The Mosquito's Story: a Malaria tale prompted by Compassion Int'l

You are about to read a story about a mosquito.

Why on earth am I writing about a mosquito? What does a mosquito have to do with God? Oh, plenty, my friend.

As Compassion writes,

Malaria kills 655,000 children per year. And April 25 is a day to raise awareness and spur on action for a disease that should not even be killing one child.

Compassion International issued a call to bloggers to write about World Malaria Day - which is tomorrow, April 25th - and write on a specific prompt: from the perspective of a malaria-infecting mosquito. I laughed at how silly it felt and how I could not possibly do this. But then my fingers took to typing and what happened next I can only say came from the prompting of the Spirit.

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So without further ado, here is... The Mosquito's Story:
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You think I’m just a teeny insect, don’t you. But I’m a huge killer. I kill children - the population that so many of you tear up over and cry over and want to help more than ever. Millions of commercials air every day asking to save the children.

But I’m the antithesis to that.

I make sure what you do fails. I make sure your efforts go in vain. And I’m so tiny that some people think I’m harmless.

I find that hilarious; how people think that the big killers are big things - like weather disasters gigantic as the earth, itself. And big lurking men who wait to blow up buildings and big cities.

But one of the greatest killers is the tiniest among you. Do I dare tell you that? Do I dare tell you that you can fight me so easily? I will not tell you how. I must not.

Because then you will win and the children will live and the tears will stop and families will be saved.

And I just can’t have that. No, I can’t have that at all.

I want fevers. I want babies crying from dusk until dawn. I want parents weeping over still bodies. I want people scrambling around for help only to realize they don’t have the right pill or the nets or the doctors available. And people without resources is like a mosquito without a stinger:  Useless.

So go ahead and focus on the big guns. Focus on the news stories that air every night on TV educating you on all you must fear in this big, bad world. What you won’t find is a picture of me. I’m not on a wanted poster. The children I kill aren’t on milk cartons because you don’t even know they are lost. I’m done with them so fast that no one even knows about them.

Us mosquitoes are mighty so you better be aware.

But don’t be too aware. We like you ignorant and looking the other way.

picture from http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Anopheles_albimanus_mosquito.jpg public domain

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Don’t look the other way. Don’t be ignorant and think the “other person” will help these children who die every day.

My 9 year old stepdaughter has a passion for those stricken with malaria -- all because of one church service where a chime rang every minute to symbolize how often a child dies of malaria. She is saving her money, nickel by quarter, to raise money in order to donate to malaria campaigns around the world. She has chosen to open her eyes even though it’s hard and painful.

Open your eyes? Click here to find out how you can help. Click here and here.

Compassion International has a special Malaria Intervention Initiative. An engaging video accompanies it and you can see what, specifically, Compassion does with your donations. See it all here.

We don’t have to bow to such a thing as malaria. Malaria is not our master - God is. 

We can fight it.

The mosquito does not have to win.  

Please take action now.

The Most Radical Lullaby

Ann wrote today about radical faith. It's a theme she's been writing on and I've been riveted, as usual, by her insights.

I wanted to write a blog entry about what radical faith looks like to me and I had a million thoughts:

- I don't have time to sit and write a blog entry; I have to pick Eldest Girl up in 20 minutes.
- I don't know what I should say; I haven't felt very radical lately.
- My side still hurts and I don't want to get up.
- I am not qualified to talk on the subject.
- I'm weak and a faith-wuss.

Do you see the downward spiral? Once I heard the snaky hiss of that last thought, I stomped up and grabbed the laptop, logged in, and began writing here.

Sometimes, I have radical faith.

Sometimes, I don't have radical faith and I let my fears rule.

But I will count the ways I am radical in my faith, past and present and future, and I will list them as things I am grateful for - because living eucharisteo is the most radical thing I've ever tried to do.

I Am Radical in My Faith Because

I realize I don't have to do big, expensive things for God to love me and be pleased with me.

I realize that, in His upside-down Kingdom, the little turns to big and the nothing turns to something.

I know what God has called me to do - serve this family of mine - and I do it. It is a daily struggle and a daily joy and I am still learning how to live out grace, forgiveness, mercy, and love.

I am taking on my own kind of dare that is rather private and so I cannot share here...but it is between God and me and it is radical!

I invest my life into these stepchildren of mine - these children I did not birth by womb, but birthed by heart.

I sponsor two children and co-sponsor a third and am so blessed by each of them. I realize that it is the love that counts, not so much the money.

I have realized that if I pray, God, will you give me wisdom? then God might show me that I am wrong in my present thinking and I have to be okay with that.

I know walking a life alongside Christ is hard (In this world you will have trouble), but I feel secure and strong enough in my love for God to know that it will be all right in the end (but do not fear; I have overcome the world ~ John 16:33).

I have began memorizing Scripture with the Romans Project (see sidebar badge) and it is scary because I fear failure...but I'm doing it anyway. That is radical.

I am leading a DVD study on Ann's "One Thousand Gifts" and trying so hard to learn it out and walk it out and live it out. Such a radical notion, this give-thanks-in-everything. The Bible is so radical!

I am loving when I do not feel loved. I am serving when I feel jipped and unappreciated. I am forgiving when I don't feel forgiven. I am not choosing some battles I normally would choose.

I am slowing down. That is radical.

I am sitting here listening to Husband play with Son. And play is not common around here. Calm is not common around here. And my heart wants to burst out in tearful gratitude for this bit of time I carved out to remind myself that I can write about how hard things are over and over...

but God will constantly remind me of how He has us all in His palm.

Do you not know, Lisa, that if you take your hand out from beneath all of them, that My hand will not be there even moreso? (this the Lord said to me one day last year as I cried and clutched)

I am breathing. Heavenly Father, glory to You! - I am breathing!

This I haven't been able to do in months.

I breathe. I breathe the name that can only be breathed: {YHWH}.

On Ann's blog, she quotes Rabbi Lawrence Kushner as saying:

“The letters of the name of God in Hebrew… are infrequently pronounced Yahweh. But in truth they are inutterable….

This word {YHWH} is the sound of breathing.

The holiest name in the world, the Name of Creator, is the sound of your own breathing. That these letters are unpronounceable is no accident. Just as it is no accident that they are also the root letters of the Hebrew verb ‘to be’… God’s name is name of Being itself.”

I can finally be still enough to listen and breath His name..I breathe it like a song.

{YHWH}

...the most radical lullabies I've ever known. 

When You Go & They Want You to Stay: Five Minute Fridays

Linking up with Lisa-Jo Baker and friends with Five Minute Fridays

Today's word is STAY.

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GO

Trying to capture the perfect "family picture"

I remember when I went to Honduras to visit my sponsor child, Daniela, and I thought we were intruding on her time by the end of the visit. I couldn't read on her face if she was thrilled or excited to see me. She looked rather scared and moody. But what almost-13-year-old doesn't look that way? Also, you please imagine having three Americans come to your country who look rather hot, red, and sweaty.

So near the end of the visit, I asked for both families, along with the interpreter, to sit in the church-building and talk with each other. It was quite a moving experience, with the mother bursting into tears and praises for us and our love and prayers and generosity.

I came home feeling good about going, but unsure of our real effect.

Months later, I received a letter from Daniela. She said,

[paraphrased] My family and I wish that you could have stayed longer and seen our home. I wish you could have visited longer.

I was flabbergasted. We did not spend as much time with her as we hoped, but we thought that was due to the organizations's regulations. We did not know we had a choice on how long we visit. Who knows, maybe we didn't.

But what sticks out to me is that Daniela and her family wished that we had stayed longer.

And I thought that we were an intrusion. My anxiety and nervousness blinded me to the love that was there.

Friends, there are a handful of bloggers in Peru right now visiting with Compassion International children and blogging about their experiences to us here in the States. Would you read along with me? Their stories are chilling and momentous and huge and tiny and miraculous.

And I am sure that each and every family they come across...I am sure that their wish is it that these Americans would stay. The hope and love that these folks bring them is priceless. The hope and love that you, through sponsoring these children, is priceless.

So join me as I read the blogs these marvelous volunteers are writing here

and think about sponsoring a child through Compassion * ?

Stay with these children all of their years. Be their beacon of hope and love and point out God in their lives.

STOP.
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* To clarify, Compassion International is not the organization I went through to visit my sponsor child, Daniela, in Honduras

Crossover

I think about my newly-turned 14-year-old stepdaughter and what it would be like for her be blinked off to Central America to switch lives with 13-year-old Daniela for a day. The thought stretches my mind like a rubber band - tight and resistant. But I go there anyway:

She was there in May, my 14 year old,
and mortified over her shoes.
Her $60.00 hiking boots she was too
embarrassed to wear in this rural village.
Not because of their extravagance
but because they "weren't cool."
She was worried about how she looked.

Did she look?
Around her? At the others?
Did she look at their feet?
Covered with worn shoes - maybe...
maybe barefoot.

Did she see their ground?
A kind of dirty my 14-year-old
saves for fast bike rides as a kid,
to see how much dirt she could spit up
from her tires.

These people live on dirt floors
and tires may be used for far more
than we understand.

Did she see the food they served us
and how they watched, eagerly,
for our approval?
They fixed us up extravagantly
yet, themselves, had nothing.

Once home, at our first family dinner.
I remember cooking up vegetables
on the stove

and it hit me
when the kids were fighting
at the table
over something trivial.

I cringed
not just at the bickering
but the Big Deal
we make out of so much.

When they
our "other family" out there
could make a big deal
out of so much
because
they have
so little.

If my 14-year-old switched lives
with our sponsor child
there'd be more than culture shock.
I pray there would be the kind of
recognition
only a God-sized miracle
can produce.

If I switched lives
with her mother,
sun-scorched face and wrinkles
explaining worry without words,
I wouldn't know the first thing
to do.

How do I ask for help?
How would my husband?
Fathers are to provide for the family
so what does Mr. F. think about
his daughter being sponsored
by us?

I had the chance to ask him in May.
And he smiled and nodded.
It was genuine.
His wife gushed sobs of gratitude
as he looked at the dirt ground
and she explained he was always working
and could not be in the family photos.
Forgive them? she asked.

Forgive them?
Forgive us, Mrs. F.
Forgive our apathy.
Forgive us assuming the "other guy"
will take care of it.
Forgive us for grazing over
our meatloaf and mashed potatoes
and not thanking, thanking,
thanking God ever-so-much
for each and every blessing
He bestows upon us

which includes your family, Daniela,
and your whole community. 

The other night
I told my two younger stepchildren,
8 and 5
that a family a world away
living on dirt floors
eating rice, beans, and tortillas every night
prayed for our family 
every morning.

Our family - I emphasized. 
Our family with the xBox
and the DVD player
and the fast-spinning washer and dryer.
Our family who is often too busy
to laugh and look in each other's eyes
because of poms and karate
and jobs us parents stress over.

That family prays for this family.

So that night
our family got together
and prayed for that family.

And prayers -
they are not so different
even if they come from different worlds

even if they come from different floors:
one dirt, one tile.

We are still two families
on our knees
praying for the other
to love God
with all our heart and all our soul
and all our mind.
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No, I cannot quite imagine switching places with a poverty-stricken family. I can't quite imagine not knowing if my children will have food for their next meal or if I was going to die of HIV or not and, if so, who would care for my children?

Fortunately, there are people and organizations stepping up and following God's call to the hands and feet of Christ. Organizations like Compassion International, the one I am focusing on this month, the one I so dearly love and feel strongly about. They don't just take money and toss it to the poor, hoping it will be used wisely. They invest. They teach. They help them with sustainability. 

And they invite you, this September, to take a bold step and sponsor a child and join the ranks of people sponsoring children.

It is a gift beyond description - to the child and to you, as well.

May God speak into your heart this day.

Tegucigalpa, capital of Honduras

Pin Up Joy

Good morning, friends!
This week I am excited to share my Pinterest board entitled, "My Sponsored Child" as part of our ongoing effort to engage you in conversation with child sponsorship through Compassion International and to encourage sponsoring a child, yourself!

This week we were encouraged to make a Pinterest board showing our enthusiasm and love for child sponsorship. On my board I have pinned pictures from Compassion's Pinterest collection as well as my own photos from visiting Daniela. I hope you enjoy the visual joy of child sponsorship. And while you are at it, go search for other "My Sponsored Child" Pinterest boards and see what others have pinned.

My Sponsored Child Pinterest Board

from Shaun Groves' Third World Symphony Pinterest Board

Dreaming Your Everything

I opened my email earlier this week to find this week's September Compassion Blogger idea. Easy, I thought. Write a letter to God. About child sponsorship.

Sure, I can do that. I can thank God for my two sponsor girls, I can thank God for giving me the opportunity to have a relationships with them and, thus, with God, Himself. And so I sat down to write. And things just came out...well, plain.

And then, days later, I had a dream about Daniela.

I've never dreamed about Daniela before. She's the sponsor child I've had for 8 years and who I visited this past May.

The dream I had last night was more vivid and more real than what I actually remember from our visit. Isn't that weird? Yet, without that time of us meeting face-to-face, despite our shyness and nervousness, this dream couldn't have impacted me as much as it did.

All I remember from the dream was talking with her (we spoke the same language, which was strange) and looking into those deep, intensely dark eyes, her ebony hair flowing behind her, that gorgeous smile. And I remember the hug. I remember hugging her so tightly that when I awoke I literally ached for her.

Tonight, I sat outside on my back porch at twilight and cried.

I missed Daniela.

I ached for her.

And, so, I write my letter to God now. Here.

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Dear Heavenly Father,
I can see her so clearly in my head, Lord. Wearing that yellow shirt which starkly contrasted with her Latin American complexion and dark eyes and hair. She looked like a supermodel. In real life, Lord, not just in my dream. Daniela was more beautiful than I can ever imagine and I thank You so much for giving me the opportunity to meet her.

Not many sponsors can say they got to meet their sponsor child. I feel so very fortunate. And yet my heart aches because that dream...I felt so close to her in my dream...and yet, tonight, I cry because I feel so far away.

I miss her, Lord. I wish I could return to Central America and do all the things I would have done in hindsight. I wish I could  have been less shy, less nervous. Funny, in a recent letter, she wrote the same thing to me. She's 13, Lord, and she wrote to her 34-year-old "Madrina" (which means Godmother in Spanish) that she wished she was less self-conscious and could have been more outgoing during our visit.

A teenager wishes this, a teenager who, by hormonal nature, is usually shy and unsure. A teenager told this to a 34-year-old who, by most understanding, ought to be confident and well-spoken. Well, I was just as nervous and unsure as she was.

I couldn't stop smiling when I saw her in person, and I tried to strike up questions, but I just felt too nervous.

Not so in this dream. In my dream, we were laughing and sharing stories and loving each other.

And I awoke with such a clear picture of how I now want to visit her.

So on my back porch, Lord, I pray:

Thank you for the gift of Daniela and my other sponsor child in Indonesia, an 8 year old spirited girl who has the most intriguing eyes.

Thank you that my letters, prayers, and my monthly giving can impact a child so deeply.

And thank you, Lord, that these children's letters and prayers for me can impact me so deeply. I never expected it to be such a reciprocal road.

Thank you, Lord, for You - who connect these children and myself across miles and miles, across mountains and oceans, across political strife and poverty. You are the common link, Lord. You are our bridge. You are our common language.

I write that to Daniela a lot - I even told her when we all met in her church building - I said how amazed I was that God could connect one girl in Central America to one woman in the United States (I held one arm out to one side and the other arm out to the other side and then closed the gap to illustrate).

L-R, My stepdaughter, our translator, and myself (copyright Lisa Auter 2012)

What an amazing God we have!

For these children, Lord, I pray that You would give them Your Holy Spirit to guide them. Help their parents raise them in Your Ways. Guide these young girls to womanhood knowing their value in Your eyes. Teach them how good it is to be a Christ-follower.

Of course, I pray for their daily needs, Lord. That is a given. That is what people mostly think of when they think of monthly giving to a sponsor child: how the money will give them more food, better water, a chance at education, and better medical guidance. And that is all true - Compassion International does all that.

But Compassion does so much more.

Children don't just need food in their bellies; they need God's kiss on their foreheads. Mosquito netting is vital - as vital as knowing God is everything.

Lord, give them Your Everything.

This I pray in Your Precious and Life-Saving Name,

Amen.
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Will you consider helping a child get their Everything?

The road is not one-way.

In return, you will get more than you ever could dream of.

I know; I dreamed it. And it was real.

You will get your Everything, too.

Pray about sponsoring a child. There are so many waiting, wondering, and dreaming their own dreams.

God bless you in your prayerful consideration.

village girls praying before the meal (copyright Lisa Auter 2012)

Helping the Many-More

This is my first day as a Compassion Blogger for the month of September. I feel a bit nervous, but excited to be given this opportunity to blog on behalf of children around the world who need the help of the many so badly.

This is not the many helping the few. This is the many helping the even more-many. 

That might not be a word you learned in your elementary school English class, but I think it fits. Do we realize, and I mean more than in a statistical sense, just how many malnourished and hungry and sick children there are in the world? Do we look around at all that we have and think that we acquired these things through our own deeds and successes? For myself, I strive to realize every day that the things I have are actually blessings from God and to Him be the glory of it all!

Now that is a wonderful thing to say, isn't it?

"I dedicate all I have to the Lord."

But, oh, how I yearn to live that every day of my life.

Too many times I get that candy bar when I make a trip to Walgreens for medicine. I might add a soda for the next day because, my goodness, I always seem to be sleep-deprived. Too often I walk into my beautiful house and scan the clean, wooden floor and tisk myself over the few scuffs. Too often I listen to the sound of running water without realizing how fortunate I am to have it. A washer and dryer - HE-detergent, no less. 4 bedrooms in the house. All of my children have their own room and we have a packed fridge.

Too often I skim past my blessings. I want to put my foot down and even bend knee and thank God above for all He gives.

When I went to Honduras, I truly knew the word need in a whole new light. But, surprisingly, these needy people were, for the most part, more joyful and happy than I had ever known. They knew the Lord in a way I had never imagined. They had to lean on Him for everything. Lacking adequate shelter, medicine, food, safe drinking water, they knew who their God was and they grew strong by their faith.

I felt like the person in need.

When I wrote about our call to serve, I was overwhelmed with the fact that we all need to open our eyes more. We need to open our selves more and not be afraid or intimidated by those in this world who are so sick or hungry that it hurts our hearts too much to look.

Don't look away. 

Instead, look here.
Did you miss that link? Here it is, plainly:
http://www.compassion.com/sponsor_a_child/default.htm

Yes, you read right. It says Sponsor a Child.

Now let me be clear. Sponsoring a child will not solve the world's hunger and poverty problem.

But look at Jesus' life in serving and teaching: He gave some lectures and sermons to a huge group...but Jesus touched many lives on an individual basis. He knew that for them to know God personally, He would share and commune with them.

Taking the money I use to go out once a month or saving the money I'd normally spend on Walgreens candy bars or coffee drinks -- all that can add up.

And it doesn't just add up to the monthly fee of child sponsorship.

It adds up to a relationship, first through letters, with one child.

You write letters, send your love, across the world to that one child who will come to love you more than you thought possible.

Then it will turn into you touching that entire family.

Then, miraculously, because of the work of Compassion International, that impact will reach the entire community as Compassion workers integrate health and God and love.

And, quite possibly, you might be in the position to introduce that child, that family, that community to the wonder of knowing Jesus as their Christ.

The things we, as sponsors, do on our parts feels so small...

but, as one who visited her sponsor child this past May in Honduras, my part in Daniela's life has been huge.

She calls me Godmother.

Her family prays for my family on a daily basis.

They have all my pictures and letters - 8 years' worth.

Daniela tells me she has prayed for the day to meet me.

I walked into that village and saw how the school has improved through the loving guidance of that organization. I listened as her mother sobbed gratitude to me.

No more than $40 dollars a month for the past 8 years gave me that (it's different for each organization, but roughly between $25 and $35).

Writing letters and praying and sending my monthly support- all that changed a 4 year old's life - and now that she is newly 13 years old, I see how it has impacted her family's life, her community's life, and it baffles me.

I never thought my letters and monthly giving would sum up to be more love and graciousness that I could ever imagine.

Think about it.

In the linked blog post from November 11th of 2011, I wrote, in general, about the world's need and our responsibility to help. In that post I pointed out that not all are called to sponsor or go on missionary trips or the like. But God had laid on my heart the following:

"But God is God and we are human. Flawed humans who sometimes don't know what to do with all of our privileges, yet at the same time some of us don't know how to ask for help for what we need. 

Let God be God and let us do what we need to do: take action." 

Let God move and shake your heart. Let the realities of the world be shown to you and do not be afraid. God did not give us a spirit of fear. He calls us to action.

"For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them."
~Ephesians 2:10


I pray that you lay your heart and your will before the Lord and see what He has in store for you.

"In all I have shown you that by working hard in this way we must help the weak and remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he himself, said, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive."
~ Acts 20:35 (ESV)

Maybe a child who speaks a different language, lives on the other side of the world, will call you Godparent.

When Good is Maybe

I came home and wrote a hasty facebook update that said:

My hands are shaking from the amount of money the car guy told me we'll have to pay for my jeep to be fixed. I listened to faith radio all day today and they were pleading for child sponsorship. I ached to reach out to a 3rd child once more...decided to focus on the 2 I do sponsor and pour myself into that. But then the car. How do I reconcile all this lack and need with prosperity and having? And when my prosperity and having breaks down....and my hands shake due to fear of the not-enough....how do I reconcile all that?

 

I then heard the television on and turned my head to see the girls out in the backyard. Electricity on and nobody there to use it. Hot flashed to my face. Hands shook harder. I walked outside and asked them if they were out for good. The younger said yes. I told them what the problem was. And I faced my own problem.

You see, I wanted to cry out - not to them, but at them - I wanted to cry at them in fear and tell them how we had just lost a huge amount of money (in my mind) to my car being fixed and that we really can't afford to be throwing money out the window by leaving televisions and radios on when we are not using them. 

 And yet I also wanted to let them know that I believed and trusted God to provide. 

 And there was my problem: did I? Was I?

What came out was a paradox I am ashamed of which I said in haste and still-boiling irrational anger: 

"We just lost a lot of money in fixing my car and..... God will provide, we know...but what we do have we can't be throwing out the window by leaving the XBOX on while you are not even down there."

Older girl sighed sulky and younger looked down and mumbled, sorry. 

And as they walked back inside I had to look down in shame and mumble sorry because I had not said what I wanted to say, not modeled what I wanted to model. 

And Husband came in and I cried sad and shamed and leaned into his strength because I was too afraid to lean into His strength, too ashamed to even look up at my Father who I feared was so disappointed in me. 

 I let the world tell me my worth yet again. 

Husband listened and rubbed my temples, saying that maybe it is good for me to be wrestling with my trust in God. 

Because, he said, we have cars to worry about

and we have electricity that we can worry about wasting

and we have the ability to bring our car into a place right away should it break down

and we have a bank account of X amount of dollars to worry about it decreasing by Y amount. 

And I cried long and releasing as he continued to rub my temples lovingly. 

Speaking not in sharp, harsh tones, but in soft, gentle reminders to the girl lost in a current of doubt. 

I told him about the children I had heard about each time I got in my car and turned on the radio. How they lived in sub-sustaining conditions. They had no car, no electricity, no pet to worry about buying litter for. 

 How do I reconcile that? I asked him, tears rolling down cheeks easy. 

"Maybe it's good," Husband said...

And so I will sit here as Husband makes dinner and older girl asks to snack on ramen noodles and Husband answers, "but I'm making dinner right now" and he assures her that it won't be long and girl complains that she's hungry and I think about her lean frame and healthy weight and I think about too-thin, too-hungry children all around the world. 

How do we keep from playing the comparison game where we then feel guilty and burdened and then how do we accept the command to love the poor that Jesus has given us? 

  "Can I have a pickle? A teeny one?"

"Dinner will be ready as soon as I can make it."

"But Dad, I'm a growing teenager."

"And..."

"But..."

"And..."

"But..."

So I do not know how to end this post because there really is no end to the world's need, is there.

And I can imagine God thinking, "there is no end to my children's complaining, is there?"

And yet He loves us. And he continues to provide. 

We'll give thanks to You
With gratitude
For lessons learned in how to trust in You
That we are blessed beyond what we could ever dream
In abundance or in need
And if You never grant us peace
But Jesus, would You please . . .

~ "Gratitude" by Nichole Nordeman

 

 

American Awakened: Part Four - The Reach of God

Gaggle of girls

I squatted on the porch of the tiny rural Honduran school and snapped pictures of each child holding a sign displaying their name, age, height, weight, and school. A gaggle of girls huddled around me, fascinated by the live person wiggling around on my camera screen.

Their eyes were big and their smiles bigger. They giggled and played hand games - much like "Little Susie" in my day. They played like my kids. They laughed like my kids.
 

The hand game

They peeked in our bags for school supplies like my kids peek in our closet for presents. They wore curiosity on their faces in the same innocent way that my kids do. Some girls wore the same kind of hair bands as my girls. A few donned long silver earrings that wagged from side to side as they looked at us strange Americans.

Does your little girl wear these headbands, too?

From a distant glance, one would see a normal school - maybe similar to one in the United States - but this was not that.

This peaceful-looking boy most likely survived smallpox

A closer look would have you see a boy's face covered with concerning pock marks.

See right eye

A closer look would surprise you with an occlusion in a girl's eye, inescapable as she stared at you with wonder.










A closer look would reveal that this school - one room housing 28 students from preschool to eighth grade and that one teacher, a volunteer, chose to corral these 28 students in this tucked-away village to teach them mathematics, history, spelling - thevery same subjects my kids groan about studying in their school.

one-room school for grades Pre-K through 8

Those who have and those who lack can be obviously different yet astonishingly similar.
 

As I stood by the girl-flock, I carefully and a bit nervously placed my arm around the girl closest to me. I softly rubbed her back.

A mother rubbing a child's back in America can be similar to a mother rubbing her child's back in Honduras. The same God loves these children.

 
I have never before visited a country in need such as this. I have seen pictures on television, heard stories on the radio and in books, read newspaper articles such as this very real and serious one, but I was not prepared to see the disparity that existed there.

But what a paradox: to see all the lack and all of the abundance, all in the same child, in the same family, in the same community.

Volunteering with Paramedics for Children that day taught me just how far Christ's hand can reach. No mountain or sea can hold Him back. Not a brick house nor one made of tin.

What is your house made of?

.

 We were in Honduras for one week, but this one day opened my eyes to more than I've seen in a lifetime. Though I saw great poverty, I also saw how far God reaches and believe me; it is past anything we
could ever imagine.

American Awakened: Part Three - A Pause for Mess

I clicked a friend's link to a link to a link and came across this blog entry by Dan King, who is social media editor for thehighcalling.org, blogger at bibledude.net. co-founder and media director for the activistfaith.org movement, and social media director for help on now.

Mr. King writes about the Haitian mud left on his shoes from his time spent helping the local people with various needs.

I can't help but remember the shoes I wore while in Honduras. They became quite a mess. I waded up to my knees while dirty water soaked into them, creating that oh-so-unpleasant gushing feeling when walking. They were expensive and waterproof - yes, but only up to the laces. I did not intend on going caving. Or hiking upriver through water and rock.

But the boots did more than go on adventures. The boots walked down dusty, dirty roads and helped me kneel to take pictures for Paramedics for Children. The boots took me around Daniela's school. The boots gave me a solid foundation to stand on when my emotions quietly got the best of me and I felt like I was going to quake so much I might collapse.

I tossed those boots in the wash the first day I returned home. They made a huge clunkety-clunk that drove us mad, but I wanted that old-water, horrible, smelly smell out.

I read Mr. King's blog about his Haitian mud and now I want my Honduran dirt back.

Why did I want to wash it off? What was wrong with it?

Did it not fit in with my clean house? Was I afraid I would taint my hardwood floors? Get grime on my comforter?

I'm a very nostalgic person, always have been. I still have the box of candy a boy gave me in the 4th grade (the box, people, not the candy!). I am very nostalgic about things. I kept all my plane ticket stubs from my trip. I kept audio recordings of our guide talking. I think I might have taken a sugar packet home.

Yet I had to get rid of that dirt.

I am ashamed.

And yes, you can tell me not to be so hard on myself. But I need to be.

I am not beating my head with a hammer, but I am realizing that I could have taken a lot more away from my time in Honduras. I could have felt a lot less comfortable.

Ironically, it is now, back home, where I am feeling the most uncomfortable. I hear this is normal, that it makes sense.

Please, tell me how.

I'm back to my comfortable Americana; I'm back to writing Daniela letters, sending her pictures. I have a second sponsor child I write to as well: Selpia in Indonesia. It's been a year with her. We are just getting to know each other.

I wonder what her mess is like.

I wonder if it is as beautiful and as horrible as the things I saw in Honduras.

I wonder if, should I ever visit her in Indonesia, I will come home and slip off my worn and traveled shoes and opt for my plush couch...

or if I will scrape off some of that stuff and slip it into an envelope.

Terra firma of another world that I am called to love.

American Awakened: Part Two - In Abundance or In Need

Today is the last day before I return to work. Before I return to the real world life I lived before my trip to Honduras. Husband is at an appointment and was kind enough to drop the kids off at school. I sit here at my kitchen table that, now that I look at it, is quite fancy and nice. In fact, I've been doing a lot of looking around at my house and it is very nice. Very, very nice.

I feel fragile today. I felt fragile yesterday. I was so exhausted at the end of the day, felt so depressed, and I thought if I just succumbed to sleep, then I would wake up and feel better.

I woke up and did not feel better.

So here I sit at the computer with my worship music playing. God seems to be orchestrating the selection of iTunes that plays.

Casting Crowns sings:
"Just love them like Jesus, carry them to Him
His yoke is easy, His burden is light
You don't need the answers to all of life's questions
Just know that He loves them and stay by their side
Love them like Jesus

Lord of all creation holds our lives in His hands
The God of all the nations holds our lives in His hands
The Rock of our salvation holds our lives in His hands
He cares for them just as He cares for you"

And I think yes, yes, that is what I tried to do. I tried to love them like Jesus. I volunteered with Paramedics for Children  and took pictures of each student in that tiny rural school as they held the gigantic wipe board that said their name, grade, weight, height, and school name. Their ages ranged from 4 all the way up to one 13 year old. For most of them, the wipe boards were as big as they were.

The girls huddled around my camera as I took snapshots of each child. They were entranced with the view screen where they could see the person, live, moving in front of them. Little girls clustered around me and I wanted to scoop them up with their smiles and giggles and hug them close and say, "Jesús te ama." Which means, "Jesus loves you." I wish I could have had the chance to hold them tightly and sing, "Jesus loves me this I know. For the Bible tells me so."

But I was nervous. I felt comfortable taking pictures and smiling at each child, telling them to smile in Spanish. But I wasn't sure if they'd appreciate this strange American wrapping them up in a tearful embrace, wanting to hold onto the love that shone in their eyes, the ache that laid behind their smiles. So instead, for a moment, I lightly put my arm around the girl closest to me and smiled at her and patted her back for a few seconds.

For a moment I was transported, as a mother, back home to when I would rub my stepson's back.

A mother's hand rubbing a child's back feels the same in any country.

I saw the other girls turn and look to see what I was doing. They did not look displeased, just curious. I suddenly felt self-conscious and took my arm away and continued to snap pictures. My heart hurt. I felt so nervous that I would do or say something that was inappropriate, that stepped over cultural comforts.

I look at pictures and blogs of other people visiting children in third world countries and I see them hugging and playing with the children. I ache to go back now and sit each one down in my lap and hold onto them with all my might. Not only because I wanted to give them comfort, to show them how my heart beat for them, but also for me. Because I selfishly wanted to be loved. What a revelation that is. One that does not make me feel very altruistic, but I am being honest just the same. It's not so much that I wanted them to make me feel good or better about myself...

I wanted to simply feel the hope in them; I wanted their smile to infect me. 

I long to return. I had such a wonderful time at that tiny school, truly helping.

Visiting Daniela a few days earlier (a separate blog entry which will be forthcoming), was more about them welcoming us. We were celebrities for a day. I wish it could have been more about Daniela and me as a child and her sponsor, but I am so grateful for the entire village and school that put so much effort into welcoming us and making us feel at home.

But it was at this tiny school, this volunteer effort that popped on our radar at the last minute, a true God-given opportunity, that touched my heart the most.

And so yes, I found I did not ache for the poverty in which they lived in. I certainly noticed it. And I certainly wished better for them. But there were so many smiles and giggles and curiosity. 

One girl, in particular, with a ponytail and long, dangling earings - her name was Reina,. 11 years old, and she and I had a special, unspoken bond. She smiled at me with a certain shy coyness. I smiled back and I felt my heart stir. How I yearned to talk with her - somehow, even using my broken Spanish. I wanted to connect with her. But I didn't. I only have those smiles to remember. How she followed me around, wordlessly, face lit up with joy and inquisitiveness.

I miss her.

I wish I could have been more vulnerable and at least given her a hug goodbye.

It's these thoughts that have me sitting here at my nice kitchen table with tears streaming down my face.

I'm trying to scroll through Ann Voskamp's "A Holy Experience" blog because not only is she my favorite writer, but she has gone on many mission trips through Compassion International and has written extensively about the difficulties in coming home to the comforts you enjoyed before and how to deal with the conflicting emotions as you fix your family a full, healthy meal, all the while knowing that the precious children you helped a world away will probably have little if any to eat.

How do you reconcile that?


How in the world do you reconcile that?

The two:
poverty and riches
abundance and need
seem to run down completely opposite paths

but I know full well that Jesus connects the two
from one arm to the other
stretched out on the cross. 

I know full well that Jesus calls us to connect the two, ourselves.
He calls us to reach out and
help
hold
hunger after loving the hungry..

I sit here, still in my American sleep, but now a bit more roused. I want to snap out of my sleep. I know what I saw; I know what I heard; I know what I experienced.

Strangely, I was not able to cry while in Honduras. I thought I'd be sobbing in the car if we drove by people climbing garbage dumps picking out anything they could find (and we did see that). I thought seeing a child in rags would bring me to tears. But I did not cry.

I thought that meant I wasn't being affected.

I thought that meant that I had failed.

But though I prayed that dangerous prayer: Lord, break my heart
and tried to be a Isaiah 25:4 woman

I fell trap to thinking that I had not done God's will. I had not followed His calling.

As I shake myself out of that fog that the enemy tries to stick my head in

I realize that I did not fail. A hunched over, sobbing body does not mean that I am broken-open. Perhaps I did keep it together while I was there. But that did not mean I was not affected.

My time of broken-openness was at our first dinner home with our family. I dished up Salisbury steak, heaps of mashed potatoes, and spoonfuls of corn onto five pretty blue decorative plates and I thought about each child I encountered. I thought about Daniela and, while she wore nice clothes for our visit, I knew her home was a simple tin shanty with a dirt floor. She had told me that she cooks for her family. I asked her what did she cook and she answered beans and bean soup.

I have no pretty, tied-up-with-a-bow way to end this blog entry for today. I have not come to any earth-shattering finalized conclusions. I am in limbo, between a world of abundance and a world of need.


I will close with these lyrics from the song, "Gratitude" by Nichole Nordeman, which I will be quoting throughout my Honduras blogs:

"We'll give thanks to You
With gratitude
For lessons learned in how to trust in You
That we are blessed beyond what we could ever dream
In abundance or in need"

Lord who walks with me every moment, with us every moment, please help me balance myself between these two strange worlds I am in. I feel so lost and confused. Has my heart broken enough? Do I feel it enough? What do I do about it? 

And I hear God repeat to me those Casting Crowns lyrics:

"You don't need the answers to all of life's questions
Just know that He loves them and stay by their side
Love them like Jesus"

Until next time.... 

Lord, We're Following You...

Leaving early Tuesday morning before sun-up to drive to O'Hare Airport for the first leg of our trip to

Honduras

where we will visit our sponsor child, "D,"

volunteer with Paramedics for Children

and strive to be the best hands and feet of Christ

as we can.

Please keep us in your prayers

and we thank you so very much.

We shall have many pictures and stories upon our return

and hopefully even a documentary!

Bless you!

Until we are in America again...



Follow You
by Leeland

You live among the least of these:
The weary and the weak.
And it would be a tragedy
For me to turn away.
All my needs You have supplied,
When I was dead You gave me life.
How could I not give it away so freely?

And I'll...
I'll follow You into the homes of the broken,
I'll follow You into the world.
I'll meet the needs for the poor and the needy, God,
I'll follow You into the world.

Use my hands, use my feet,
To make Your kingdom come.
To the corners of the earth
Until Your work is done.
'Cause faith without works is dead,
And on the cross, Your blood was shed,
So how could we not give it away so freely?

And I'll...
I'll follow You into the homes of the broken,
I'll follow You into the world.
Oh, meet the needs for the poor and the needy, God,
I'll follow You into the world.

Yeah,
I'll follow You into the homes of the broken,
I'll follow You into the world.
Oh, I'll meet the needs for the poor and the needy, God,
I'll follow You into the world.

And I give all myself,
I give all myself,
And I give all myself to You.

Oh, and I give all myself, (I give myself)
Yes I give all myself, (Lord, I give myself)
And I give all myself to You. (I give it all to You)

(Lord I give it all to You)
I'll follow You into the homes of the broken, (All to your name)
I'll follow You into the world. (I'll follow You)
I'll meet the needs for the poor and the needy, God, (Poor and needy, God)
I'll follow You into the world.

I will follow...
I'll follow You into the homes of the broken,
I'll follow You into the world.
I'll meet the needs for the poor and the needy, God.