I’m going to be totally honest with y’all today and say that I just don’t have much funny in me at the moment. In fact, I feel a little bit like I’m having the missionary version of post-traumatic stress syndrome, but without the trauma or the stress.

If I had to compile a list of my talents it would probably be a short list. However, chief among my gifts would be my ability to compartmentalize certain things. If there is something I don’t want to think about or talk about, then I just go all Scarlett O’Hara and decide I’ll think about it tomorrow.

Yesterday I had the opportunity to speak to a group of high school students about Compassion and my trip to the Dominican. I’ve spent the last few days reading back over the posts that all the bloggers wrote about the trip and then this morning I googled “Everett Swanson” who is the man that founded Compassion back in 1952.

The last night of our trip, Shaun told us the story of how Compassion came to exist. The short version is that Everett Swanson was an American evangelist who went to Korea during the Korean War to minister to the troops. While he was there, he began to notice all the orphans everywhere. They were huddled in doorways trying to stay warm and starving to death.

One morning he saw a sanitation truck driving down the street. The workers would jump off the truck, kick what appeared to be piles of rags and then throw them in the truck. It turns out they weren’t just piles of rags; they were orphans who didn’t make it through the night being thrown away like garbage. Everett Swanson knew he had to do something.

Because of his commitment, Compassion is now in 24 countries and sponsors over a million children.

I shared that story with the high school students, along with my personal experiences from the trip.

After I was done there, I drove out to my church to record a short video where I was interviewed about the difference Compassion has made in countless lives.

Needless to say, yesterday was like the Big Mama Compassion Tour ‘08. (Not coming soon to cities near you!)

Last night, as I drove to meet some friends for Mexican food, my heart was so heavy and I could feel tears right below the surface. I don’t know if it’s because I had talked about it all day or if it’s just taken this long to sink in, but I just felt a heavy weight of sadness settle over me.

It’s a strange experience to see everything we saw that week, the extreme poverty, the sadness, the presence of hope in spite of the bare minimum of material possessions, and then come back to America at a time when everyone is freaking out about our economic crisis and big industries are requesting multi-billion dollar bailouts.

We’re a week away from celebrating Thanksgiving, which should be a time to reflect on our many blessings, yet we’re inundated by Christmas catalogs with the sole purpose of making sure we want more than we already have.

Caroline and I look through the catalogs while she picks out what she wants Santa to bring on Christmas Eve and then I’ll feel guilty because do we really need any more toys in her already packed playroom?

Do I really need any more clothes in a closet full of things?

What’s the balance between my reality and the reality of the kids in the Dominican Republic?

Why do I have moments where I fully realize I’ve seen the worst and yet still have moments where I feel discontent with what I have?

Am I an idiot?

Don’t answer that. It’s intended to be hypothetical.

Most of all, I can’t get this precious girl off my mind.

Because the one question she asked me was, “Can I go home with you?”

And two weeks later I’m still wishing I could have said yes.

Before my trip to the Dominican, I wondered what the food would be like. What exactly is Dominican food?

(Hey! Have I mentioned my trip to the Dominican? My word, it’s overkill at this point and I apologize.)

I still can’t really say for sure but Dominican food seems to involve various unidentifiable meats fried into a ball-like shape, vegetables steamed beyond all recognition and color-definition, plantains, some kind of fried chicken (Please God, I hope it was chicken.) and something called Monfogo that involved pork-cracklings.

Mmmm…just like mama used to make.

And really nothing made me feel better before a meal than when our leader Brian would say, “You can eat the fruit. It SHOULD be okay.”

The difference between SHOULD and DEFINITELY is a big gamble. And losing means you might find yourself doing the walk of shame to the airplane bathroom about 152 times. In ten minutes. I believe I’ll take a pass on the papaya.

Thank goodness for beans and rice. They were the light in my darkest culinary hour.

Needless to say, since returning home, I’ve been on a bit of a food binge.

I’ve eaten untold quantities of Mexican food. Seriously, if you hear rumors of a worldwide avocado shortage, it may be my fault. I’ve had breakfast tacos, tacos nortenos, puffy tacos, crispy tacos and quesadillas. And that was just yesterday.

Thank you. I’ll be here all week.

I made chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy for dinner last night and washed it down with an iced sugar cookie in the shape of a turkey that I’d bought (and HID from my beloved family) earlier in the day.

Gulley invited me over for lunch because she’d made chicken salad and she knows I love her chicken salad. What she didn’t know was that I would eat 3/4 of the bowl by myself.

The eating isn’t the problem so much as my lack of activity over the last two months. My morning exercise regimen has basically consisted of multiple reps of lifting a Starbucks Grande cup to my mouth.

When Caroline started Kindergarten way back in August, I had the best of physical fitness intentions. Mimi and Bops have an elliptical machine, so my plan was to drop Caroline off at school every morning and then go work out on the elliptical.

I have executed that plan exactly NONE times. Really, I blame my car and its obsession with the parking lot outside of Starbucks.

I told myself that I was just enjoying my free time for a little while, but would really get serious in September.

But then it was still so hot.

Then I got bronchitis.

And then I broke my toe.

Clearly, I have been the victim of some kind of mass anti-cardiovascular health conspiracy.

But after evaluating my intake of cheese, tortilla chips, and refried beans over the last several days, I realize it’s time to step up my exercise game.

Which is to say I’m actually going to do some.

I think the lowest point came yesterday morning when I attempted to adjust the strap on my bra and my deltoid and pectoralis major totally cramped up from the over-exertion.

Sadly, that’s a true story.

And even more sad, I just shared it with the internet.

We left the Dominican Republic at 9:20 a.m. last Friday morning and I finally arrived at the San Antonio airport at 5:45 p.m. after two time changes, six bags of in-flight snak mix (Apparently the airlines can no longer afford the “c” in snack), countless Diet Cokes, and finishing “Such a Pretty Fat” by Jen Lancaster. (Hysterical book, by the way.)

P ended up having to be out of town to guide hunts for a friend, so I called my daddy when I landed to let him know he could begin circling the airport while I waited for my luggage to make its debut on the baggage carousel, otherwise known as Suitcase Roulette.

I made my way down to the Baggage Claim area, taking my time since I knew I’d have to wait, but then I looked up and saw Caroline holding a big, pink rose, with a huge grin on her face, waiting for me. I ran the last few steps, picked her up in my arms, and started to cry. It’s a moment I’ll never forget.

We immediately headed to the nearest Mexican restaurant because I was feeling faint from lack of chips and salsa. It’s like my body had been in detox for a week and was beginning to revolt. Two taco nortenos and a bowl of guacamole later, I was a new woman.

So I’m home.

The weekend was full of activity. We went to see Madagascar 2, we explored a cave, and spent most of Saturday with Gulley and her youngest son, Will.

I went straight from temporary missionary mode to mommy mode in 2.2 seconds without a moment to catch my breath.

But even in the midst of all the activity and all the laundry, the children from the Dominican Republic were never far from my mind. I’d hear Caroline laugh, see her smile, watch the way she and Will were playing in the backyard, and I’d see the faces of those precious kids that I may never see again.

They have left a permanent mark on my heart. And I miss them.

On Sunday morning, I was sitting in church and we began to sing “Everlasting God”. There is a line in the chorus that says “You’re the defender of the weak, you comfort those in need” and when I sang it I felt the tears roll down my cheeks because now I know what need really looks like. I saw it firsthand last week.

But I also know what comfort looks like. It looks like a handful of letters from sponsors that have been kept in plastic bags for years. It looks like children singing in their classrooms knowing that they are going to get a meal and an education.

It looks like little kids running up to us and yelling “JOHN SMITH??!!” because that’s the name of their sponsor and since we’re from the United States they assume we must know him.

I saw need.

I saw sadness.

I saw comfort.

I saw joy.

I saw the difference Compassion is making in the lives of children all over the world one sponsorship at a time.

And it’s amazing.

Clearly I am no longer on the airplane because that would be pure torture considering we left the DR two days ago, but I wrote this on the way home. Then I got home and was nearly assassinated by a huge pile of laundry and forgot all about it. So I’m posting it a little late. Just pretend like I’m not and the world will be a happier place.

At the moment I’m writing this I am on the plane from Miami to Dallas. I’m listening to my sweet 80’s mix on my iPod because international travel puts me in the mood for Chicago’s greatest hits with a little old school Michael Jackson and some Tiffany thrown in for good measure because who doesn’t like Mall Rock. I won’t lie, it’s a mix that is 31 flavors of awesome.

We left the hotel this morning at around 7:00 a.m. and I immediately regretted my decision to stay up until 2 a.m. the night before and then take a Benadryl. The good news is I’ve been able to sleep intermittently on various legs of the flight and treated the people next to me to the glorious sight of me sleeping with my mouth open.

When we got to Miami we had to clear customs, which took a sweet forever and then headed straight for some comida Americano (that means “American food” for those of you who aren’t bilingual). Most of our group decided on California Pizza Kitchen, but I went straight up Burger King because my gastrointestinal system hadn’t been exposed to fine fast food cuisine in six days and that is too long, mi amigos.

I am so ready to get home to my peeps I can hardly stand it. And I’m not just saying that because we’re going straight to eat Mexican food the minute they pick me up from the airport. I’d be glad to see them with or without the presence of warm chips and guacamole. But don’t think I’m not going to scarf down copious amounts of avocado and cheese-based products.

This past week I’ve talked a lot about Compassion and the people of the Dominican Republic, but there’s a whole other element of the trip that I haven’t discussed, spending a week with eleven people I’d never met before.

It’s kind of a weird thing to go to a foreign country with a group of strangers. If you don’t like them then the best you can hope for is that you find a few locals to hang out with who don’t get tired of you asking them how old they are because it’s the only Spanish phrase you know.

I can say with all honesty that the group exceeded my expectations. And there’s nothing better than starting a week off with everyone being polite and ending it being comfortable enough to make fun of each other.

On the last night, we all met in the conference room of the hotel to talk about the week and share any thoughts we had about the whole thing. We talked about the serious aspects and then talked about some of the other things we’d done, such as jumping off a cliff into the Caribbean. (Not me, by the way. My days of jumping off cliffs are long gone, if they ever existed at all. Which they didn’t. Risk taker? Not so much.)

One day a group of us went down to the beach area outside the hotel to witness the aforementioned jumping off cliffs. I made the comment that I’d stuck fairly close to Marlboro Man on the way down to the water because I figured if he can wrestle steers (cows?) to the ground, then he could probably take on a thug hiding out near the ocean if the need arose.

Shaun asked why I didn’t feel that way about him and I had to tell him it’s because he’s a musician AND he went to Baylor. Neither of those things really scream BODYGUARD MATERIAL.

But, Shaun, if I am ever in the need for some great adult contemporary music, you are totally my go-to guy. And if y’all don’t believe me you can go here and listen to Shaun’s new song. I’ve probably listened to it a hundred times in the last week.

**I thought I set this to post while I was flying home today, but apparently it was a major fail. That’s what happens when you take a Benadryl before posting.

After we visited another Compassion project yesterday, we went to the market since it was our last day and we all wanted to pick up a few souvenirs to take home.

Here are a few things I’ll take home with me.

A fab amber ring that was a total bargain thanks to my mad haggling skilz (Can I pull off skills with a z? I’m on the fence about it).

The ring totally reminds me of something Rachel Zoe would wear and when I saw it I said, “I’m dying. I am totally dying”, in my best monotone voice.

I also purchased some Dominican coffee because rumor has it that it’s even better than that slop Juan Valdez is peddling down in Columbia.

And, lastly, some pure Dominican vanilla extract because it is going to make my Christmas baked goods muy delicioso.

But there are other things I’m taking home with me that aren’t tangible, yet will remain etched in my memory forever.

And then there are the things that have caused me to leave a big piece of my heart in this country that was totally foreign to me just five days ago.

I owe a huge thank you to Compassion for what they have shown me this week. I am truly forever changed.

To Shaun Groves, thanks for sending that follow up email asking if I was sure I didn’t want to come on this trip. I can’t imagine anywhere else I would have rather been for the last week.

And a special shout out to my roommate and photographer extraordinaire, Keely Scott. Every photo you’ve seen on my blog this week has come from her. I couldn’t have told the story without her. And I wouldn’t have laughed nearly as hard if she hadn’t been my roommate.

Thanks to all of you who have sponsored children this week. Words can’t express the difference it is making in their lives. And if you haven’t and would like to do so, it’s not too late.

To read the other accounts of the week you can go to Compassion Bloggers.

At some point over the summer, Caroline discovered The Justice League cartoons. Here is where I could go into a long tirade about how I’m not really a fan of Flash Gordon and confess that Spiderman kind of creeps me out, but I’ll save that gem of a post for another time.

Caroline became intrigued with the whole concept of superheroes, especially Wonder Woman. If she’s like her mama then it’s because of the cool red boots and the great hair that is always in place, but I suspect it’s because Wonder Woman isn’t afraid to use her Golden Lasso and save some folks from danger.

And somewhere deep down in us, don’t we all have a little bit of a desire to be a superhero, with or without the kicky red boots and silver wristbands?

This week is your chance to become a superhero.

All of the bloggers on this trip have talked a lot this week about the difference you can make by sponsoring a child through Compassion because we are in the midst of an incredible opportunity to see the change that sponsorship can bring in a child’s life.

Yesterday we went to another project to meet two girls who are part of a Compassion program called LDP (Leadership Development Program). This is a different type of sponsorship program that provides a college education for impoverished high school graduates.

We were able to watch two beautiful young women with the brightest smiles I have ever seen tell us about the difference that Compassion has made in their life.

Mariolvis told us that she became a sponsored child when she was five years old. Her sponsor wrote to her and encouraged her all the way through high school. She is now twenty-three years old, attends college with a major in Marketing thanks to the LDP, and told us that she still reads the letters she used to receive from the family that sponsored her throughout her childhood.

And when we went to her home, she pulled the letters out and showed them to us.

SHE STILL READS THE LETTERS.

Julia was the other girl we met and she had more personality than should be allowed. She is currently attending college studying Engineering and Computer Science. I’m considering asking her if she could tutor me by email because I could use some computer education.

We were able to go to Julia’s home as well and meet her sweet mother. When we asked her mother about the difference Compassion has made in their lives, she literally threw her hands up in the air and waved them around. She had no words.

Julia had slipped back to her bedroom because she wanted to show us her high school graduation photo and some academic medals she had been awarded. As she walked back in the room she had tears in her eyes and shared with us that she vividly remembers being a young child and being picked to become a part of Compassion’s child sponsorship program.

She had to have her picture taken for her sponsorship packet, but literally didn’t have clothes to wear for the photo. As tears streamed down her face she told us of how she had to wait in the bathroom with no clothing, while seven other little girls took turns changing into the same dress for their sponsorship photos. That dress was all they had.

The shame and sadness of that memory filled her with grief even fifteen years later.

But now she is a beautiful, vivacious twenty-year-old woman on her way to earning a degree in Engineering.

We asked her about the difference Compassion made in her life and this is what she said:

“People who sponsor children through Compassion are the superheroes of the Earth.”

You may not be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, but you can be a superhero of the Earth by sponsoring a child.

And I think that’s pretty cool.

Please sponsor a child today or if you are already a sponsor, please think about sponsoring an additional child. I can’t even explain the impact that sponsorship has on the lives of these kids. These children are holding out for a hero. (Don’t make me bust out the song from the “Footloose” soundtrack because I totally will.)

I talked about how hard yesterday was in my last post, but it was also my favorite day so far. The kids were so excited to see us and I got a small glimpse of what it must feel like to be Hannah Montana, but without the long blonde hair and legwarmers.

I couldn’t get enough of them as they climbed all over me while saying, “Mi Americana! Mi Americana!”

They were all so precious and I took pictures of them with my camera so that they could see themselves. I let them hold my backpack. I let them braid my hair and wear my Aggie baseball cap.

At one point one of the little girls lifted up my shirt a little bit and started poking my stomach. Wanting to use one of my few Spanish vocabulary words, I said, “Blanco!” thinking that she must be fascinated by my white skin.

The translator looked at me a little sheepishly and said, “She says you’re a little bit fat.”

Perfect.

So I said, “Great. Tell her the fat girl wants her camera back.”

I am sitting in my hotel room mentally going over the events of the day and I have tears rolling down my cheeks. I’ll be honest, it’s not the first time it’s happened today.

On the flight to Miami, I listened to my iPod most of the way. The song “Captivate Us” by Watermark came on and as I listened to the lyrics I felt like I was seeing a glimpse into my week as I listened to Christy Nockels sing, “Captivate us, Lord Jesus, set our eyes on you. Devastate us with your presence falling down”.

In that moment, I prayed that God would devastate me with His presence on this trip. As much as I imagined that I wouldn’t walk away from a trip like this unchanged, a small part of me was worried that I might. What if it turns out that I’m dead inside?

Today was one of the most heartbreaking, yet joyous days I have ever experienced. We left this morning and headed to one of the Dominican’s Batey communities. These are basically Compassion projects in the midst of sugar plantations owned by large corporations. We were told that most of the residents are Haitian refugees who were lured to the DR with the promise of a better life, which hasn’t been the case. Instead they find themselves barely surviving in a country that doesn’t even recognize them as citizens. They aren’t necessarily slaves, but they aren’t free either.

As we drove into the Batey community, we were surrounded by fields full of sugar cane on every side, which gradually led to a small village where we could hear the excitement of the children before we even got off the bus.

We divided into groups and began to visit a few classrooms that are part of the Compassion project. The first class I went to was filled with kids ages 3-5 and my heart melted onto the floor right on the spot. They sang a few songs for us and we reciprocated by teaching them The Chicken Dance or as I preferred to call it in my limited Spanish vocabulary “El Pollo Bailar”.

Y’all will be glad to know that El Pollo Bailar is every bit the hit in the Dominican Republic that it is in America and that my rhythm is equally limited overseas. There are some things that cross all cultural boundaries.

After a few classroom visits, I was taken to a small classroom to meet my sponsored child named Ana Anjelica. Although I’ve sponsored a child in Uganda since the last Compassion trip, I just began to sponsor Ana prior to this trip. I was prepared that she might be a little solemn because her profile picture was so serious.

I approached Ana and with the help of a translator explained that I was her new sponsor and was so excited to meet her. I had brought a backpack filled with various things that I felt certain a six-year-old girl would like, but as I pulled them out she never cracked a smile. She was polite and answered questions that I asked through the translator but no smile, even when I pulled out my surefire ace in the hole, also known as a Ballerina Barbie.

Honestly, it would have been great if she’d jumped up and down with excitement, but I understood why she didn’t. I have no concept of what her day-to-day life is like or what it involves.

After we met, a group of us went to her house for a home visit. Her home was the worst one I’ve been in since the trip began. There weren’t even sheets used for partitions, but rather long pieces of paper from a Beauty Rest mattress ad. I introduced myself to her mother whose nickname was Chica.

Ana immediately disappeared behind one of the Beauty Rest partitions and about that time her grandmother showed up at the house. We began to talk with them and ask them questions about their life. Ana is one of three children with another one on the way. Her father is a day laborer and just goes out and looks for work every day.

This was her grandmother. She followed us all the way down the road as we left and her expression never changed.

Toward the end of the visit, I asked Chica how I could specifically pray for her family. This was her answer.

“I don’t really believe that God will answer the dreams I have for my children, but I hope they stay in school and get an education so they can have a better life.”

It broke my heart and it made me understand while Ana is such a solemn girl with a sad look in her eyes. She is being raised in an environment where there is no hope.

And here’s where I’m going to be really honest and say that I totally understand why her mother feels the way she does. All she’s ever known is poverty and difficult circumstances. Chica can’t even comprehend what a better life would look like because all she has ever known is hardship. It’s the reality that poverty goes so far beyond material things.

Honestly, it’s hard for me to reconcile it in my mind and understand why I am blessed with so much, when others have so little.
If I were in their place, would I believe that God could answer my dreams? Would I even dare to dream?

I believe as strongly as I believe anything that God is good, but sitting there in that house filled with sadness it was hard to understand all His ways.

I cried as I sat there on the little couch in Ana’s home because I wanted to offer them some kind of hope and, all of a sudden, my $32.00 a month didn’t feel like much at all.

But the thing is that as Ana’s sponsor, I have the opportunity to give her hope. By providing for her socio-economic, academic, spiritual, and physical needs, I am giving her hope for a better life with my $32.00. However, the most important thing I can do is to commit to write Ana on a regular basis to let her know that I love her, that God loves her, and that it’s okay to dream of a life beyond what she knows.

Because if I’m not telling her, then who is?

I understand that in my head, but it devastates my heart. I looked at this little girl today who is the same age as my Caroline, my smiling, laughing Caroline, and all I saw was sadness. God used it to devastate me, but He also used it to challenge me to go deeper. These Compassion kids aren’t just kids on a piece of paper or a random snapshot. They are real kids that are barely making it in this world and need every last piece of hope they can get.

And if you think you can’t make a difference, then let me tell you about Beatriz.

Beatriz was a lady we met on our second home visit and has three children, two of whom are sponsored by Compassion and she told us that she was a Compassion child from the time she was six years old until she graduated from high school. We asked her if she knew who her sponsor was and without pausing, she said, “Bill from Michigan.”

Not only that, her son Misael pulled out the letters he’s received from his Compassion sponsors named Peter and Melanie from Massachusetts. He was so proud of his letters. And even though this family didn’t necessarily have any more materially than Ana’s family, they had joy. It was a startling contrast.

Until today I had no idea how much hope these kids find in having a sponsor and how much the letters they receive mean to them. Not only do you know their name, they know yours and find hope in your words.

And for some of them, like my Ana Anjelica, you may be the only one telling them that there is more than the life they know and that God has a plan for their life.

Words have power, even when they’re written by a goofy American who does a bad version of El Pollo Bailar.

If you’d like to sponsor a child, you can go here or click on the image in my sidebar and if you already have a sponsored child, I encourage you to take the time to write them before the day is over.

And if you haven’t read all the other bloggers on this trip, you can find their posts over at Compassion Bloggers.

Today during one of our home visits, we got a little impromptu concert by two of the children. This is Misael and his sister Emily and they are both Compassion children.

It was one of the bright spots in a day filled with a lot of heartbreak. I’ll be back with more later, but in the meantime if you’d like to sponsor a child you can click here.

We are back at the hotel after a day spent visiting the first of many Compassion projects we’ll see this week. I am not going to lie to y’all and tell you I smell good because I don’t. It was hotter than Houston in August here today and my fellow Texans know what that means.

Let me just say it’s not a DRY heat.

I’m not sure how I’m ever going to be able to articulate everything I experience this week, so just know I’ll do the best I can.

This morning we drove to a Compassion project to see their Child Survival Program, otherwise known as CSP. While Compassion has been around for about fifty years, the CSPs just started in the last ten years. The goal is to provide intervention for kids living in poverty before they are even born.

Mothers who are part of the CSP receive prenatal care before their child is born and then continue to receive assistance in the form of food, medicine, clothing, and nutritional education for that child until the child turns three years old and is eligible to be a part of Compassion’s sponsored children program.

We arrived at the project and were taken to the church where they told us we’d get to be a part of their worship. It turns out that we didn’t hear what they were saying because it wasn’t actually worship, but a WORKSHOP. However, they did sing two songs so really we got worship AND workshop. It was the proverbial two birds with one stone.

The workshop was taught by one of the Implementers in the project (think social worker) and the purpose was to teach mothers the importance of basic nutrition for their babies at various ages. The room was packed full of young mothers and some of the cutest babies I have ever seen. I won’t even discuss how tempted I was to load one or six of them in my backpack and head for the bus.

“Hello. Would you like to come home with me so I can pinch your cheeks everyday?”

There were two interesting points made in the workshop. The first was that you shouldn’t serve your babies alcohol, EVEN AT CHRISTMAS. That means no eggnog for the toddler crowd this year.

The second point was how to get your kids to eat even when they don’t want to. I listened very carefully to that part because I was hoping someone in the Dominican could offer me some useful tidbit about how to convince Caroline to eat more than half a peanut butter and jelly sandwich every third day.

After the workshop, we went out in groups for home visits. The first home we went to was nothing more than a small shack with a tin roof full of holes. There were two bedrooms that were basically just curtained off areas.

The woman’s name was Rosario and she was so gracious and welcoming. We met her youngest son named Adolfo who is part of the CSP and her three older children. She told us that her husband is out of work and that they pay 900 pesos a month in rent, which is the equivalent of $30.00.

Anyway, the Implementer was with us and began to show us a typical visit. They started by singing a song and when it was over the translator explained that the lyrics said, “Look how happy is our home when we have Jesus”.

Rosario told us that her home was happy because they had Jesus.

And at that point my eyes filled with huge tears.

Because there I was sitting in a shack with a tin roof, filled with four smiling children and a mother who was beaming as she told us how happy their home is because they have Jesus.

P and I were in ministry for over ten years in a fairly wealthy community. We essentially ministered to kids that had everything they could want materially, yet there were some who were so lost and so miserable that it didn’t matter. They had no joy. They had no hope, in spite of their BMW’s and designer handbags, because they didn’t know what they were living for.

But what I saw today was real. Real hope. Real joy.

Yes, there was poverty everywhere. There wasn’t really much to speak of in the way of indoor plumbing. There was very little hope there to the external eye.

But on the inside there was hope.

Our leader Brian Seay asked Rosario what her dreams were for herself and her kids. She told us that thanks to the CSP, she is going to college to get a degree in education because she wants to be a teacher.

She told us that her dreams for her kids were that they be good people and get a good education. Thanks to Compassion, Rosario has hope that those dreams will be realized for her children.

And the biggest hope of all is the hope they have in knowing Jesus Christ.

When you sponsor a child from Compassion, you are quite literally becoming the hands and feet of Jesus.

I saw it today and I’ll never forget it.

“’For I know the plans I have for you’ declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” Jeremiah 29:11

If you’d like the opportunity to sponsor a child through Compassion, you can click on the graphic below or in my sidebar. You have the chance to give a child hope for just $32.00 a month, also known as four trips to Starbucks.