Just a Minute

Tags

Children, Compassion International, Desert Storm, Education, Encouragement, homeschooling, Military wife, Shame

Yesterday I was walking to the back of a classroom, returning from the bathroom with four-year old Elena. Because we had a function later in the day, Elena was wearing a pink, swishy dress and Sunday shoes that tapped noticeably.  I was surprised when I was slid a hand-written note from another homeschool mom. Some of her children and mine attend a composition (writing) class while we mothers and siblings sit in the back, trying not to make too much noise.  Her note read:

“Your daughter is

Unbearably cute.

Everywhere she goes it is with great intent.

Her heavy steps, laser focus, and speed say so much.

She has far to go and the steel will to get there.

You are probably exhausted by her determination but

Just wait. I am a decade farther along and I promise you will

Be entertained and relieved when she is older.                                                                                                                                                       

You will have a front row seat to her greatness

One day.”

When the mom handed me the sweet note, I probably took a deep breath, preparing myself for what it would say. In my memory there are a couple of other times I have been “slipped” a letter. Both times were harsh and critical. The first occurred almost twenty four years ago, exactly four weeks after Thomas and I married.

Just a month married, we visited a new church together. The next day Thomas, a U.S. Army lieutenant, was being deployed to Saudi Arabia as part of the preparation for the Gulf War (Desert Shield, soon to be Desert Storm). All we knew is that he would be gone a minimum of six months. Eventually, it turned out to be seven months and a day, but who’s counting?!

A bit overwhelmed, we sat holding hands during church service. Once in a while, we’d kiss each other’s cheeks. Okay, we were a little mushy, but he was getting ready to leave for a war.

As we were leaving the service, a man handed us a note. “I’m an elder of the church,” it began and what followed was a pointed chastisement of our affection display. He didn’t say, “Don’t come back.” Of course, he didn’t need to.  After that welcome we weren’t exactly eager to return.

I have revisited this church service memory over and over, mostly in amusement. I hope when we’re seventy we get chastised for being too effusive. The experience with the “elder” has also been a challenge to me not to judge others too quickly.

Currently, I am reading the fabulous book Just a Minute by Wess Stafford, former president of Compassion International. It is filled with stories of people who in just a moment interaction have changed a child’s life. Words are powerful. They can be used to encourage and empower. The converse is true. We can shame and damage.

I will be saving the above note for Elena. A gift for her when an “elder” fails to her true spirit and worth in God’s eyes.

As usual, I can’t help but see the connection with the privilege of sponsoring through Compassion International. I have heard former sponsored children say, “Poverty told me I had no value.” It’s the lie of poverty. Sponsorship brings hope and demolishes the lie. Through support and letters from their sponsors in a land far away, children realize that they are in fact valuable, loved, and cherished by Jesus. There is actual evidence that sponsored children perform better in school when they receive correspondence from sponsors.

Let’s use our resources and our words. It only takes a minute. Sponsor a Compassion Child

 

 

 

 

 

What’s Left Undone

Tags

Bible, Children, Chirstianity, Compassion International, Money, poverty

Many of us have heard the story of the filling jar. The teacher challenges the student to fit an entire assortment of rocks, some large but most small, into the jar. Initially, the student tries a rather random approach of dropping the rocks into the container. With this method there are sundry rocks remaining. Next the teacher demonstrates that all the rocks will fit if he deposits the big rocks first.

Nice. And that’s the problem. It’s too nice and neat. My intent is not to be critical of the story, which serves as a little homily: focus on the top priorities and everything falls into place. Naturally, analogies break down, but still the neatness chafes on me.  After all, the only thing required in this illustration is to choose the right order, and then everything fits. I would much prefer the story if there were still rocks left over.

For me, it’s endless choices that characterize my life. What will I do? What will I not do? What are my values? Some things scream out as the big rocks, as the most important, but others are more ambiguously sized. Is it important that I clean out my closet, wash my car, or rescue a dog from a shelter? Well, if that’s all I had on my plate, sure. As it is, I decide that a clean closet and car are not in my agenda for the near future. We remain pet-less. They are rocks that lay on the table, neglected and waiting. And that’s the way it will always be—there will be rocks of assorted sizes on the table. You can’t do it all. You can’t have it all.

In my eyes some people are running around after what they deem “big” rocks while I view them as trivial. I suspect that others are equally perplexed by what I consider essential. As one who chafes against the cultural norms, I am continually seeking to align my values by what I perceive as God’s leading and not the “American dream.” Still when I examine closer, I can find subtle influences that affect my attitude, causing me to question my choices. Back to the Word and His presence I must turn. No wonder I love the verse, “Be still and know that I am God.”

Well-meaning people often say, “Oh, you must be so busy with four kids.” At times I reply, “Not really.” The truth is that I leave a lot of rocks on the table.

Having many choices is both our challenge and privilege. Those in abject poverty have “no choices” as they are constrained by one big rock—survival. As a result, some of the rocks that we leave out in are home are material in natural. Perhaps you’ve heard the saying, “Live simply that others may simply live.”

No, we don’t go out to eat as much as other families. My kids notice that and other differences in our spending. It’s a continual evaluation to know the right way to go in finances, balancing various needs, and I have no formula. All I know is that with our choices comes the privilege of being able to give to those without choices. It takes only one of our small rocks to help with their big rock.

For some time I prayed for God to show us the best place to give that would help the poorest of the poor. One of God’s biggest gifts to us last year was the answer to that prayer. Seeing Compassion at work first-hand won our hearts. As a result of their outreach, working out of local churches, children are being released from their economic, physical, social and spiritual poverty. It is a long-term approach with extraordinary results. Because I am not easily impressed, you can be assured it took nothing less than seeing the wonder of God’s hand at work to make me a fervent promoter of this ministry.  Compassion rocks.

What’s left undone, what’s left not spent, can change a life forever. Sponsorship of a child is just $38 per month. Will you join us?

 

Sponsor a Compassion Child

Beyond Broken Glass (Part II)

Tags

Children, Chirstianity, Compassion, Dominican Republic, Missions, poverty

Thanks to the robbers and the kindness of Compassion, we ended up in La Romana with one of Compassion’s church partners. This church is transforming their ghetto.

Steps away from the church and missionary house, they’ve established a hospital/clinic where the neighborhood poor can receive free medical and dental care. Know of any nurses, doctors, or dentists who want to serve for any length of time? They are also in the process of building a new school next door to serve the many, many children who cannot attend now due to overcrowded schools.

Not long after we arrived to the Missionary House, the School of Worship (SOW) team arrived from Allentown, PA. The church in La Romana was praying for us to make good connections with them…and does God answer prayer?! Before dinner the SOW team briefly heard our story. Immediately, the group put their arms around the six of us and prayed for us. The Holy Spirit was present and palatable and our tears flowed. Later that evening, they wanted to wrap us in praise and worship, so we all stayed up late, singing the most amazing praise to Jesus in English and Spanish, crying much of the time.

The next day, Manaen and I received a great gift. The local Dominican host for SOW’s mission trip invited us to join them in their outreach to area children.  And it did not come without cost to the SOW participants–I can still picture six of them squished in the front row of the mini-bus taxi because of us, the two extra passengers. Gloria a Jesus. 

You have no idea how that crammed bus image alone ministered to me. In former years when Thomas and I were on staff with Campus Crusade for Christ, we lead college student teams to closed East Asia. I have vivid memories of mian bao che’s (mini-bus taxis), stuffed with 10 to 12 American students on our way to bring the gospel to those who have never heard the name of Jesus. We lived in East Asia for two years and the privilege of being His ambassadors can still bring tears to my eyes. While we sang and interacted with the local children, I felt such joy to be there with Manaen, a full participant in all of it…and all because of a rock thrown in our window. “What others meant for evil, God meant for good.”

And that’s just one of the gifts from “Our Night of Broken Glass.” More on the way!

Sponsor a Compassion Child

An Atheist’s Impressive Faith

Tags

atheism, Bible, Children, Christianity, Faith, Jesus Christ, Religion and Spirituality

“You kissed when you were married,” remarks four year old Elena, looking with fascination at our wedding photos.

“Was I there?” she wanted to know.

“No, we were married before we had kids.”

Before dinner recently her dad and I exchanged a kiss not far from a framed wedding picture. Elena interrupted that kiss with a remarkable flow of logic: “You kissed when you were married. You were married before you had kids. Now you have kids, so you aren’t married. No more kissing!”

Goodness, she almost had me convinced…almost. My lips are still puckered.

Odd as it may seem, that conversation generated much thought about the arguments of my atheist friends. Many of their arguments contain true statements just like Elena’s. Some of those statements can be compelling, such as there is great evil in the world. My friends in China, almost without exception, were quick to point out that they couldn’t see God. Because they can’t see God, He cannot exist is their conclusion.

Why am I impressed with the atheist’s faith? He or she must believe in the statement: Because of…(whatever the observation, fact, or argument), therefore God must not exist. How do they know that to be true? They can’t know it in any provable way; they accept it by faith.

Interestingly, while I still was pondering these things, Elena and I had the rare opportunity to be home just the two of us. We were enjoying time upstairs when she heard something below. She called downstairs, “Is somebody down there?” No answer. Hmmm. How could she really be sure there was no one down there? Perhaps one of her siblings had returned but didn’t hear her call. Maybe they were playing a game with her and not answering.

It was going to require a great amount of faith to accept no one was downstairs. How do you prove a “nothing?” How do you prove there is no God?

When Elena hears her siblings loud call from downstairs, it will be easier to accept there is “somebody down there.” Frankly, I can’t claim great faith because I believe in God. I have experienced Him.

Recently, I heard an interview of Richard Dawkins in which he quoted the other famous atheist Bertrand Russell. Someone asked Russell how he would respond if he met God upon his death. “Why did you take such pains to hide yourself?” will be Russell’s question.

It makes me wonder if Russell then took pains to find Him. Have you? I believe what the Lord says in the Bible, “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”

If you’re willing to seek, have you considered immersing yourself in the book of John? The author of this gospel says in John 20: 30, 31, “Jesus did many other miraculous signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not recorded in this book. But these are written that you may believe the Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.”

My atheist friend, I am eager to see the result of your great faith when you find Him.

Experience the Joy of Investing in a Child

Drinking their Water

Tags

Bottled water, Compassion, Dominican Republic, Drinking water, Haiti, Waterborne diseases

In my previous post, He Knows before We Do, you can read how God opened the path for us to visit the Dominican Republic in May. Throughout our time there, I kept thinking about the incarnation, God the Son coming to the world in flesh, fully experiencing everything we do. He left the privilege of heaven and took on all of our reality in this fallen world. Out of his infinite love.

Our time in the DR was short, just eleven days, but we left with a more tangible understanding of the challenges and joys there. We could read about living conditions in the DR before we went, but now our kids know what it’s like to need purchased bottled water, even to brush teeth, to have to thoroughly dry our dishes after washing.

Even the locals need to purchase bottled water because of the level of contamination. Realistically, not all can afford it and, thus, can live with chronic sickness. Water-borne diseases are a leading cause of death in the DR and its close neighbor, Haiti, especially in small children.

Internationally, safe water is one of the greatest and most urgent needs in developing countries.  Every day over 4,000 children are dying of water-related diseases such as cholera and typhoid that are easily preventable. Recently, I have learned about Compassion Water of Life, a way of providing safe water for a child and his/her family for a lifetime (over 1 million gallons). It costs only $79, a one-time fee, to provide one child with Compassion Water of Life.

That low cost actually surprised me. It is not only affordable for the donor, but it frees up a greater expense for those in need. For example, when we were in the DR, our family needed to buy (refill) a five gallon container of purified water every day. Each time we refilled the container, it cost just over $1. Thus, just three months of purified water for one family would require over $90, a lot more than most Dominicans can afford. For more information and to purchase Compassion Water of Life, please visit http://www.compassion.com/water-filters.htm.  Also, you can watch a short video of a girl, whose life was saved at http://www.compassion.com/  donate/water-of-life-video.htm

Now our kids comprehend that DR toilets really can’t handle tissue paper and that you must deposit it in trash cans. They learned the hard way. Undeniably, it’s the same situation in East Asia where Thomas and I lived as in many countries, which we had told them.

Although Thomas and I thought that we had encountered crazy driving in other lands, the DR takes the cake. The kids and I were proud of Daddy learning to drive like a Dominican. He even drove once against traffic on the freeway! It happens there all the time, but for us it was eye-popping. Enthusiastically, our family started writing a poem about the driving because it was so striking—scary and hilarious at the same time. How we would love to make a children’s picture book about it to raise money for DR ministries, like Compassion.

Getting the illustrations to do it justice is the biggest hurdle. On the side of the road, you have vistas of gorgeous beaches and pick-up baseball games in dirt lots. Of course, there are pick-up games on the sandy beach, too. My kids joined one on our first Saturday and the Dominicans loved watching the loud and enthusiastic Avian. They called him “Rubio,” the blonde one.

Our trip to the DR brought many surprises, of which I’ll write more later. Perhaps the most silly came from my ten year old daughter, Kyrie Micaela. Who would have thought she’d fall in love with UHT milk?!

Theology of a Four Year Old

Tags

Bible, Children, Christ, Christianity, Death, God, Jesus, Jesus Christ, Religion and Spirituality, Theology

“I’m glad God made me with curls,” remarks Elena, smiling.

As she turns four this week, I’m struck with her recent comments about God.

“God loves me so much.”

How do you know, Elena?

“He made me just the way He wanted me.”

To a frightened sibling, she encourages, “You don’t need to be afraid. Jesus is with us.”

“Jesus died on the cross for our sins. He has wounds on his feet and hands.”

What more will she need to know than that when she’s 74? Elena’s abuelita (grandmother) lived with me at that age, dying of oral cancer. In my mom’s final and physically painful days, only a few things mattered. Am I alone? Who is with me? Jesus and my family? Am I ready to meet my Creator, to face eternity?

Although admittedly trying, caring for a dying loved is a singular gift. It teaches us what doesn’t really last—wealth, degrees, outward beauty. What we need now, later, and always is connection with Christ and others. Death begins to teach us to enjoy the present…like the sweet voice of Elena, clutching her doll:

“Mommy, Jesus made everything, but not Bitty Baby. She’s just a birthday gift!”

Experience the Joy of Investing in a Child

What Does the Fox Say?

Tags

Christianity, Compassion, Faith, Gospel, homeschooling, Parenting

“BE quiet!”

No, that’s not what the fox says. It’s what everyone shouts to eight year old Avian! With that song stuck in his head, he constantly sings it to the irritation of his siblings.

Have you noticed that our obsessions seem to upset others more than us?

Ten year old Kyrie questions me, “Why do you always want to write about Compassion?”

Knowing that I can’t do justice to Kyrie’s question, I still attempt. After all, my goal in parenting and homeschooling includes imparting vision, not simply the three R’s. Last night, when I was pondering the great sense of calling I have toward Compassion, three G’s came to mind:

The Great Commission

The Great Commandment—I pursued this topic in my earlier post, “Helping Others Snore.”

The Gospel.

How can I ever capture why the Gospel is so central to my love for Compassion? Jesus says in John 1:12 that whoever receives Him becomes a child of God.  If you’ve ever witnessed the birth of a baby, you have experienced something stunning and divine. Words can’t express it.

I remember when my second baby Kyrie, just minutes old, wriggled out of her swaddling to grasp my finger tightly. It melted my heart. In the same way, I never get over the splendor of seeing someone becoming a child of God, entering an eternal relationship with Christ. While it’s a birth, it’s also a love story with wooing, courtship, and a life-long commitment through the beauties and many difficulties of life.

When we visited the Compassion Centers in the Dominican Republic, I was struck with the deep love the workers evidenced, love for Jesus and love for the children. It was clear that they were devoted to releasing the children from both economic and spiritual poverty. Without Christ and the Gospel, we are still empty, no matter how much economic stability we have.

In 1995, I met Lily, a beautiful and intelligent instructor at one of the most prestigious universities in East Asia. Though she came from humble beginnings, she was succeeding in her teaching career and advancing economically by investing in the stock market. Lily confided to me early on, “I always felt that there must be something more to life, but I haven’t been able to find it.”

For a couple of years, I met weekly with Lily to consider what the Bible says about Christ and what He does in our lives.  After the first four months, she began to answer questions differently. It was confusing—this atheist was answering like she was a Christian.

Upon my questioning, she explained, “Last Thursday night, I lay in my bed and said, ‘Jesus, where are you? I want to talk to you.’ It was as if a light bulb turned on right then and I understood everything.” Without prompting, Lily began telling her atheist co-workers about the Gospel—such good news cannot be contained.

While our obsessions may annoy some, there are times when others “get it.” To the dismay of Avian’s siblings, I actually find it endearing when he chortles, “What Does the Fox Say?” After all, I cradled that little guy when he couldn’t talk, let alone sing. I hear the delight in his voice, and I recall the joy of this baby boy, whose smile lit up the room and still does.

Undoubtedly, I run the risk of irritating some as I write about Compassion International, but I’m hopeful there are others who will hear and respond to a familiar call:

“Whoever welcomes one of these little ones in my name welcomes me.” ~Jesus.

Sponsor a Child.

Overcoming Self-pity

Tags

Chirstianity, Education, homeschooling, Mother, Parenting, schooling, spirituality

Got milk? The ad asks. Many of us are more likely to have self-pity in our supply.

As I parent and home school, I’m struck with the challenge of raising grateful kids free of self-pity.

Looking back on yesterday, I have a clear picture of my own self-pity. There it is—an almost empty box of cookies. In the split second I noticed the ginger cookies had been raided (by my intrepid husband, of course—my kids wouldn’t dare), my dinner plans unraveled.

No, I don’t serve ginger cookies for the meal. However, I have discovered there’s one side dish that nearly all my family will greet with cheers. With the exception of little Elena, they all devour my coconut sweet potato pie made with ginger coconut crust.

In my weekly meal planning, I had chosen this night for the well-loved dish because I also planned to make Spanish omelet. Simply made with just eggs, potatoes and onions, it’s perfect. Perhaps you can guess that not all my kids share my enthusiasm.

While not every day brings sibling conflict and family tension, yesterday seemed more contentious than others. My consolation was looking forward to a peaceful dinner. That raided cookie box nearly brought me to tears. Absurd, no?

Today was an interesting contrast to yesterday. With little exception, the kids were refreshingly cooperative. I even had a chance to go to the super market by myself and found a couple of needed items on sale. While making lunch, I discovered that I had just the right number of cheese slices for cheese toast.

Although it’s not unusual for me to offer thanks to God for such gifts during the day, I felt uncomfortable doing that. Somehow, it felt hollow and tinny. Do I only offer thanks when everything goes my way?

It wasn’t that I felt guilty. Rather, I had the feeling that I was missing out on something richer, something more sustaining. Almost immediately, I was reminded of the passage in Thessalonians, “Give thanks in all circumstances.”

I always have known that God does not require thanks in the needy way we might strive for it. Then why thank in all circumstances? In doing that, we experience a greater fullness. It provides a connection with Christ that is deeper than the temporary gladness of getting my own way.

As in most things, the first step in overcoming my parenting challenges is to first take the plank out of my own. Leading by example satisfies—helpful for me and others.

Tonight, I go to bed thankful not just for my list…but just because.

Sponsor a Child.

Confessions of a Kindergarten Drop-out

Tags

child labor, Compassion, Education, homeschooling, kindergarten, poverty, schooling

It’s true. I bailed on kindergarten.

And I don’t have an ounce of shame about it.

After all, I gave it my best shot. The first day of school, I insisted that my mom take me exceedingly early so I could be first in line. Expectantly and excitedly, I waited by my classroom door at A.E. Arnold Elementary in Cypress, Ca.

That name has been an ongoing source of confusion for me. Who exactly was A.E. Arnold? What’s the deal with the initials? I thought other kids went to normal-sounding schools like George Washington grade school. Oh, well, at least it wasn’t Benedict Arnold Elementary.

I can just hear some young urchin ask, “So why didn’t you google search it?” My dear, forty years ago we obtained our information the old-fashioned way. We earned it. This quiet, shy little girl would’ve had to inch her hand up and ask in front of twenty pairs of eyes, “Uh, who is A.E.?”  You wonder what’s so risky about that. Well, we five year olds may not know much, but we’re not stupid. Gosh, maybe Arnold was the last governor of California! Maybe he was even president. You don’t have to know all the presidents by kindergarten, do you?

My teacher also was not the kind of person that endeared questions. Her large girth alone intimidated. One time, we were sitting around her in a semi-circle on the floor for instruction. An annoying boy persisted on blowing in my face. Finally, I turned in exasperation and gave a quick blow to his face. That teacher swooped down on me like a predatory hawk, obviously delighted for a chance to punish this petite goody, goody girl in pig tails.

No, mine was not the peaches and cream image of a kindergarten teacher we might carry. During recess once, I was sad about something, quietly crying on a bench. A precious little girl had her arm around me, tenderly comforting me. Ms. Grumps came by and chastised her efforts, “Leave her alone. She doesn’t deserve it.” What was that about?

Still, I attended school faithfully and on time (of course!) all the way through Christmas, striving to learn all I could. When we came to the end of the two week winter break, I announced, “The kids don’t pay attention and I can’t learn. I’m not going back!”

The shocking surprise is that my mother didn’t even attempt to change my decision. No pleading, no cajoling, no ultimatums. She simply trusted me. I have to say I admire her response.

In her position, I might be tempted to have the cultural “what if” fear response: If she quits kindergarten, will she quit everything?

Will she never graduate from high school? Never go to college? Will she be destitute and homeless? Good Lord, get her to the principal’s office fast!

So what did happen to little Carmen? Initially, not much of what would be termed “school,” and it suited her superbly. There was a brief attempt at first grade in parochial school—it failed. Those, of course, were the days before legalized homeschooling. Thus, the state required my mother to hire a credentialed tutor to teach me once a week. It probably was just an hour session.

At the end of that one hour per week first grade, I was far beyond my peers in reading and math. I passionately devoured complex multiplication problems. I mastered simple division and can picture my tutor attempting to teach me long division on my little chalk board.

None of the “what if’s” occurred.  Second grade found me back in a school setting. Eventually, I graduated from high school when I was fifteen. Four years later, I completed a B.S. in Chemistry. Not long after that, I finished graduate studies in physical chemistry. For fun, I have enrolled in graduate courses in Bible, theology, and counseling, as well as marriage and family therapy. Crazy.

I’ll confess: I don’t have the faith of my mother. As a homeschooling mom, I do require more than an hour’s labor from my pupils. My kids can testify that I’m resolutely committed to a regular routine of learning and service. What they might not realize is that I consider their free time just as valuable or more. Although effortlessly achieved, their copious, non-regimented time is the crowning glory of our schedule.

In this day and age, I must clarify that their unstructured time is not an electronic festival.  With joy, I’ve watched these kids read, play, imagine, draw, paint, write poetry and prose, build with legos and blocks, cook and bake, create story lines and dress up, dance, perform their own plays, throw rocks in ponds, run and jump in our yard, plan bake sales, sew, knit, and fashion design.

Almost a week doesn’t pass that I don’t hear the complaint, “I’m bored.” That, too, is a luxury, the privilege of those with means. By that, I don’t mean Bill Gates, but ordinary people like you and me, sitting before a computer screen. About 2.5 billion live on less than $2 per day. Yes, we are wealthy!

One of the beauties of taking my kids overseas is that they can see how other children live. They’ve interacted with kids who are forced to beg for money on a street corner or in a busy parking lot. We’ve engaged with a homeless orphan, selling anything he could to survive. Is that unique? No.

• 218 million children aged 5 – 17 are involved in child labor world wide
• 126 million children work in hazardous conditions, often enduring beatings, humiliation and sexual violence by their employers

These statistics are horrifying, if we can sit and take them in. Perhaps that contributes to why I’m passionate to promote Compassion International. At the Compassion projects, children are allowed the luxury to be kids like ours, to exit the oppression of child labor. Besides being educated, they reclaim the chance to play. They can thrive, not simply survive.

Final confession: My kindergarten teacher provided me one priceless lesson. This is no joke. I vividly remember her pointing out the brightly lit letters above the back door. Eagerly, I learned E-X-I-T.

Sponsor a Child.

Source for child labor statistics: crin.org