She greets us at the door with shy hugs. The kids leave and return with plastic lawn chairs to supplement the tattered gold sofa. She wants us to sit. There are no windows, so we strain to see, strain to hear her heart through the rhythm of the rain as it pulses on the corrugated tin roof, crescendos and decrescendos. Music blasts from the street. The sky spits on our shoulders, so we scoot in closer across the cement floor, away from the concrete block wall. Through the open door, I see a young boy playing in the street. He’s naked.
“How has Compassion International impacted your life?” one of us asks.
Juana flounders for words, and her eyes well up. Her husband died only three months ago. Now she alone cares for her five children plus a relative’s. It’s hard. When she’s not cleaning for someone else, she’s selling food in the street. Some days there’s no food for her own family. And her stove doesn’t work.
That Joselyn attends the nearby Compassion program helps ease the burden. She knows that this daughter, at least, eats when she’s at the center.
In church this morning, the pastor focused on Exodus 10:10. He said “the devil wants to minister to our children.” He’s like Pharaoh, he told us, who said, “Sure, you go on and party with your God. But leave your children here with me.” The devil’s strategy, the pastor continued, is to prepare an uncertain future for your children even though Jeremiah 29:11 tells us God has a plan to give them (us) a future and a hope. He tells us of his own mother who, as a missionary in Venezuala, knew her first work was as a missionary within her own home.
But what does a mother do when survival means separation? Who’s watching out for the children in a community where drugs and alcohol and extreme poverty hold people hostage in Egypt? Where teen pregnancy shatters dreams? What does a mother do when she must leave not to party but to provide? When she struggles to hang on to Jesus herself, how does she instill the gospel in the hearts of her family? How does she inspire hope when life seems hopeless?
Juana has a dream. She doesn’t speak of a nicer or larger home that houses one (not two) family or more money or even a new stove. It’s that each of her children could go to college and realize their own dreams.
Joslyn has a dream, too. She wants to be a flight attendant, to serve in the air and see the world. I wonder if she’s shared that plan with her sponsor. I wonder if her sponsor has come alongside Juana to encourage Joslyn in her dreams, if she spoons out hope with her pen. I wish I’d asked.
We say our goodbyes and pick our way back to the Center over broken concrete, up rain-slick steps. As we pass by a street, someone sets off a firecracker. It sounds like a gunshot. We jump, laugh, and check our pulses.
My heart stutters and I realize my own sponsored child wrote she wants to someday be a neurosurgeon. And though I’ve shared that news with family and friends, I’ve failed to spoon hope into her dream with my own pen. I’ve not applauded or encouraged that plan. I’ve meant to. I’ve even written it on my to-do list, but I’ve let time spit on the ink. Weeks have slipped by. Or has it been months? What if her dream withered because I didn’t water it? What if Pharaoh fed her hopelessness while I partied?
Are you a Compassion sponsor? When was the last time you wrote your sponsored child? Do you know his/her dreams? How can you encourage them?
If you don’t sponsor a child, will you? If you do sponsor, would you consider a second or a third? Perhaps you’d consider one from the Dominican Republic, a country where 70% of its people live in extreme poverty, where folks are lucky to make $2 a day.
In the stillness,
Sandy
Note: You can find all my Dominican Republic posts here.
POWERFUL post, my friend. I need to make writing my Compassion kids letters a priority this day. Thank you. Keeping all of you in prayer this week. xox
I’m learning so much, Patricia! And becoming more and more in awe of the work Compassion is doing. Class act!
I need to do better with my writing, too. I’ve heard this week of so many sad kids who don’t get mail–some sponsored for several years with minimal to even no letters! Some get angry when it comes time to having to write, wondering why they have to when their sponsor doesn’t care enough to. 🙁 I’m more inspired than ever to make my own writing a priority. xo
I look at those spotless clothes and I wonder what kind of effort is required to do the laundry.
Some days clean clothes look just like love.
“Some days clean clothes look just like love.” Can I quote you?
😀 😀 😀
Of course!
I was just now praying for my kids—especially for the future daughter-in-law I don’t even see on the horizon; also thanking God for my children’s spouses. But I didn’t pray for the kid that is “ours” down in Haiti—Joel (said like Noel). He has dreams and I need to pray for them…feed them with my own hope; hedge him with my prayers against the enemy.
Oh, Dea. I need to be more intentional about my prayers, too… sometimes it’s just a short “be with her” and sometimes I forget altogether. I’m so convicted.
I don’the know what our Compassion teen dreams for his future.
I will be writing him tonight.
And did you? Will you let me know what he says? You know, we should have the Frio sisters pray for our sponsored kids right along with our other family members. 🙂
Thank you for writing and sharing.
Thank you for reading and taking the time to comment, Michelle.
Thank you for writing and sharing. This week I am slowing writing each of our sponsored and correspondent sponsor kiddos. I am inspired to spend a little more thought and ink inquiring into their hopes and dreams. Thank you.
“Slowing writing.” I’m inspired, too, and I’m going to do that, as well.
This week I am slowing writing each of our sponsored and correspondent sponsor kiddos. I am inspired to spend a little more thought and ink inquiring into their hopes and dreams. Thank you.
I do write to my child, but not promptly. My first Compassion child left the program when he was old enough to earn money, and I haven’t had my heart in the right place with this new child ever since.
Write, Megan. I’ve learned these kids hearts are so sad when they don’t get letters. And feel so loved when they do.
Ah. You reminded me to write my dear Angela from Tanzania. It’s been months due to my lack of mind over matter and in the throes of wedding preparation. Thanks for the reminder of what our pen can do when we can’t be there.
“What our pen can do when we can’t be there.” Yes! The power of the pen.