Archive for November, 2009
I don’t know about you all (that’s y’all for my Southern peeps), but I didn’t do much laundry this weekend.
And now, I pay the price. Folding party at my house tonight! It’ll be fun… really.
Doesn’t she look like she’s having fun???
I realized that my anxiety about starting the laundry is two-fold:
- The sheer volume. Heavens to Murgatroyd, we dirty a lot of clothes. (By the way, I think I’m gonna name the lady in the photo Murgatroyd.)
- Not wanting to start and then find that I missed something.
I suffer more with the second one. I hate when I try to wash every last stitch of dirty laundry in our house, and then, as if from nowhere, a random dirty sock will appear. When that happens, it feels like it was all for naught.
And then, inevitably… the end of the day comes and there will be more dirty clothes, thus confirming the maddening phenomenon that is the laundry.
You know, you hear about postal workers going insane because “The mail never stops.” But I think more wives and moms would be justified to go similarly batty by the same token.
Okay, gotta go start this exercise in futility. I’ve put it off long enough by:
So if you’re slogging through piles of laundry today, you’re not alone. And just remember Murgatroyd. She’s having so much FUN!!! (insert insane laughter).
I’m getting this post up during the final minutes of Thanksgiving 2009!
My mother-in-law posted a video of some of our racous family moments today if you’re curious. (Bonus! You’ll see footage of Morrow walking and dancing. Aaand… you’ll get to see my awesome dance moves during a kiddy dance party with Orison and his cousin Grace.)
I mean, who wouldn’t want to see that?
I decided to finish the night quietly, knitting a pair of mittens for Morrow. The weather’s gotten really cold, really fast! So while Abraham sleeps (the lump in the back of the picture) I post on my blog and knit.
I’m thankful for a quiet end to Thanksgiving 2009.
Before I took off for El Salvador with Compassion International, I asked you guys if you wanted to know anything about child sponsorship. You really rose to the occasion, and sent some really thoughtful questions. So thank you for that.
Initially, I was going to respond to them individually, but as I talk to more and more people about sponsorship, I think the questions and issues raised are more global, and so deserve a more public forum for answering.
Spending the week with Shaun Groves, our trip leader (and an awesome guy), I got to ask all the questions I could think of. He was so gracious and always helpful. Turns out, when he went on his first Compasssion trip, he went as a skeptic, since he had previously been involved with a different childrens’ organization that didn’t use their money the way they said they did. He was won over by Compassion International, and now travels around and devotes most of his career (and a large percentage of his heart) to their ministry.
So, we’ll start with the first question!
I sponsor a child in Kenya and wonder about the theology that she’s taught. How does Compassion choose which local churches to work with? Are they mostly theologically uniform, or is there some diversity of belief about what might be called “non-essentials” among the projects?
- Compassion International sets up their child sponsorship “projects” through local churches. That’s the only way they do it in every country they work in.
- In the early days, Compassion had to go looking for church partners. Now, most of the time, churches come find them, because their reputation is so upstanding and the local congregations see the benefits of hosting a Compassion project and want that for the children in their neighborhoods!
- All churches must subscribe to the statement of faith of the National Association of Evangelicals. No exceptions.
So if this was the burning question you had that’s keeping you from sponsoring, and you feel satisfied with this answer, go ahead and sponsor.
Or if you’ve just been undecided or forgetful or apathetic or confused (really, you can just insert any of those adjectives here & you would’ve been describing me a few months ago)… go ahead and sponsor.
No matter how much I wanted to, I didn’t wake up in El Salvador today. My week with Compassion International is over, and I’m grieving that.
I got home Friday night around 11pm and woke Orison (our then-4-year-old) and he greeted me very drowsily. In the morning he didn’t even remember it! But when he woke up Saturday morning, he was FIVE! That’s right, I got home just in time for his birthday.
We spent the day pretty quietly together as a family. But Abraham and I were so tired that by about 5pm we both knew we needed to get out of the house or we were going to be miserable until bedtime. In some random moment of insanity, Abraham suggested that we take Orison to ride a few rides at the Mall of America (something he’s only done a couple times and would be totally thrilled by).
So… it was Saturday night at the Mall of America. Not for the faint of heart, my friends. I don’t think we’d ever been there on a Saturday night before. It was so.stinkin’.busy. So full of people with waaaay too much.
As we were talking toward the amusement park area, I told Abraham, “I’m feeling a little sick to my stomach.”
“Literally?” He asks. (All too often I’m actually sick to my stomach, so he has to make sure….)
“No… more heartsick.”
“So, you’re sick to the stomach of your heart?”
I mean, the day before I was still seeing tin-roofed, dilapidated shacks that people call homes. The day before I was still in the thick of El Salvador and it’s poverty. And I was still there in my heart and mind. But somehow my body was travelling through the Mall of America.
Walking paradox, no?
I keep thinking about objects in space, and how they have to very carefully calculate how the object will reenter the earth’s atmosphere, or else any number of catastrophic ends will result (blowing up, exploding, catching on fire). Perhaps a trip to the Mall of America wasn’t the best reentry strategy.
I’ve already cried a few times today, my emotions just barely below the surface. I feel okay with that, though. If I were just pushing it all down and refusing to let it touch me, that would be unhealthy. My mentor tells me, “Don’t be afraid of tears. Tears are often a sign that the Holy Spirit’s at work.”
So that, for now, is my reentry strategy. Try to let the tears come as they need to. Remember what I saw. And try to avoid the Mall of America.
My El Salvador Posts
- “This Child Deserves to Know Jesus!”
- More Than Just Beautiful Faces, but Beautiful Nonetheless
- A Hero’s Welcome Given by Heroes
- Mothers Becoming Moms: Child Survival Program in Action
- You’ve Been Cordially Invited to Break Your Heart
We got to our gate to wait for our flight out of El Salvador. I went into the bathroom, and when I came out I found this:
Apparently there’s wi-fi.
So what did I do? I joined the party!
Seriously though, before we leave El Salvador, I just want to recognize all of you who’ve faithfully read our posts and engaged in this week with us. It’s been such a blessing to me.
You can find all of our posts about the Compassion Bloggers page, or go visit the fine bloggers who have accompanied me this week:
And our wondeful trip leaders:
And of course our fantastic trip photographer, who has worked like a mad woman this week! All of the photos on my site from the trip have been her work. She is a gracious, hardworking, servant-hearted woman.
Thanks again to all of you. If there was no one to read and act, there would be no reason to do any of this.
Child sponsorship has always seemed like a very safe way to help another person. Most of the time you never look them in the eye.
But today I met our family’s sponsored child. All the safe distance of sponsorship was completely obliterated. Now all the “ideas” of sponsorship were humanized into a six-year-old boy. His name is Hector.
The first crack came as the elevator doors opened at 7:15am. Before I even saw him I knew: my heart is already breaking. I could feel it—the tears rushing into my eyes, the heat in my face, the tightness in my chest. I came around the corner where he was waiting for me with his eyes closed, a nervous smile on his face.
You can see what happens next. In true-to-Molly fashion: it was loud, there was lots of talking, and I basically just freaked out. And of course, tears.
He opened his eyes and rushed into my already-full arms. But there was room for him. Crack #2.
We made our way to a couch and exchanged muchos regalos (many gifts). He had made a photo book for me, and a calendar with pictures of him for all of 2010. I had a soccer ball for him and a backpack full of fun and practical items.
Then something spectacular happened. Because of the common grace of the internet, an uncommon event was able to occur. We were able to video chat with Abraham, Orison, & Morrow! Watching him interact with my other children… another crack. It was getting bigger and bigger, and we hadn’t even left the hotel.
We spent the morning at a sports day. Wherever I went, Hector came. And his hand was always in mine. As we walked around I tried to take all the mental pictures I could. With each one, more cracking.
We played, we laughed, we ate snacks… I felt like I was hanging out with one of my own kids.
Then after lunch, the inevitable happened. I had to say goodbye. At this point, the one-half of my heart that was now hanging by a fiber came completely disconnected. How do you say goodbye? How do you tell someone (who’s six) all the hopes and dreams you have for him? How do you share the thankfulness you feel to them for sharing their life with you?
I felt crazy as I just wept and wept over the goodbye. And as I’ve thought about it this afternoon, it felt in small part like saying goodbye to another one of my kids. At one point his mother told me to calm down! I mean, she said it lovingly, but isn’t that hilarious? She’s obviously not used to me, the emoting machine.
Hector was added to our extended family a few weeks ago. I got one morning with him. And then, a goodbye. And who knows if I’ll ever see him again. I hope and pray that I do. I kept having fantasies all afternoon of Abraham & I venturing down to El Salvador for Hector’s graduation. And if I don’t see him again on earth, I hope and pray that we will see each other in heaven. There, God-willing, I will see all of my children, even my sponsored children. And we will rejoice, every tear wiped away.
So I guess, sponsorship can be an easy way to help a kid out. But it’s not going to be easy if you engage with more than your wallet. If you engage with your heart and your time, it’ll hurt to not see their smile, hear their voice, watch them grow up. It just might break your heart.
As you know, I’ve been really excited about witnessing the Child Survival Program here in El Salvador. It’s a very new program, but is already having fantastic effects for the ones involved.
The project we visited today is one of five that are currently operating in this country.
I witnessed about 15 mothers caring for their babies. The women ranged in age from 15-35 years old. Most were first-time mothers, a couple were mothers multiple times over. But the need was the same for all of them: they needed education. They needed to be equipped with skills. They needed to learn how and why to embrace these children.
The women are broken up into groups by the age of their children. We witnessed them being given instruction in infant massage and stimulation. We witnessed them being encouraged to play with their children.
They also spend time in direct instruction with a CSP “Implementer” or “Survival Specialist” who instructs them Biblically about God’s view of children. We heard them learning truths that are kind of old-hat for most of us: children are a heritage from the Lord; your children are gifts from Him…. Things that may tend to seem tired and trite if you’ve heard them too many times.
Imagine hearing it and embracing it for the first time. Imagine hearing it and embracing it, even if you had next to nothing, materially, to give this child.
We heard them learning basics of mothering, such as: if your baby is crying, do you punish him or pick him up?
And while they were having some sit-down time apart from their babies, they twisted our arms to hold the babies.
Many of them shared that they feel extremely thankful to be a part of this ministry. They testified to the effects they see in their children, as compared to other children not in the program.
One woman told me, when talking about her 15-month-old, “He didn’t used to play. Now… he plays!”
The women are learning to take joy in their children. And that, to me, is what turns any old mother into a mama.
You can support Compassion’s Child Survival Program for $20/month, or make a one-time gift. Or just visit the site and poke around. I pray that you’re as blessed by their vision as I am.