Category: India

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.