'm sorry, the old 5th-grade geography sticks with me).  They're going with Compassion International to live-blog what they see.  I suspect that they, and those of us following along at home, are about to have our comfy American socks knocked off. 

When Shaun was first telling me about this trip several months ago, he mentioned what a challenge it would be for those bloggers who will try to describe it adequately.  He explained that the poverty on the streets of Calcutta is like no other poverty in the world, so vast is its scope.  Please join in me praying for these bloggers--for their safety, for their families back at home, for their own hearts as they try to tell us some powerful stories.

And please pray, most of all, that their words will resonate with those who have not, perhaps, heard of Compassion's powerful work.  If people can see and understand how Compassion is bringing true hope to a dark situation, and if they'll join in the effort, children will be sponsored.  Lives will be saved. 

So please pray, and follow along with these bloggers as they tell their stories.  (Barring any technical or logistical issues, I'm hoping that one of the bloggers, my friend Robin, will be guest-posting here next week.)  I shared a couple of days ago my concerns about what is not, perhaps, quite right with the blogosphere, and many of you kindly expressed they were concerns you shared too.  But this India trip?  This is the power of the blogosphere at its highest and very best.

Be a part of it, and help spread the word.

One Year Ago

Last February, I went to Uganda with Compassion International and a team of amazing bloggers to get an up-close look at Compassion's work.  If you'd like to read the whole story, you can click here.  But I wanted to re-run this particular post from one year ago.  As long as I live, it is hard to imagine I'll ever see anything like what I saw on February 14, 2008:   

This morning we visited an HIV/AIDS hospital. 

That is not a sentence that I, in my sheltered little life, ever expected to write.  Then again, most of my expectations about everything have been blown out of the water these last few days.

We visited Mildmay HIV and AIDS hospital, one of only two hospitals in the entire world devoted entirely to treating HIV and AIDS (the other one is in the UK).  Compassion partners with them to obtain treatment for Compassion children.  We were greeted by the staff with overwhelming hospitality (upon first meeting you, Ugandans always say “You’re welcome”—this is one of the most endearing things I will remember about them), and they gave us a thorough presentation about the history and funding of their facility.

I’m counting on some of my fellow team members to blog these statistics—they’re interesting and important, but I generally try to steer clear of anything resembling math.  Anyway, the statistics aren’t what I’ll remember about today. 

For privacy reasons, Mildmay doesn’t allow photographs to be taken on-site, so I once again am going to try to find the words to tell you about this place.  It was nothing short of remarkable.

All throughout this city, the poverty is rampant and in your face on every inch of the roads.  When I have a faster internet connection, I’ll be able to show you what I mean.  But amazingly, we entered the gates of Mildmay to a different world.  It’s built into the side of a hill overlooking the rolling hills of Kampala.  The grounds are lush and meticulous, and the buildings are spotlessly clean.  The facility is actually dozens of smaller red-brick buildings connected by winding covered pathways.  Like most Ugandan buildings, they are all open air, but fans blow a gentle breeze through the windows and corridors.  The rooms are freshly painted, the grass is inches thick.  A deliciously sweet smell—presumably from the lush landscaping—hangs in the air.

It’s a place of gentleness and dignity, and you can almost forget, for a second, how sick the patients are.

We wound through the waiting area—it was a sea of people.  Some of the faces looked hopeful, some of them look frightened, many looked terribly empty.  The staff hosted us for a proper British tea (this is a former British colony, and there is still a strong British influence in the culture), and then they took us to the “Noah’s Ark”, a center for HIV-positive children who haven’t yet developed full-blown AIDS.  The children laughed and played, while a cartoon hummed happily behind us.  I knelt down to speak with a little nine-year-old boy named Bosco.  An interpreter helped me tell him that I have a nine-year-old son back in America, and Bosco laughed, giving me a big hug.  I gave him a sticker. 

We headed to a clinic for the HIV-positive children who are beginning to develop some signs of infection.  A breeze blew through, and the room smelled clean.  A little boy lay groggily on a cot, while his mother sat next to him.  I walked over to him and stroked his arm; it was burning up with fever.  The mother looked tired.

We continued to wind through the facility, visiting the dentist office and library and other departments, finally coming to the top of the hill to Jajja’s Home.  This is the pediatric facility for children that have developed full-blown AIDS.  Sophie and I shot each other a look, trying to brace ourselves.

Several of the children were outside under a tent for a special presentation by a well-known local gospel singer.  The singer was HIV-positive himself, and our interpreter told us how he was singing about how God had carried him through his illness.  The kids danced and sang and jumped and waved their arms—evidently this was quite a special event. 

We walked into the sick ward.  We weren’t able to approach any of these children—we carry germs that are a risk to them.  But we were able to wave and smile—I saw one little boy, about 6 or 7, struggle to raise his arm in a return wave.  Before we left, I passed a mother sitting at the side of her baby’s bed.  He was probably no more than two years old, and he was motionless, an IV strapped to his arm.  The look on the mother’s face will stay with me forever.  It looks just like you’d expect the face of a mother to look when she’s watching her child waste away in front of her.  I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder.  “God bless you,” I whispered to her, and she smiled back at me.  In those brief seconds, I think I prayed harder than I’ve ever prayed in my whole life.

Our tour ended in the cheerfully decorated classrooms.  Every inch of the walls were covered with bright posters and chalkboards and bookshelves.  In a quiet room off to the side were rows of neatly-made mattresses, where the littler ones could nap in the afternoon.

Because I have absolutely no way to wrap a post like this one, I’m going to leave you with the one photo I couldn’t help but snap.  This is the prayer painted on the walls over the children’s little sleeping mattresses.  This one photo says more than this entire post could:

To learn more about Compassion's work, and to sponsor a child, visit Compassion.com. 

That is not a sentence that I, in my sheltered little life, ever expected to write.  Then again, most of my expectations about everything have been blown out of the water these last few days.

We visited Mildmay HIV and AIDS hospital, one of only two hospitals in the entire world devoted entirely to treating HIV and AIDS (the other one is in the UK).  Compassion partners with them to obtain treatment for Compassion children.  We were greeted by the staff with overwhelming hospitality (upon first meeting you, Ugandans always say “You’re welcome”—this is one of the most endearing things I will remember about them), and they gave us a thorough presentation about the history and funding of their facility.

I’m counting on some of my fellow team members to blog these statistics—they’re interesting and important, but I generally try to steer clear of anything resembling math.  Anyway, the statistics aren’t what I’ll remember about today. 

For privacy reasons, Mildmay doesn’t allow photographs to be taken on-site, so I once again am going to try to find the words to tell you about this place.  It was nothing short of remarkable.

All throughout this city, the poverty is rampant and in your face on every inch of the roads.  When I have a faster internet connection, I’ll be able to show you what I mean.  But amazingly, we entered the gates of Mildmay to a different world.  It’s built into the side of a hill overlooking the rolling hills of Kampala.  The grounds are lush and meticulous, and the buildings are spotlessly clean.  The facility is actually dozens of smaller red-brick buildings connected by winding covered pathways.  Like most Ugandan buildings, they are all open air, but fans blow a gentle breeze through the windows and corridors.  The rooms are freshly painted, the grass is inches thick.  A deliciously sweet smell—presumably from the lush landscaping—hangs in the air.

It’s a place of gentleness and dignity, and you can almost forget, for a second, how sick the patients are.

We wound through the waiting area—it was a sea of people.  Some of the faces looked hopeful, some of them look frightened, many looked terribly empty.  The staff hosted us for a proper British tea (this is a former British colony, and there is still a strong British influence in the culture), and then they took us to the “Noah’s Ark”, a center for HIV-positive children who haven’t yet developed full-blown AIDS.  The children laughed and played, while a cartoon hummed happily behind us.  I knelt down to speak with a little nine-year-old boy named Bosco.  An interpreter helped me tell him that I have a nine-year-old son back in America, and Bosco laughed, giving me a big hug.  I gave him a sticker. 

We headed to a clinic for the HIV-positive children who are beginning to develop some signs of infection.  A breeze blew through, and the room smelled clean.  A little boy lay groggily on a cot, while his mother sat next to him.  I walked over to him and stroked his arm; it was burning up with fever.  The mother looked tired.

We continued to wind through the facility, visiting the dentist office and library and other departments, finally coming to the top of the hill to Jajja’s Home.  This is the pediatric facility for children that have developed full-blown AIDS.  Sophie and I shot each other a look, trying to brace ourselves.

Several of the children were outside under a tent for a special presentation by a well-known local gospel singer.  The singer was HIV-positive himself, and our interpreter told us how he was singing about how God had carried him through his illness.  The kids danced and sang and jumped and waved their arms—evidently this was quite a special event. 

We walked into the sick ward.  We weren’t able to approach any of these children—we carry germs that are a risk to them.  But we were able to wave and smile—I saw one little boy, about 6 or 7, struggle to raise his arm in a return wave.  Before we left, I passed a mother sitting at the side of her baby’s bed.  He was probably no more than two years old, and he was motionless, an IV strapped to his arm.  The look on the mother’s face will stay with me forever.  It looks just like you’d expect the face of a mother to look when she’s watching her child waste away in front of her.  I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder.  “God bless you,” I whispered to her, and she smiled back at me.  In those brief seconds, I think I prayed harder than I’ve ever prayed in my whole life.

Our tour ended in the cheerfully decorated classrooms.  Every inch of the walls were covered with bright posters and chalkboards and bookshelves.  In a quiet room off to the side were rows of neatly-made mattresses, where the littler ones could nap in the afternoon.

Because I have absolutely no way to wrap a post like this one, I’m going to leave you with the one photo I couldn’t help but snap.  This is the prayer painted on the walls over the children’s little sleeping mattresses.  This one photo says more than this entire post could:

To learn more about Compassion's work, and to sponsor a child, visit Compassion.com. 

Birhane

My brother sent an e-mail update from Ethiopia this morning, with news of their visit to their Compassion child yesterday.  I'm re-printing an excerpt below (emphasis mine):

On Tuesday we got to meet our Compassion child (Birhane).  She is a wonderful young girl and it was a pleasure to meet her.  All of her information told us that she was six years old so we came with loaded with clothes, toys, etc.  Well, apparently, in the rural parts of Ethiopia age is not something they cling to very much because come to find out she is eleven!!!!  Needless to say, not a stitch of clothing fit, but I think her little sister will be well dressed for some time. Compassion was nice enough to let us arrange to send her bigger clothes when we get back to the states.

Birhane is incredibly shy and, of course, doesn’t speak English – so the conversation was pretty short.  She was SO sweet.  She spoke so gently and quietly that we probably could not have understood her even if we spoke her language.  One gift that was a hit was a little baby; I don’t think she put it down for the entirety of our visit.  Being so quiet and shy, it was hard to see if we really sparked her attention or curiosity, but one member of our family certainly did.  She LOVED Tarik.  She lit up when she would look at her and even did a great job holding her. 

She lives in a village where they don’t have electricity and they have to pump all their water from a well.  She is in her first year of schooling (even though she is older than most of her classmates).  The reason this is her first year is because this is our first year to sponsor her – as if we needed any evidence of our direct involvement.  It is amazing to see Compassion reach out, educate, clothe, and nurture these children.  We got proof of that when Birhane surprised us and burst into the English alphabet!  The Amharic alphabet has something like 260 characters, so to be working on a second version is pretty impressive.

Want to find out how your direct involvement can change a child's world?  Click here or here, and then go sponsor a child!

She Has a Story

This morning, my brother Reed and his wife Lee Ann boarded a plane that would take them to the other side of the world, to the place where their third daughter waits for them.

She's in Ethiopia.  She's almost 11 months old.  She has giant brown eyes and heart-shaped lips, and she has (the orphanage workers have said) a bright and curious personality.  And it makes me smile when I think of how unaware she is, at this very moment, how much she is loved.  She has no idea how many hours her momma has stared at her photograph, hoping the dimply hands means she has enough to eat.  She doesn't know about the countless of hours of research her daddy has done, finding a way to bring her home.  She's never met the two big sisters who have prayed for her every night.  She doesn't know the grandmother who wears her name on a chain, or the rowdy cousins who are already planning affectionate nicknames.  She has no idea her auntie Shannon is prowling around like a crazy woman, anxiously checking for the text message:  We have her.

She doesn't know all of this; she simply sits happily in her crib in Addis Abada, lovingly cared for by orphanage workers who saw, from the start, an undeniable sparkle in her.  When she was abandoned as a newborn, they named her Tarikwa Teka.  It's Amharic for "she has a story that He has replaced".

Needless to say, Reed and Lee Ann are keeping that name.  It's much too beautiful--and true--to change. 

She has a story.  And unbeknownst to little Tarik, chapter two begins in only three days, when her parents come to get her.  May I ask, if the thought crosses your mind, that you'd pray for my brother and his wife, that their travel would be safe, and that Tarik will be able to adapt to her new family easily?  Will you pray for those of us back at home that we will all have the wisdom to help Reed, Lee Ann and Tarik in this transition, and that my two little nieces here at home will feel peaceful while their parents are away?  I'd appreciate it so much, and I know they would too.

By the way, Reed and Lee Ann have a six-year-old Compassion child in Ethiopia, and they'll get to meet her while they're there.  Updates to come!

Thanks for your prayers.

"I Wept Tonight..."

I'm taking a break from the What I'd Like For You To Know series today, but it will be back next week.  Instead, I wanted to remind you about the upcoming Compassion bloggers' trip to the Dominican Republic.  On the one hand, I'm so excited about the big picture--I know that these bloggers will be seeing some powerful things, and their words will change lives.  But on more personal level, my heart tugs with the memories of the days leading up to trip of that scope.  I know these bloggers are scurrying around, ready to leave their families, unsure of what they will see, and eager (frightened? ready? hopeful?) that they will be changed. 

And it's this idea of being "changed" that is on my heart this week.  Just last week, one of my posts from our trip was published in Compassion's quarterly magazine.  It was a huge thrill, of course.  It's always fun to open something up and see your name in print.  But reading my own words back to myself, all these months later, felt a little jarring.  Despite the changes that took place in my heart, it is so easy to slip back into old ways.  I read that article and heard my own voice and thought, "Please, never, never let me forget."  I even flipped through my photos, trying to smell the dust and remember those faces.

In yet another providential turn of events, the following e-mail landed in my in-box at the same time I was thinking these thoughts.  It was so lovely and stirring that I wrote back the author to ask if I could share an excerpt with you.  Please read her compelling words:

I wept tonight...

Its getting colder here in Chicagoland, and I came in from a shopping trip, turned on my heat for the first time, and started to clean up a week's worth of "piles" around the house.  Sometime this week the Compassion magazine had come in the mail but I just found it tonight.  I laid it aside to read after I finished putting away groceries, cleaning out the fridge and doing the long list of other chores that are needing to be done.

In the depths of my heart, when I feel a twinge of guilt for all I have and all I let myself have, I know I avoid seeing things like that magazine.  Ironically, there was a picture of a t-shirt on the back cover that caught my eye and I decided to take a closer look.  Before long, I had sat down to flip through the pages.  My conscience was stirred by the article about hunger in Africa, my mind was broadened by the story of a Compassion boy on trial for crime he didn't commit, and my heart was outraged by the news of the disdain for the life of little girls in India.  By the time I flipped open the back of the magazine, I was surprised to see your smiling face and the grin of a little boy I'd seen before on your blog; the hardness and nonchalance that I find so easily slips into my heart was crumbling, and melting into tears down my face.

You see, even though I'd read your story before, tonight again my heart was stirred.  In February, while you were in Africa, God brought into my life a business opportunity.  I felt like I was stepping off a cliff into the unknown but one thing I knew I wanted to do with the new part of my income was to sponsor a child.  I even wrote to tell you about it because when her picture and first letter came, I was so excited.  Her name is Mary, she's from India and she's beautiful!

When Compassion sent a bumper sticker, I proudly put it on display in my back car window.  As I fight my way through busy traffic, and glance in my rear-view mirror, I am often reminded to use that time to pray.  When you posted a link to a friend's blog about submitting to the tugging of our hearts to sponsor, my heart tugged. Just like that friend, I had seen a boy on the Compassion site who I thought I should sponsor, but I decided to wait and went back to find his picture missing.  You would think I would just forget about it, but I can't.  I had tried to justify that I was already sponsoring one child, did God really want me to sponsor two?  I rationalized about money, the economy, "fixing" my debt first, and a whole host of other selfish thoughts.  I know that's what it boils down to...selfishness.  I think tonight, deep in my heart, that's why I cried.  I cried to God for the plight of so many of his children in need and for so many of his children that could help but don't.  I cried because I knew what I needed to do, and what God had been prompting all along...for me to trust him and give!

Thank you for your reminder that sponsoring is not just a symbolic gesture of momentary selflessness, but indeed a commitment to sharing what God has given us, both things tangible and things unseen.  

Please, my friends--even though I know so many of you faithfully and generously followed along on our Africa trip, please open up your hearts to follow this new set of bloggers to the Dominican Republic.  Tell your friends, perhaps friends who don't know about Compassion's work, and let's help these bloggers reach a whole new audience.

Please pray for Melanie, Mary, Tim, Marlboro Man, Jennifer, Brian and Shaun, and for their families back home.  And most of all, pray for the children around the world who are waiting for a sponsor family.  Like yours, maybe? 

In Which "Rock Dude" Comes For a Visit

When I went to Uganda in February, Christian recording artist Shaun Groves was on our team of bloggers.  He's a completely down-to-earth, unassuming guy--you would never know he has tons of fans and a very successful music career.  He's the real deal.

Shaun and his manager Ben came to our city this weekend for some concerts, and they stayed with us.  I didn't mention it to my kids until a few days before they arrived, because I knew the excitement level was going to be pretty high.  They know who Shaun is, of course, both from my trip and from listening to my iPod.  And my nine-year-old is...how shall we say this...easily star-struck.  As in, he thinks the mailman is famous because, "MOM. THEY GAVE HIM HIS OWN. WHITE. TRUCK."

(He also talks in ALL-CAPS most of the time.  With LOTS. OF. DRAMATIC. PAUSES.)

Anyway, I casually mentioned Shaun and Ben's upcoming visit, and I waited for the eruption.  I wasn't disappointed.  Stephen slapped both hands on the table and delivered the following paragraph in one long breath:

"NO. WAY.  ROCK DUDE IS COMING TO OUR HOUSE?  WILL HE RIDE IN A LIMO?  DO YOU THINK THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SCREAMING PEOPLE LINED UP IN OUR DRIVEWAY?  OH MY GOSH, DO YOU THINK HE MIGHT WRITE A SONG RIGHT HERE, LIKE, IN OUR HOUSE?"

It actually turned into a great conversation, as I told my son how Shaun uses his platform to tell people about Compassion's work, and how he backs up what he says with the way he lives.  My boy was pretty impressed by that, too.

And it was a great weekend.  It was so meaningful for my family to meet someone who was on that life-changing trip with me.  Shaun and Ben were really great to hang out with my kids and answer their questions.  Shaun even signed Stephen's guitar (Stephen: "MAYBE I CAN SELL IT ON EBAY FOR REALLY. BIG. BUCKS!")  Stephen was just a tad disappointed that Shaun didn't write a song while he was here.  (At least, I don't think he did.  Unless his next album has a song about a laundry room that smells like dirty soccer socks.  If so, that one's all me.)

Shaun is heading up a team for another Compassion bloggers' trip next month.  A group of six bloggers will be heading to the Dominican Republic in November.  Two of them--Melanie and Mary--are my dear friends.  Also going along are Jennifer from 5 Minutes For Mom, Tim from Challies (one of my favorite thinking-cap blogs) and Marlboro Man, husband of Ree, the Pioneer Woman.  Please join me in praying for this group.  In this month leading up to such a life-changing event, I can attest that they probably have all kinds of crazy going on in their hearts right now.

While we're on the subject, I'd love to hear from you how your Compassion sponsor kids are doing.  I know many of you added to your families this way during the first trip--and many of you long before that.  How are they?  Our sweet kids seem to be doing really well.  Dissan, the nine-year-old boy I met in Kampala, still thanks me for the soccer ball, seven months later.  Abraham, 11, told us how he and his grandmother are harvesting ground nuts by digging with their hands, and he asked me, "Does your family dig?"  Joseph, age seven, reminds me of my own seven year old, asking pointed questions.  After I sent him a recent picture, he wanted to know, "Why don't I look like you?  Will I look like you when I'm older?"  Sweet little Esther is only four, and her letters are short and sweet, written with the help of a worker at her school.  Usually she just tells us over and over how much she loves us.   

How are your Compassion kids?  I'd love to know.  Don't have one yet?  Now is as good as time as any--click over and sponsor a child here.

CompassionBloggers.com Goes Live!

I have been squirming and fidgeting in antipation of this big day for a long time, and I so excited to tell you about it.

Compassion International, as you know, does amazing work around the world helping lift children out of poverty.  When it comes to the blogosphere, they really get it.  As an organization, they understand the power of the blogosphere to get the word out quickly and effectively on important topics.  When I went along on their first Compassion Bloggers' Trip in February, I was impressed by the Compassion staff's committment to using the blogosphere as a frontline tool in raising the profile of their life-changing work.  Sign me up, I told them.  My blog is yours.  As long as I'm writing here, I'm going to tell people what Compassion is doing.

You can too.

Today Compassion has launched CompassionBloggers.com, a comprehensive resource for bloggers wanting to jump on board with Compassion's vision.  There are banners, links, stories, photos, news and more.

And...are you ready for this?...there are the details of their next bloggers' trip.

Yes!  They were so pleased with the impact of our Uganda trip that they're going to take a different group of bloggers to the Dominican Republic in November.  I am so very enthusiastically hoping that one of you will get to go, and if you do, I am hoping you will agree to pack me in your suitcase.

Please head over to CompassionBloggers.com and look around.  (If you are unable to see it, hang tight.  It may take a while for site to go live everywhere in the world.)  If you have your own blog, will you consider joining in with their important mission?  Even if you're not interested in going on the trip, there are so many ways bloggers can use their blogs to make a powerful difference.

And as long as we're on the subject, let me introduce you to Brayan.  He's six years old, and he lives with his grandparents in Dominican Republic.  And he needs a sponsor.  Please, will it be you?  (If you sign up to sponsor Brayan, please send me an e-mail and let me know.  If you click on his link and it doesn't work, then--praise God!--it means that someone has sponsored this sweet boy.)  Hooray!  That only took an hour!  Reader Jeni sponsored Brayan.  She writes, "His expression is so like that of my 6 year old nephew - full of mischief and humor."

Bite Back!

Many of you have expressed a desire to be involved with Compassion International, but you're not in a position to commit to sponsoring a child.  I have a solution for you.

Friday is World Malaria Day.  From Compassion:

"If you think you’re too small to make a difference, try sleeping in a room with a mosquito."

Every African knows this is true because mosquitoes carry malaria—a tropical disease that kills over 750,000 children each year. That’s one child every 30 seconds. In Africa, mosquitoes make a huge difference in the lives of poor families and children. And it all starts with a tiny bite.

Remarkably, as horrible and dangerous as this disease in, the simple presence of a mosquito net over a person's bed makes a huge difference.  It's such a simple thing. 

A one-time $10 donation will give a family a mosquito net through Compassion.  Your kids can probably come up with $10.  Get them involved--bring out the globe and show them where on our planet malaria is prevalent.  Help think of a way they can make some sacrifices to save $10 in the family budget, and send a mosquito net to Africa.

Perspective

Watch this video.  It will blow you away:

They're eating dirt, my friends. DIRT.  Can you fathom this?  (Thanks to Anne for the link.)

Compassion has a strong presence in Haiti (and incidentally, at this very moment I'm writing this post, there are 76 children from Haiti waiting for Compassion sponsors.  Click here to sponsor one.)

Here's this update directly from them:

Compassion Haiti has maintained regular communications with our Field-Based Partnership Facilitators who are meeting with project staff regarding the individual circumstances of each Compassion-assisted child. 

Currently, Compassion projects and children have not been directly affected by starvation, looting or violence, though Compassion families are affected by the high rate of inflation.

All Compassion Haiti project activities have resumed after being temporarily suspended as a preventive measure.

Please continue to pray for God’s provision and favor in Haiti.

We watched the above video as a family last night, and we prayed together, specifically for the work of Compassion in this nation.  One of my sons prayed, "God, I just don't think I realized how bad the poverty was in the world.  But I see now."

When you sponsor a Compassion child, they're not the only ones whose lives are changed.

*UPDATED* Compassion Chat

*UPDATE AT THE END!*

This is going to be a long one, but stick with me to the end--there's some good info here.

I haven't written much about Compassion in the last couple of weeks, though it's not because they're any less on my heart.  Frankly, I wanted to speak to you more about their work, but I felt like you and I both probably needed a break from the intense emotion surrounding my trip. 

Life has returned to normal for me--or, at least, to the "new" normal.  I still find myself battling moments of frustration occasionally, though these days the frustration is more with myself than anyone around me.  I wonder, at times, if my life is reflecting the changes I want it to reflect?  Am I slipping into old thinking and old priorities?  God has been so faithful to drop me moments of encouragement at just the moments I need it. 

Like the e-mail I received yesterday.  I've actually received so many amazing e-mails from many of you about your own Compassion experiences--I could start a whole blog just excerpting your beautiful words.  But this one, from Suzanne, touched me so deeply I asked her if I could share a bit of it with you (the photo is of her Compassion child, Geofrey):

I am not a woman with much money. In fact, I have more debt than I have laundry. And with three kids with a penchant for sock wearing, that's really saying something, you know. But I knew....I JUST KNEW when I saw those pictures that I would have to sponsor a child. I would find the money somehow, somewhere. God doesn't call the equipped, He equips the called. I felt called to sponsor a kiddo. I picked a boy close to my own son's age. I didn't do it to make myself feel good, or to say "Oh look at me, I'm such a good person for doing this.." Not at all. I just heard God whispering to me. Probably much the same way he whispers to Geofrey, the litte boy I sponsored. Oh how I cried, clicking that button. I felt selfish for the merest of moments, thinking "I just clicked away $100 and I have debts to pay..." But then I felt peace, even knowing that yes, my debt will still be there, but a little boy will have his needs met. I felt like a momma, taking care of what needs to be done.

I myself am the mother of three kids with special needs. Each one different, but their difficulties range from Mental Retardation and Autism to speech delays. I have enough on my plate. But God whispered to me and said "Your heart is big even if your wallet is not."

Of course, stories like this are unbelievably touching.  However moved your heart may be, it's still always prudent good to ask questions before you get involved financially with any charity.  Several of you have sent me some good questions, and I'd like to address a few below.  (For a complete list of FAQ's, see the Compassion website.) I enlisted the help of my friend Brian Seay.  He's on the U.S. staff of Compassion, and he went along on our trip to Uganda (you can read his blog here).  I'm quoting him directly; his words are in blue, my own are in black.

First, read these rankings and reports from independent charity watchdog groups:

Charity Watch
Charity Navigator
Ministry Watch

Why does Compassion focus on individual child development rather than broader community development work?

[From the Compassion website] During Compassion's 50-plus years of development work, we've seen various approaches to breaking the cycle of poverty in children's lives. We've discovered that changed circumstances rarely change people's lives, while changed people inevitably change their circumstances.

Community development is important work that addresses the external circumstances of poverty and is an important complement to our work. However, our primary focus is individual child development—an inside-out, bottom-up approach that recognizes the God-given value and potential of each individual child. Many of these children grow up to become positive influences in their own communities.

Why is only one child per family sponsored?  Does this breed some resentment within families?  What about within villages, where you have some sponsored children and some who are not—is this an issue? 

The major reason for this is practical based on the number of children in need and the project/church capacity.  The belief of taking 1-3 children per family (it differs between countries) and limiting it there is based upon ministering to the greatest number of families possible.  If you don’t have a limit on number of children per family, the number of families reached dramatically decreases.  I suppose there is potential for resentment but the fact is that all members of the family benefit from Compassion (food, medical care, etc.) and many times the church is ministering in some way to the rest of the children. 

In Honduras last month I visited a new Compassion project that was only accepting young children because of their capacity and supplies.  So, the church began a ministry for the pre-teens and teens that was in addition to the Compassion project at the church.

How long does it take to get a letter to/from your child?

Two to three months.  The letter travels from your home to the office in Colorado Springs where it is read for content and packaged with other letters headed to the same country.  Once the letter arrives in the country it is translated and delivered to the appropriate project.

Our own letters with our four kids in Uganda have actually moved much faster than this--the turnaround time has generally been more like six to eight weeks.

Can I send clothes or toys directly to these kids?

The sheer cost of allowing packages to be sent to a Compassion child is staggering.  Not to mention the customs rules and charges in the different countries.  I know the intent is good on the part of the sponsor, but Compassion does not have the capacity in manpower or finances to handle this. 

Any sponsor can give three different kinds of gifts each year beyond their monthly involvement.  The birthday and Christmas gifts are used to buy items for the child and his/her family.  You can also give a ‘family gift’ with a maximum of $300 per year that goes directly to the family.  The country and project staff work directly with the family to asses the greatest need.  I have seen examples where the family gift fixed a roof, bought a goat, or helped with food and daily supplies.

When I was in Uganda, I learned that Compassion will occasionally partner with other reputable relief-type organiazations, as specific situations arise.  For example, they've worked directly with Samaritan's Purse to help with identifying children for Operation Christmas Child packages.

If you have a question not answered by the Compassion website, e-mail it to me, and I'll see if I can get it answered for you.

Before I wrap this up, let me introduce you to Christine.  She's seven years old, and she has six siblings.  She needs a sponsor, right now, today.  Let's not allow this sweet girl to go through one more weekend without somebody stepping in to meet her most basic needs.  Click here if you want it to be you.  If the link doesn't work, then--praise God!--that means someone has signed up for her!  (If it's you, e-mail me.)  *UPDATED TO ADD* Hooray!  In under two hours from the time of the original post, a reader nicknamed "Zoom" sponsored sweet Christine.  Zoom wrote to me:

I am childless.  One of my favorite scriptures is Isaiah 54.  "Sing O barren woman, you who never bore a child, burst into song, shout for joy, you who were never in labor, "  the scripture goes on to say " enlarge your tent" and some interpretations say " many will be your children".  Christine can become my spiritual child, and for that I  thankful.  Our sweet God fills the needs of a childless woman and a child that live half a world away from each other.   What a blessing.

One last note to this marathon post:  if by any chance you're coming to the Aaron Shust concert in Broken Arrow, OK, tonight, I'll be working at the Compassion table handing out packets.  Come by and say hello!