Category: Compassion

Her name is Anne.

She has fallen victim to some bad curry.

Or maybe it was the pizza.

Either way.

She wears no makeup today.

She doesn’t fix her hair.

Her eyes are red because she’s been crying.

And her bed has been one of her two closest friends.

(I’ll let you guess what her other friend has been).

Two of us bloggers had to stay behind due to gastrointestinal issues. It just seemed like the smartest thing to do. Our project was out two hours on bumpy roads, and the heat index is to reach 115 degrees today.

Probably not so good for those who are naturally dehydrating themselves.

On to Anne.

In early 2008, she had it all. An amazing job working alongside two of the most respected and innovative pastors in the American church. She had a good salary, a cushy downtown apartment with red walls and hardwood floors. She had just purchased her adulthood dream car.

And sure, she was generous — at least in her own American way. She tithed to her church, gave above and beyond for new projects, and sponsored a Compassion child in Ethiopia. (The one who bought a sheep with the EXTRA money she sent).

Then in February, she touched poverty on a trip to Africa. She smelled it. For a week, no matter where she turned, it was there.

They had eyes of hope, but skin and bones for flesh.

They had dreams, but no clean water.

They were covered in potential, but they had no clean clothes.

And on this trip, something inside her broke. Sixteen months later, it’s never been fixed.

Anne quit her job. And moved to Nashville where she had friends with like-minded pursuits and opportunities. Now, using the internet, and video, and Twitter, and Facebook, she wants to take you as close to these under-resourced areas as possible.

You may never touch the rough hand of a young, hungry child.

Or see a two week old dying in a crib in an orphanage in Kolkata.

You may never smell what raw sewer and smoke and smog smell like on a hellishly hot and humid day.

But it is my prayer for you that something will break.

Reading our stories, and learning about the children and the families and the culture we are experiencing isn’t enough.

Yes, I am more than amazed at the response as some of you have connected to one story or another. I am amazed that close to 200 children have been sponsored because of this trip, and over 1400 have been sponsored as a result of all blogging trips.

But as Shaun said yesterday, it’s not about the money.

It’s about the relationship you and a child a world away will have. It’s about them hearing they are loved. It’s about praying for them. And knowing they are praying and thinking about you.

See that? Those are sponsor letters. This Compassion office in East India processes over 1000 letters to children a week.

For me, over the last year and a half, it’s been about living with less. It has taken time, but I have cut my expenses literally in half. In the summer, I will be moving into an 800 sq ft, 1 bedroom cottage thanks to my friends who have so graciously rented it to me for a more than reasonable price. My credit cards are paid off. I’ve canceled things like cable and wireless cards and I’m even weaning myself off my beloved Lunesta to save another $50/month.

I tell you this not in pride, but because as I have developed these relationships with the sponsored children I have, they continue to affect me. They continue to bring me to new levels of “comfort.” For me, “comfort” doesn’t mean what it used to mean.

We can’t be comfortable the way we used to be.

I’m not going to try and passive-aggressively manipulate you. This trip is about getting children sponsored, yes. Not only for the financial freedom $32 brings them a month, but for the financial freedom it will bring you as you store up in treasures elsewhere. I’m not talking about heaven. I’m talking about Africa, India, Burkina Faso.

Your own home.

This girl named Anne is not perfect. She still spends far too much money on clothes and hair product. (Just ask my roommate on this trip). This girl still makes decisions that are meaningless and selfish.

But she also believes with all of her heart that one child sponsorship will not only change the life of someone across the world, it will change yours in ways you can never imagine.

If you feel stuck…trust me on this. Just trust me. Because I’ve been there.? There is freedom in truth. There is freedom in carrying the burdens of others.

You will be amazed.

I promise.

Here’s the link to look at the children that need your help.

This is my ask.

The rest is up to you.

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Her name is Lakshmi.

When I met our sponsor child Linet last year in Uganda, I gave her a set of simple beaded bracelets. I had the same pair on. I told her every time I wore them, I would think of her.

I grabbed one of the bracelets from my jewelry box (okay, it’s a piece of tupperware…I am SO fancy) and slipped it on my wrist at the last moment before heading to the airport last week.

Part of me wanted to keep it on to remember Linet, remember the Uganda trip, and remember how much I’ve been changed since that trip.

Yet a little voice spoke to me when I slipped it on and said, “You’ll know when to give this away.”

And on my arm it has stayed since we’ve arrived.

Officially, I’m the “videographer” on this trip…so, most of my time is spent behind a camera catching moments and stories as the bloggers interact with the children. I realized yesterday I hadn’t really had a chance to just play with them like I did last year.

This afternoon, we were making some home visits (where our group visits the home of a Compassion child to meet their family and experience their life as best as we can in half an hour). As I walked behind the group, trying to get footage of the neighborhood, one of the girls we were visiting, Lakshmi, came up to me and grabbed my hand.

I leaned over to say hi, and she whispered back with a big, bright smile,

“You’re beautiful.”

One of the points of these trips is for us to simply love on the kids. So we can tell them how worthy they are and how beautiful they are.

Not the other way around.

My heart crumbled.

We entered her home, learned all about her, her family, her life. She wants to be a doctor. And I have no doubt some day she will. She’s sharp, and witty, and her family was close and emotionally supportive.

As I went to hug Lakshmi, I slipped the beaded bracelet off my wrist and on to hers. Her eyes lit up.

“This is for me?”

“Yes…I have one like it at home, and when I wear it, I’ll think of you.”

“Are you sure it’s for me?”

“Absolutely.”

Before we left her home, I put down the camcorder so we could play and talk just a little more.

I did not want to leave this girl.

My friend Spence took some pictures of us…and needless to say, Lakshmi had a little surprise for me too.

We posed, all smiles, and at the last minute, she leaned in to give me a big kiss on the cheek.

In the Indian culture, from what I understand, this is a sentiment of trust and deep friendship. Most people in this culture are quite physically reserved when it comes to showing affection.

I was shocked…and literally, about to lose what little composure I had left.

We took one more photo, and went outside to take some group shots.

As we left the house, both of her parents bowed on their knees to us, kissing their fingers and then placing them on each of our feet. In the Hindu culture, this is a sign of a mutual blessing…we have honored them by our visit, and they hope they have honored us by their hospitality.

Spence was over by a rickshaw (what Lakshmi’s father drove for his employment) and I walked over to him with tears in my eyes.

(Side note: I don’t cry. Marley and Me? Nothing.)

“Spence, I can’t leave here. I just can’t.”

He gave me a hug and I tried to compose myself for the photos.

Lakshmi grabbed on to me again, and pulled me down by her in the group photos. She took hold of Angie with the other hand and after a few minutes of picture taking, it was time for us to go.

Hand in hand, we walked a quarter of the mile from her house back to the Compassion project.

It was time to say goodbye.

She tapped on my shoulder and had me lean down close to her again. She gave me a big kiss on the cheek, and repeated her first words to me.

“You’re beautiful.”

I kissed her cheek back and told her the same. I told her I knew she would be a doctor one day. I played with her bracelet on her wrist and reminded her I’d be thinking of her when I returned home.

And as I type this from my hotel desk, overlooking the traffic of Kolkata, my eyes are again filled with tears.

There are millions of children in this world that need hope. That need help.

We can’t change a million lives. But we can change one.

One beautiful child. With a beautiful smile. With a beautiful soul.

And now, one with a beaded bracelet.

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His name is Pramanik.

Several of us stood in his house, barely fitting into the 100 square feet. The walls were woven together with bamboo sticks and leaves. During the Monsoon season, they covered it in tarps. Living as close as they do to the water, it’s a miracle their home was even standing as firm as it was on the cement floor. Four people – Pramanik, his brother, and his parents – called this modest shack home.

His young parents answered an influx of questions from us while his little brother coyly stared at the video camera I was holding. ?We learned Pramanik was relatively new to being sponsored, and that his father was having difficulty finding work because he’s been sick with jaundice.

I asked our translator to ask him what he wanted to be when he grew up. Maybe it’s the idealist in me, but I think that’s my favorite question to ask children. Their potential is beyond anything we can imagine.

What came out of his mouth surprised me.

Nothing.

He didn’t say a word.

You can watch the whole conversation in the video below. I couldn’t believe it.

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He doesn’t have a dream.

In situations like Pramanik’s, having a dream for the future isn’t a part of their reality. They just continue to live in the cycles of poverty their own parents, and grandparents, and great grandparents have known. Future plans and hopes don’t typically exist.

Because of someone’s $32 a month, Pramanik is going to his Compassion project everyday. They aren’t only just teaching him about God, and love, and feeding him, and caring for him…they’re painting a picture of his potential. He’s only seven years old now. He has at least ten more years of Compassion, and his sponsor (through his letters and support) to help him realize he can have a dream. Compassion has a plan for children to work through from the ages of 12 to 17, to evaluate their strengths and their passions and to put them on the right track to blowing those dreams out of the water.

Pramanik has a sponsor. He has hope. But there are 70 other children in the project (all of Compassion’s projects are conducted through a local church) who need sponsors.

They need to know they’re loved.

And they need to know they can dream.

Heck. They just need to know what a dream….is.

And can be.

Can you help them?

Below is a video from the same project…it’s a great overview if you’re new to what Compassion International does. And if you have any questions about Compassion, sponsorship, anything…please let me know and I’ll answer them tomorrow night India time — you’ll read them on Tuesday afternoon.

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East India Flickr Account: HERE

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It’s been sixteen months since I’ve seen Henry.

He was the first Ugandan boy I met while on the Compassion Trip in 2008. Our team departed for one of the schools only to find when we arrived, the school had let out.

Teachers were able to get word to some of the parents and caretakers that a group of Muzungus (white people) were at the school and eager to meet them. After spending half an hour touring the project (including my first experience with an African outhouse), a group of students had gathered in the meeting room.

Dressed to the nines in fresh school uniforms, the headmaster requested each of them stand up, tell us what they wanted to be when they became adults, and sit down.

A doctor.

A teacher.

An engineer.

A navigator.

As the boy in a yellow uniform sat down, I wasn’t quite sure I knew what a navigator was. Do they navigate ships? Planes? Is that like an air traffic controller?

The rest of the children finished sharing and our group began exiting the school, mingling with the students on the way out.

Uncomfortably aware of how my western social skills were failing me, the boy in the yellow uniform came up to my left side and tapped me on the shoulder.

“I’m Henry,” he said. “You’re welcome.”

It didn’t take long to learn “you’re welcome” was a greeting in Uganda, not a response to being thanked.

And we were.

Very welcomed.

I asked Henry how old he was.

“Twelve.”

He asked where I was from in the States.

“A place called Oklahoma,” I replied, attempting to find a way to describe it to him.

“It’s very red…like the dirt here. But there aren’t many trees.”

He asked me if I knew the Petersons. They were the family that sponsored him through Compassion. I asked if he knew where they lived.

“A village called Wisconsin.”

Henry and I continued to walk and talk for several minutes. I asked him about his family and his school, and what a navigator did. The kind he was referring to was like a boating guide for tourists.

I took out my camera and asked someone to take our picture.

He was fascinated by it, and after we had our own photo made, asked if he could take some pictures with it.

Henry was able to get a couple of photos in before our team made it back to the bus. He asked me to tell the Petersons he loved them, if I ever happened to meet them.

I promised I would.

Now, as I sit on this plane from Nashville to Chicago, soon to be Chicago to India, I fondly remember my time with Henry. I wonder if he remembers me.

And I wonder about the little boy or girl I’ll meet tomorrow in Kolkata. I wonder how old they are, who their family is, and what they want to be when they grow up.

Because one day at a time, they are growing up.

And sixteen months from now, they’ll be even closer to that dream.

Just like Henry.