India 2013: Feed My Sheep

Each day, as the afternoon tutoring program went on in full swing, we would individually call the children into the pastor’s kitchen, where they would be interviewed and assessed in order to update the sponsorship reports.  We only had a few days in which to make sure we had updates on all the children.  With so many children to assess and a program to run, it had to be done in such a way as to minimize the children’s time out of the program, and maximize productivity. 

As the children came into the kitchen, their name would be written on a small whiteboard, which they would then take with them as they climbed the backstairs to the open roof.  It was on the roof that they would have their sponsorship photos taken, after which they’d head back downstairs to be interviewed. 

The roof was a perfect spot for photos, as it would draw less attention to the children, and the soft glow of the late afternoon light would be ideal for photos.  A handful of older children from the program helped us by escorting the children back and forth and translating for us. 

 Six year old Vimal

A few evenings into this routine, I had just finished taking photos of a child when I heard a mother’s distressed voice speaking in Tamil.  I turned around to see a mother with her daughter, next in line to take photos -- but something was clearly wrong.  Thinking perhaps she was upset with me, I approached her gently and asked in English what was happening, hoping someone could tell me.  The mother grabbed my arm in a fierce grip that can only be described as desperation, and her words tumbled out as tears ran down her cheeks and despair etched itself deeper into her beautiful life-weathered face. 

 

It took everything I had to hold back my own tears.  Then, and now. 

I began to piece the story together – she was in pain; her hips, shoulders and back were hurting... but beyond that, she seemed life-worn.  One moment she would wring her hands in concern, the next she would place them together in broken prayer and praise, her pleas to God and to us breaking my heart.  

Then, she began to put her hands to her mouth, pleading with her eyes…  the message transcended all language barriers -- she was not talking about food, she was talking about hunger.  

Wanting to understand the situation, I turned to the older children, and asked them to help me understand this woman’s situation. 

By this point, the mother was sobbing loudly in my arms, shoulders shaking, hands clinging to me, while forcing the rest of her story out in rapid-fire Tamil in between sobs.  My heart was pierced for her long before the words in English could follow.

Through bits and pieces of broken English, I learned that this woman’s youngest daughter was disabled and took part in the sponsorship program.  Her older children had grown up and gotten married, and now that they were no longer living at home and helping to support her, she struggled to feed herself and provide for her daughter’s needs.  She moved slowly, her body wracked with pain, and kept asking for healing and for help.  She had reached the end of herself… 

… but not the end of God’s provisions and possibilities.

Not the end of hope.

As I wrapped my arms around her, the children surrounded us while I prayed with her as she prayed in Tamil.  I don’t know all that was said, but I know God heard us both and that something would be made new from all these broken pieces.

As we finished praying, I took her face gently into my hands, held her worried gaze with my eyes, and told her hope was here… God had heard her cries and He would provide healing for her body, and He would satisfy her hunger…  this was the beginning, not the end...  I thanked her for trusting me enough to share, and told her once again to hang on to hope.  God would come through.  His mercies would come.

Long after the photos of her daughter were taken…  long after the sobbing silenced...  long after she had begun her trek back home with her daughter…  my heart was raw with ache for this woman who had wept in my arms.

Having poured so much of my life into breaking the cycle of poverty and slavery, I knew that this mother and her child were at risk, and the thought of it made me sick.  In desperation for food or finances, would she end up making a deal with a brick factory, where she and her daughter would spend the rest of their lives in bonded labor?  Would her daughter be at risk for child trafficking? 

Unthinkable.

The raw ache pressed into my heart uncomfortably until I spoke with Jamie later that night.  After much prayer, the idea was born to approach Pastor Michael about the possibility of a Family Sponsorship program for families in a vulnerable situation like this. 

He was very open to the idea.  He explained that families with single moms or grandmothers as the sole caretaker, especially when the children are disabled, suffer above and beyond the usual hardships of extreme poverty.  Unable to work full time because of the child care demands, or due to age and health, the financial strain of providing for their families often brings these women to the breaking point.   It often leads to the women having to pull a child out of school in order to send him or her to work, further perpetuating the cycle of poverty into the next generation.  Desperate times all too often lead to desperate decisions.  

It doesn't have to be this way.  "Do you love Me?  Feed My Sheep", He said...

We asked what would be best – for her to receive food and the basics needed, or for her to receive funds to obtain the basics on her own.  Pastor Michael said that in this situation, there was no concern with providing the mother with money, in that it would be used as it is intended – for survival.  Research backs it up -- mothers in extreme poverty will spend over 90% of their financial provisions on the basic necessities that take care of their family, often before their own needs. 

We asked how many families with children in the program were facing extreme circumstances such as these.  He named three.  We had met one – an older single mom of a disabled child unable to work to provide for herself or her child.  We decided to visit the homes of the other two families to assess their situation in person, interview them and learn more about their needs. Each story made my heart raw with ache for this broken world...

The second family consisted of a young single mom with two profoundly disabled children, Manikandan and Sathya, both of whom are in the sponsorship program.  

The mom could work, but only occasionally, as her daughter was too disabled to attend school regularly.  

Even her clothes told the story of her situation – she wore a heavy cotton sari wrap in the crushing heat while doing chores at home, rather than a lighter material that may have cost a few extra dollars.

Two years ago, she lived with her two children in a mud hut shelter built for keeping livestock.  The government had stepped in and provided a solidly built one room house, improving her living conditions considerably but still leaving her without enough. 

The last family consisted of a grandmother and her two grandsons.  

(Jaya, grandmother raising two teenaged grandsons)

The boys’ mother had died in a tragic kitchen fire accident, leading the boys’ father to flee the responsibility of raising two sons on his own.  Their care was left to the grandmother, who struggled to meet their needs on her own after her husband passed away.  

The only work she was able to do was to harvest rice when the fields were dry; this was seasonal work at best.  

The grandsons were in their teens and at risk for leaving school too soon in order to find daily wage work to support the family.  She was living in a rented home, and if she were to pass away, the boys would be immediately evicted.

At best, working full time in manual labor (rice fields, agriculture, brick work) in this area, these women could earn approximately $15-20 a month if working full time.  Full time work is rare.  The grandmother receives an old age benefit of 500 rupees a month from the government, the equivalent of $10 a month, but the basics of food, shelter, transportation and school costs an average of 2500 rupees a month – $50 -- far out of reach of what she can earn with her ailing health and body.  Many young, able bodied women do not earn that much. 

School fees are provided for by the sponsorship program, and food is provided daily to the children.  This helps alleviate the financial strain on the families, but still leaves a gap. 

After much discussion and prayer, we determined that with a sponsorship donation of $20 a month, supplemented by any work that the caretakers can manage, the heavy burden that breaks the backs of these women could be lifted, and the raw wounds left on our hearts by these women’s stories could begin to heal.

When it was time for us to leave, I turned to give Jaya, the grandmother, a comforting hug.  She wept openly in my arms, in the middle of the street in front of her tiny house, as everyone looked on and prayed.  

It took a long, long time for her to look up and look into my eyes to find hope.  I prayed she wouldn’t see me at all, but would only see Jesus... and I kept repeating the same message to her over and over again, in English...  “Hope is here – his name is Jesus…  He is here.  Hope is here....  Hope is here.”

Hope IS here.  God Himself sent us.  

To love Him is to give.  To give is to love Him.

To share from your abundance and provide hope to these families, please consider a Family Support sponsorship of $20/month, or a general donation in anyamount, (indicate "Family Support" in the notes).  One time donations will be divided equally amongst Family Support program families who do not yet have a sponsorship.  Tax receipts available (U.S. only).

He commands us to go, to serve, to give…  He connects us to the people who need His provisions…

Now that we know, how will we respond? 

India 2013: Hidden In Plain Sight

It was the same. 

In India, much like in Honduras, Ghana, Cameroon, and Haiti – we sought out the poorest areas -- areas where people lived far below the invisible poverty line.  Areas where homes were made of whatever materials could be afforded – whether it’d be mud walls and thatched roofs, shelters pieced together with scraps and leftovers, or solid concrete or adobe structures.

In India, much like in Honduras, Ghana, Cameroon and Haiti – roads were congested, garbage strewn around, infrastructure was primitive or absent altogether, education a challenge for those afflicted by extreme poverty, healthcare a rare luxury. 

It was the same...

And yet so different…

Robed in splashes of striking, bold colors and regal fabrics, and with fresh flowers in their hair, the girls and women gracefully dotted the scenes before our eyes;  bent low over rice fields, heads high carrying baskets or bundles, hands hardworking steadily weaving rope and hauling water, hearts full carrying babies and caring for families.  

The beauty before us took our breaths away.  It was as though they were in a movie, actors in a Little House On The Prairie scene…  everything was so beautiful that it made it all too easy to forget the reality of their poverty, of their situation, of their desperation for a better life.

Desperation for "enough" -- enough food, enough clean water, enough shelter, enough education, enough health care.  Enough love and compassion.

And yet we couldn’t forget. 

We tasted.

Smelled.

Heard.

Saw.

Felt. 

To the depths of our spirit.

The smell of raw sewage…  cows clogging the streets…  makeshift homes…  the homeless…  idol worshiping and sacrifices...  the poor, the sick, the broken, the lost…  everywhere.

It's everywhere back home too.  It's everywhere if you look deeply enough, past the surface... but seeing it hurts.

Seeing it can not be undone.  Seeing, instead, just might undo us...  sometimes, that's what it takes to move our hearts towards His.  To put life in perspective.  To learn how to love, how to live.

_______________

Two years ago, the children began attending a program in a local area church that offered them two meals a day, tutoring, and enabled them to continue their education through financial support from sponsors. 

Seven days a week, these children would come for nourishment of every kind…  spirit, mind and body.  It was so new to them, this idea that they were valued and important, that they were loved and appreciated…  that they could be touched and hugged and a gentle kiss could affectionately be placed upon their foreheads as they parted each night and went home…  that the words “I love you” could be spoken and meant.

In their previous experiences, they were considered the “least wanted, lowest class, despised and avoided” – their label, “untouchable”, was very literal.  For someone of a “higher social class” to touch them meant that the higher class person would then become dirtied, cursed, and lose all their social standing.  They too, would become "untouchable".  

In the eyes of their culture, these untouchable people were only good for one thing – dirty jobs and hard labor.  

In the eyes of God, and ours, these children and these people are precious, treasured, beloved. 

As the children were nurtured and loved and saw their needs met, they bloomed.  

Once reserved and shy, aloof, withdrawn, skittish and lacking confidence, these children now KNOW 

their value and worth, and bask in the glow of His love. 

Their eyes are alive, their humble servants’ hearts so pure and beautiful, their smiles light a room.  

Barriers are broken down, equality is embraced, love is received and poured out, multiplied.

As each child is sponsored, for only $11 a month, it gives the program the opportunity to reach out to more children and include them in this life changing environment.  A dozen new children were enrolled while we were in India, a few of which already have sponsors.  As these children grow and develop and are nourished in body, spirit and mind, the cycle of generational poverty is broken.

Their future is different. Very different.  And it is good.

The difference is hope.

The difference is love.

The difference is Jesus.

The difference can be you, too.

New Year, New Perspective

I'm not asking God to give me a good year in 2013, I'm asking Him to sift everything through His loving hands and help me to accept pain along with the good. 

I'm not asking Him for prosperity. I'm asking Him to help me be thankful for what I have and to fill my needs. 

I'm not asking Him to make me popular. I'm asking Him to make me more like Him. 

I'm not asking Him to fix the problems I see in the world. I'm asking Him to use me to make a difference.

I'm not asking Him to bring Peace to the world. He already did 2000 years ago. I'm asking Him to help me to be a peacemaker.

The great thing is, I know He's going to answer my heart's desires in these things, because His word tells me He wants these things for me.



(Borrowed from my friend Kim...  thank you, Kim.  You expressed my heart beautifully!)

Why India? The Value Of A Minute

"How did that happen??!  Wait, didn't you just get back from Haiti?"  Given that it was the most frequently asked question I've heard in the past few weeks, that is what I shared first about my impending mission trip to India, in this post.

One Child....

The second most frequent questions were "What will you be doing there?  Who are you working with this time?  Is this another independent trip?"

As many of you know, my heart breaks for the vulnerable people of the world, those living in extreme poverty, especially when it brings about increased risk of human trafficking, slavery and abuse.  This passion is born from personal experience, and it runs to the depths of my soul through God's redemption of my life.

Another Child...

India has the dubious reputation for being 2nd in the world for children suffering from malnutrition, which stems from a critically high number of children living in abject poverty.  Girls have little value in India, often ending up trafficked, sold into marriage, forced begging, or worse.  Boys are not spared either.  That is, if these boys or girls even reach past the age of 5.

Yet Another Child...

In the time it has taken for you to read this post up to this point, four children under the age of 5 died in India from preventable causes.  Lack of clean water.  Malnutrition.  Malaria.  Cholera.  Pneumonia.  Diarrhea.

2.1 million precious souls a year...

Four children, every minute.

This continues, around the clock, every single day, every week, every month, year round, seemingly unstoppable like the ocean waves that continue to crash on the world's shores...  Except for one difference:  While we can't hold back the ocean from crashing ashore, we CAN turn back the tide of poverty.  One child at a time.

And the tide IS being turned back...  extreme poverty is being served an eviction notice like never before.  One by one, people are being empowered against poverty, and the chains of injustice are being broken.



His Hands Ministries works in India through the local church to support their outreach programs that serve the most vulnerable children within the local communities.  Through the ministry and the local church, children's basic need for food and education are being met, and through education, the stronghold of poverty is loosened and these children's risk of human trafficking, slavery, and other heartbreaking practices is significantly reduced.  Children are holistically empowered and are led to the skills and abilities needed in order to gain employment, and as such, the generational poverty cycle breaks.


Four more children...  


Every minute we wait equates the lives of four more children.


The harvest is plenty, the workers are needed, the call is on my heart to go...  the time is now.


For more information on His Hands Ministries, please visit their website here.

Your financial support would be a blessing, not only to our lives and spiritual growth, but most of all to His people in India.  Please consider helping me with the travel costs by using the Paypal button on the upper right hand sidebar.  Children from the His Hands program are also available for sponsorship through His Hands Ministries here.


And with your help... this minute...  a child will live. 


Join us in prayer, let our light rise for Him in unison as we live out Isaiah 58, together.

"Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter - when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard...and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday." Isaiah 58: 6-8, 10

India By Way of Nehemiah: 2013

In November of 2011, days before we were set to leave for Ghana, I received the news that I would be joining a mission team in Cameroon the following February.  Having used all my vacation time for Ghana, and having very little time to fundraise the necessary travel costs, saying yes was still an easy act of faith.

In November of 2012, days before we were set to leave for Haiti, I received the news that I would be joining a mission team in India the following February.  Having used all my vacation time for Haiti, and having much less time to fundraise the necessary travel costs, I wanted my yes to be just as simple, but it required more prayer and consideration.


I'll be honest, when my spiritual leader and role model, one of God's amazing disciples, Jamie Charles, reached out and extended the invitation to join her as she leads this trip, I wanted nothing more than to say yes at any cost.  The opportunity to join His Hands Ministries in India is overwhelmingly great, both in terms of the blessing to serve Him and His people there, but also in terms of spiritual and personal growth.  That being said, to some, I had every reason to say no.

It's no secret that it's been a tough year.  Some would say that alone makes it the wrong time to be doing another mission trip, so close on the heels of the Haiti trip and all the changes here at home.  Few would say all the more reason to go now, even though serving, spending of ourselves to save the life of someone else, brings healing and restoration to the spirit.  Most would say the cost was too high, the time not right, that I had "too much on the go", "too much on my hands", that I needed a break, that I needed to be there for my kids.  While I understood their concern, what I really wanted to know was God's perspective, not ours.  I don't want what the world offers, I don't want easy or comfortable, I want what He wants.

I responded to the invitation by taking the time to pray.  The conversation with God went something like this:

"Father, I have this blessed opportunity in front of me to serve Your people in India, but I do not know if I am the best person for Your work there...  if You can really use me right now, as I am, with the present circumstances.  I need to know Your heart on this..."

I sensed God asking me why I felt this way, why I felt He might not send me...  I answered:  "Daddy, there seem to be so many reasons I should not go... My marriage has ended, I am on my own.  People will tell me I should stay home and take care of my family.  I only have one income now, I have to be very careful with my financial resources, I need to protect my ability to sponsor these 17 children I have committed to, and to provide for mine as well.  I do not have vacation time from my work so that I can take the time to go, this means that I would not be paid for my time while I travel.  I am trying to prepare the house to sell, it is a lot of work and I have so little time left for much else.  I am tired, and worn, and although I greatly desire to go, I do not want to hinder Your Kingdom by being the weakest person for You to send."

His response was yet another question, asking me how I felt He would respond to these reasons...  and it came to me swiftly and strongly -- "Father, You would remind me that although my marriage has ended, I am not on my own, I am never alone for You are with me always... and You have provided me with people who support and love me and are by my side... You are the one Who takes care of my family when I serve You first.  You would also remind me that my income is limited, but Your provisions are endless, and all that I have comes from You and belongs to You.  You'd also point out that You have protected my ability to provide for the sponsorships and for my children for the past two years while reduced to practically one income.  You would tell me that You created time and Your provisions are endless, and that You provided for the same circumstances last February when I was in Cameroon, and it's certainly within Your power to do it again.  You would probably laugh at me and remind me that the house will sell in Your time, not mine, and ask my why I do not simply let You take care of that and not be concerned?  And last but not least, You would remind me that You often choose the weak, the most unexpected, the worn, the old, the tired, the ones the world would not send...  You came to earth for the sick, the poor, the lonely, the orphans, the widows -- You promised that in our weaknesses, You are made strong, Lord, and as such, I should not question Your reasons for sending me, that perhaps it is not only to serve others, but so that I may grow in You, or lead by example for someone here... I don't know Your purposes and plans, Lord, but I trust You...  Yes, I may be weak in the eyes of the world, but You equip the called and I hear Your call on my heart.  I am willing, and that is my answer...  I am willing.  May it be done as You have planned."

I am willing, always.

I gave my answer to the trip leader, and told her that should all the pieces fit and the Lord be willing, she could proceed and book my ticket while I was in Haiti. I would learn upon my return whether or not I would be going to India.  Either way, I would accept His answer.

When I returned, God had answered... my tickets were booked.

If you are familiar with how the fundraising went for our mission work in Ghana, you will remember that I compared it to Nehemiah, who had been given the task to rebuild Jerusalem's walls in 52 days.  It seemed impossible.  The same was true of our fundraising efforts.  We needed to raise $30,000 by November of 2011...  we started in March of 2011, and by September of 2011, we were at 12%.  How would God do it?  We trusted explicitly that He would.  With less than 53 days to go, He provided, all of it, in full, as well as our own travel costs.

All it took was faith in a God that could, and would.

That's what it will take this time too, in abundance.

I have until Monday, December 17th to pay my airfare to India.  $1563.  A mere six days.  I have until February to raise the in-country travel costs ($500).  Seems so little in light of the $30,000 we raised for Ghana, or the $3300 we raised for Haiti... but on a human level, it seems just as impossible.  The amount has never, ever been the issue.  Whether $30,000 or $3300, or $1563, it always comes down to the fact that I come to the table with empty hands, only able to spend of myself, pour out my life as an offering, but coming short of the miracle it will take.  I have nothing to offer but absolute faith in the God I serve.

Nehemiah built the walls in 52 days.

I have 6 days.

That might just be why God picks me time and time again -- He delights in doing the seemingly impossible through the least likely.


If you would like to sow seeds into this miracle in the making, into this ministry, donations can be made by Paypal (link on sidebar or jd@beyondmeasure.me) or in person, through online banking (Canada) in any amount, no amount too small, as our God multiplies the blessings.  Your support is a blessing, not only to the people we will serve in India, but to people whose lives I touch here back home, and to my spiritual growth too.

Most of all, please pray, and keep watching to see what God will do...

Enough

     I've been home from Haiti for a week, and the words are hard to come by, and the ones that do trickle  through are raw.  The words flow slowly -- painfully -- it's rare for me, and unsettling.  I hesitate to share.  It's not pretty.  I can't make it pretty, I refuse to.

     In Honduras and Ghana, I shared stories, photos and our experiences while we were still there.  Cameroon, the words and stories came more slowly... the words drying up before the stories were finished.  Haiti....  I don't yet know what's about to pour out, I just know it has to.


     I hit the ground running when I arrived home from Haiti, in more ways than one.  I knew.  I knew that if I slowed down, it would hurt.  It helped that I had an overwhelming amount of work to come home to -- a bittersweet blessing, it would help me process the pain of what we have seen and experienced, and what we came home to.  It always hurts, like a heart bruise being leaned into, poked and prodded, pressed down.

     Things are never as they were when we come back from the mission field -- always a cost -- we come back to contrasts we don't know how to process, and an unsettling feeling that comes with our new shift of perspective.  The reality that we as a church aren't doing enough to be the hands and feet -- we're not doing enough to get out of the comfortable and bridge the gap between the rich and the poor in a radical way.  We're not doing enough to answer the call -- the knock comes, the call comes, but we turn away.  Do we assume someone else will pick up the call for the poor?  Are we leaving it to virtual voicemail?  Not just the poor in the standard sense, but everyone in our path in need of the gospel, in need of love, hope, light.  We're too distracted by the shiny and fancy trappings of this world, by preconceptions and attitudes and entitlement, by our own selves... our greed...  by the enemy's deception -- that it's someone else's job, that it won't matter, that it's too hard or that the lost deserve it somehow, it's their own doing, isn't it?  I've heard it before,  the rejection of responsibility... "If they're so poor, why do they keep having kids?  We shouldn't help these people, they do it onto themselves.  They should all be given birth control before we give them any help.  You know, help our own people here at home and let their government deal with their mess."  Appalling.  Unthinkable.

     Yes, the coming home has always been the hardest.  Coming home from Haiti, even more so, for two reasons:

1.  Haiti has the most extreme poverty I've witnessed to date. I've only traveled to three other faraway countries, but it's by far the worst living conditions I've seen in person, and I can't shake the images from my head -- nor would I want to.  I came there to know, to see, to feel, to experience, to walk alongside the hurting, the hungry, the lost, the lonely, the orphans, the widows, the poor, the broken, the sinners.  I tasted poverty.  It covered me in a thick, suffocating layer, seeped down deep into my weary bones.

In each place I had been to, I experienced a quiet but deep sense of community and connection with the poor, the broken, the lost -- this was no different.  Being judged and shunned back home by some of the members of His body, His church, especially this past year in all the changes taking place here back home...  it has hurt, and I don't want to do the same to others, I don't want to give anyone the silent treatment, the cold stare, the judging look, the abandonment, and I've been guilty of it before.  May God have mercy on me. It crushes me to think that someone, somewhere, could have seen this in me and knowing I follow Jesus, assumed this was of Him.  I don't want others to mistake this for Jesus' love.  I don't want to walk away, to turn my back, to give up on anyone.  I don't want that to be what the body of Christ looks like, and I want it to start with me.  Yes, it hurts to be in the trenches, to serve the poorest of the poor.  To see the desperation, to hear it, face it, see it, taste it...  to relate...  It hurt, but I can't look away, I won't look away.  I want to see.  I need to know.  I have to remember...  to memorize their faces is to remember the face of Jesus, and to not grow hardened in this world.  It is the awareness that I am no different.  I am just as broken, just as much a sinner, just as badly in need of a Savior.  We all are.  Those who judge, those who are judged -- equally loved by Him.

2.  The day after I left for Haiti, my fourteen year old son Joshua moved 2800 miles across the country to live with his father.  His father had been living in the basement of our home since October of 2011 when he left our marriage.  After a long period of unemployment, he recently found work out west and made preparations to move.  Joshua decided to follow him there.

     Given my tendency to clean the house before I leave for vacation or leave for any length of time, I was bracing myself for what I'd find in the aftermath of their move.  I walked through the house, rooms echoing emptiness, the furniture gone except a few pieces, each room newly unfamiliar and barren.  Odds and ends littered the floor upstairs, all that was left was in a state of disarray.  It didn't feel like home, at least not the one we knew.

Yet as I looked at the coffee table, the kitchen table and chairs, my mattress set, one dresser...  all that was left...  I remembered the homes I had seen, I remembered Medgina's grandmother lifting her arms in praise to God, shaking with joy while standing in her seemingly empty one bedroom home with a broken roof and no doors, thanking the One who provides... and it confirmed what I knew -- God is enough, and I am blessed.


     Heaps of trash scattered all throughout the basement, junk in every possible inch of space, it felt as though what was once a home was ransacked, leaving only debris in the wake of the storm.  Suffocating.  A somewhat milder version of Hoarders, minus the team hired to make the nightmare disappear.  That's how it felt.  Brandon and I rolled up our sleeves, put our heads down, and worked our way through, room by room, hour by hour, day by day.  Solidarity.  My love poured out for Brandon, stepping up as a man, doing what was right and what needed to be done, taking charge with initiative and drive, and caring for his family.  It took a week to nearly finish two rooms, and we're nowhere near done the basement.  All this time, it threatened to eat away at me; the living conditions, the responsibility, the energy it would take to clear this mess and prepare this house to sell...  how unfair it was that they walked away and left us holding the bag -- dozens of trash bags, and counting...  and then the furnace broke down, then the fridge, then a leak in one pipe, two leaks...  the used-but-new-to-us fridge in the middle of our kitchen, too big to fit the space left empty by the old fridge...  all within the span of a week...  and I wonder if the power is next, the property taxes, one income not enough to sustain... but I fought HARD against it, against being overwhelmed... fought hard to cling to gratitude and joy...  and won...  because....

...   when I closed my eyes, I saw images of raw sewage running openly through Port Aux Princes, of one family standing about a hundred feet from the roadway in the city, adults and children alike, in a heaping, smoldering pile of garbage at a landfill, digging for food and anything else they could salvage for survival...  a scene so brutal to the heart I could not raise my camera at the time, hand frozen, heart broken.  It stayed with me the entire week we were in Haiti, and I  looked for this family on our way back to Port Aux Princes at the end of the week, wanting to reach out to them, bring them rice, words of encouragement, love... Jesus... something... anything... but could not find them.   Still, the image remains, much like the image of Richard permanently etched into the back of my eyelids -- pictures I can't and won't erase...  and I knew that God would be enough to sustain, to strengthen, to nourish, to bless... them, and me.

   
     We guessed her to be about two.... her name was Gwyneth -- she was the youngest of the 29 orphans at the Bethanie Orphanage.  The women gathered all the girls, while the men gathered the boys around them, and we set out to distribute clothes to the children.  Under the dark cover of night, we stood on the second floor balcony, the dimly lit area buzzing with activity, picking through dresses, trying to guess the girl's sizes.  I had intended on helping the women find dresses for the girls, but the moment I saw Gwyneth, so tiny, so young...  my heart convulsed violently and I found myself on the ground near her.  She melted into my lap, quietly sucking on a lollipop while holding another, and the realization that this precious babe, this tiny little child of God, had no earthly parents to love on her and care for her...  it was more than my heart could bear.

I broke down into quiet sobs, crying prayers over her and the 147+million orphans like her in the world.  Millions and I am only holding one.  ONE.  One just as precious to Him as the others in the ocean of children crying out for a family.  Still cradling her in my arms for as long as possible but not wanting to be selfish in holding her, I lifted her gently into Jillian's waiting arms, and as Jillian held her, explained to my precious 11 year old daughter that this sweet girl didn't have a mother or father to love her, to take care of her, to live with her and do life with her... Jillian's heartbreak was written all over her face as she gasped, and looked from me to Gwyneth and then back again...  asking, searching, not understanding.  "These are children from the orphanage, love -- an orphanage is a home for orphans -- orphans are children without parents to love them and look after them.  This little girl does not have parents to call her own."  Her face grimacing painfully, she shook her head and said "But mom, she's so little, she's just a baby, can't we take her home, I've always wanted a sister, I could take care of her?"  Tears poured once more, this time from both of us -- the well seemed bottomless.  "I know, love...  it's not fair.  For any of them.  No matter what age.  There are kids younger than Gwyneth who are all alone.  Babies.  Kids your age.  Older kids.  Orphans.  One hundred and forty seven million of them right now, in this world, today....  orphaned.  We, you and I, the church, the hands and feet, we're failing to respond to the call.  We're failing to be enough.  I know you and I would, in a heartbeat, take her home, but we don't have the ransom, the resources... not at this time...  in His...?"  We stared at each other in quiet disbelief, at a loss for more words, and quietly turned our attention back to Gwyneth and her friends in those precious few moments we had to pour love into them.

I return home to the children's father gone from their home.  Although they're not with their father, Brandon and Jillian are adjusting well to life without their father here... it's a new normal, but they're thriving.  They are loved and cared for and there are phones and Skype and someday, perhaps they will even travel there.  We are all blessed with a Father, and He will always be enough...

(Photo credit:  Tia Kollar)

     While serving, we met a team from one of the purest, Godliest Acts style churches I've yet heard of, who were also in Haiti being the hands and feet.  These Christians from Antioch, Tennessee had, among many other acts of service, locally purchased four tons of rice to distribute to people suffering from hunger.  We asked if we could join in their efforts to distribute the rice and minister to His people.  They welcomed us into their family without hesitation, without question, loving us as we were -- the true and loving body of Christ.  On Wednesday evening, we traveled to a field where a church was being built by their team, where the men had toiled hard under the hot Haitian sun earlier that day, and where there would be children waiting to receive precious rations of rice to bring home to their families.  Several fifty pound sacks of rice had been divided up into small family sized portions, individually bagged for distribution.  The rice was loaded on top of the bus, and as the bus made its way into the field, we immediately realized that the word had spread about the rice, and the entire village had shown up.  As we stepped out of the bus, praying for God to multiply as He had the loaves and fish, people pressed into us, welcoming us with eager anticipation.  The sun was setting, but it wasn't the only darkness that could be felt -- hope and desperation hung dangerously close to one another in the air, an intense and charged spirit weighing heavy on us...  we were just as desperate as these people were -- desperately hopeful that God would multiply the rice and make it enough.  When we realized that it would not be so tonight, we were told to quickly get back into the bus for our own safety -- they knew a riot would break out.  They wanted us safely back into the bus before they were to announce that we would be back tomorrow not just with enough food, but with more than enough.  Joy turned to mourning -- and in an instant, the bus was filled with the sounds of the desperate cries of mothers, angry shouts of men, children screaming and running after our bus as it was being kicked and pushed by a mob of angry, hurting, and desperately hungry people clawing for a shred of hope, trying to reach the bags of rice at the top of the bus.  They were simply hungry.  Hungry for the end of suffering.  Hungry for peace.  Hungry for hope.  Hungry for nourishment.  God had provided more than enough for Tia, Jillian and I through our fundraising, so we offered from God's abundance and provide for 3 or 4 more fifty pound bags of rice to the team to help ensure there would be more than enough for these people the following day.  It wasn't much, but we knew God would make it enough.

Sitting at the table that night at the guest house, in front of a warm plate of food and a cold drink...  it was hard to chew -- to chew through not only the food, but the reality of the multitudes that go hungry when elsewhere, there is more than enough.  Thousands of children die each day from hunger and preventable causes.  Yet God gives more than enough from which we are to bless.


More and more, as I travel to these countries and walk hand in hand, heart in heart with the poor, "rich" loses the hold it once had.  I don't want stuff.  I don't want wealth or riches.  Black Friday makes me want to throw up.  I want only to spend of myself in order to save someone else.  I don't want what the world has to offer -- I want enough.  Simply enough.  For me, for them.


I want enough compassion for everyone, by everyone, everywhere, in every situation.

I want enough understanding.

I want enough awareness.

I want enough love.  Love in action.  Love as a verb.

I want enough service to others, at home, next door, in our communities, churches, throughout the world.

I want enough of us to hear the call.

I want more than enough of us to respond.  Radically.  Urgently.  Lovingly.


And enough mercy and grace for myself as I find my way through this.

"The call of orphan care is not a call to simply "save the orphan". The call of orphan care is to share in the suffering of the orphan. It's to intentionally position yourself, your family, your community, to suffer alongside the orphan. To say, 'Your suffering, is now my suffering. Your story, is now my story. I willingly position myself to suffer alongside you.' "

-- Aaron Ivey, Adopted - The Cost Of Love.  

That seems, to me, to be the very definition of Compassion.  For the orphan, the poor, the sick, the widow, the broken, the sinner, the lost, the lonely...  even the rich --  for all our neighbors.  Compassion.  Love.  Hands and feet.  The true body.  Rather than turn our backs, shun, give the silent treatment, judge, shift the responsibility and the call elsewhere, to someone else, anyone else...  what if we ALL joined in the suffering, the brokenness, and simply loved IN the trenches, simply loved and gave and served and looked and saw and shared and became one in Him until it was enough, even knowing it will never be enough until He returns?


It starts with me.