Compassion Bloggers

The Body Of Christ

shaun@shaungroves.com — Wed, 19 Jun 2013 05:29:55 +0000

Author: Traci

Hola, Amigos!

I made it safely to Nicaragua, and I am so glad I get to share this journey with you. Thank you so much for praying for me, and I treasure your continual prayers for me and my team as we spend the week here in Nicaragua.

My heart has already been touched in so many ways, and we have only been here one day.
I am so honored to share with you what I have seen and experienced today.

My first thought that I want to share with you is that we serve a BIG GOD! And the same God that loves all of His people in the United States is the same God that loves His people in Nicaragua. His love is everywhere!

It has been so beautiful to see God’s love radiate from the people that work with Compassion International to release children from poverty.
I was especially touched by the words of this man, Dennis Sanchez . He is the pastor of the church that partners with the Compassion Project NI-155 that we visited today.

Every time he spoke, he brought tears to my eyes. He spoke with such love and passion for the children of Nicaragua.

A Good Place To Start

shaun@shaungroves.com — Wed, 19 Jun 2013 05:28:05 +0000

Author: Edie

Hope is the thing with feathers, That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all.

We drove 2 hours to a city dump, just outside Leon. The smoldering decay looked like the leftovers of an apocalypse. Smoke rose up in twisted rings, like the Devil himself had been puffing on a big cigar. There were pockets of people, digging through the rubble, hoping to salvage enough trash to survive another day.

My stomach turned inside out as I got out of the van.

A herd of cattle slogged right through the dusty devastation and a man-boy in a red shirt on a skinny horse led the charge. He would have made Marlboro Man proud. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched him sit up tall and do the work of an able ranch hand. I’m guessing he was 12 or 13.

Emaciated dogs tore through heaps of God-only-knows-what, while a handsome fella tried his best to restring an old plastic yellow guitar. Maybe he knew something about the hope that perches in the soul. Maybe his little sister did too, because she offered to let him use her necklace as one of the strings. It didn’t take him long to hear the music and he knew just what to do.

Marco’s Story: The Impact Of Compassion On A Child

shaun@shaungroves.com — Wed, 19 Jun 2013 05:26:42 +0000

Author: Kelly

So…today I had the privilege of meeting my Compassion child, Marcos.

I walked into his house.
I saw where he sleeps.
I met his family.
I heard his story.
I listened to his prayer requests.

He has the most amazing smile. Don’t you agree?
He is shy.
He is sweet.
He is smart.
He can already read.
He is 7 years old.

Bending For Treasure In The Trash

shaun@shaungroves.com — Wed, 19 Jun 2013 05:25:03 +0000

Author: Shaun Groves

Outside Jerusalem’s walls, in the Valley of Hinnom, children were sacrificed to honor a false god. Hundreds of years later the valley, called Gehenna by Greek speakers, was still a place of death. A city dump, some say, Gehenna burned day and night.

When describing Hell, Jesus pointed over Jerusalem’s walls toward Gehenna and made the comparison: The worm never dies. The flames never cease. Decay pollutes the air outside the city of God. (Mark 9:47-49)

Many miles outside the city of Managua, Nicolausa bends at the waist, plodding through refuse in her green flip flops, rummaging with bare hands, searching for treasure in the trash. A million flies search alongside her.

Meeting The Child I Sponsor

shaun@shaungroves.com — Wed, 19 Jun 2013 03:15:24 +0000

Author: Christy Jordan

I feel like I have lived out a year of my life in one day.

This is going to be a day that stays with me, one that I can close my eyes thirty years from now and still remember the sights, smells, sounds, still feel the hugs, still see the hope and joy rising up among piles of garbage – literally.

We started our day by visiting a city dump. This was literally a dump. Now I don’t know about y’all but I’ve driven by dumps before and not once have I ever seen any people there, much less entire families, people grazing cattle, or wagons to bring loot back hitched up to scrawny horses.

Never once have I ever thought to stop or wander around there.

As you look at these photos, if you are wondering about the smell, I’ll just say “yes” and leave it at that.

“I am not ashamed to work here. This is what we do to survive.”

But the thing that stuck out at me was this lady named Lucita who spoke with us. She arrives at the dump each day by 5:00 and stays until the trash trucks stop coming. Picking through trash, she hopes to find enough plastic to sell to earn an income of less than $1 a day if she is lucky.

Our First Stop Today…

shaun@shaungroves.com — Wed, 19 Jun 2013 00:31:45 +0000

Author: Kelly

Our first stop today was a dump site where families work starting at 5a to earn less than $1 a day. #compassionbloggers @compassion #mylife http://instagram.com/p/at39CmELzU

Twas The Night Before…

shaun@shaungroves.com — Mon, 17 Jun 2013 15:05:53 +0000

Author: Edie

This place is hard to leave.

And it’s not just the beautiful people and the beautiful sunsets and the stacks of books I love here.

It’s the place where I know who I am and what I was made to do. It’s home, in every perfect sense of the word.

It’s the place where my gifts intersect with my passions.

It’s my sweet spot, where I’ve found a place to work and love and play.

It’s here that I’ve learned to live out my vocation with all its lovely mess, learning day by day to love the neighbors that are nearest. I work hard and love tender and still find plenty of ways to need lots of forgiveness. And these dear ones are gracious in hearing my confession. They reach out with His mercy and love me well.

But down there, I don’t know where I fit, just yet. I’m worried I won’t know how to help, what to say. I fret that the love He’s been growing in my heart these past few months won’t find its way to them. I find myself desperately lacking all the good things I wanted to be ready to give. It’s my own poverty that scares me to death.

Sonny and Meemaw and other ramblings

shaun@shaungroves.com — Sat, 15 Jun 2013 20:31:59 +0000

Author: Edie

Did y’all think I was never coming back? Were y’all scared that I was overcome with anxiety about my trip and changed my name and moved to somewhere rural and remote like Bean Station? OH wait, that’s where I live. But seriously. It is Wednesday and I leave for Nicaragua in FIVE DAYS. Here’s what I have packed so far: nail polish and dishcloths. I’m nothing, if not prepared. In my defense, I have a bunch more stuff laid out in my bedroom beside the suitcase, ready to pack, including, but not limited to a snazzy pair of closed toe shoes. I went with Keen sandals and some Dansko clog-ish type sandals. My girls said I looked weird yesterday when I wore them for practice. I look like I’m trying too hard. Flip flops makes sense in the summer but something about closed toe shoes makes you look twice and wonder, why? Couldn’t you just wear some flip flops like normal folk? (Get used to the nervous chatter because apparently, it’s here to stay.)

I get crazy when I travel and the nervous energy combined with the irrational fears makes me do things like rally the troops at 4 p yesterday to clean out the garage. In other words, one flew over the cuckoo’s nest. To continue my streak, I’m thinking about painting Emme’s new room before I leave. Because that makes perfect sense when you’re to-do list is so long, it makes you wanna dry heave. I try to leave my affairs in order when I travel so naturally, I’ve been stressing over where I should be buried, what casseroles to bake for the family, and who to leave in charge of my bust collection should I perish. These are things normal people think about, right? Zip it.

Ministry Highlight: Nicaragua

shaun@shaungroves.com — Sat, 15 Jun 2013 20:30:54 +0000

Author: Brianne McKoy

We began our ministry in Nicaragua in 2002, when the Child Sponsorship Program was started. In just seven years of ministry, we have served over 30,000 children in Nicaragua.

Country Director

William José Gutiérrez Rojas joined us as an administrator in 2002 and was appointed Country Director in 2003. Before coming to our ministry, William served as the Country Director for Habitat for Humanity Nicaragua for two and a half years and for the Council of Evangelical Churches Pro-Denominational Alliance for 11 years.

Born in a rural area, William did not begin school until he was 11 years old. However, his mother had taught him to read, write and do basic math at home.

The earthquake of 1972 influenced William’s decision to work in Christian ministry as an adult. When the earthquake struck, his local church offered services for the children and adults in the community, and he was able to see firsthand the effect it had on them.

William holds a degree in business administration from Central American University in Nicaragua. He serves as a substitute preacher at his church and also gives support and counseling.

Giving The Internet Malaria

shaun@shaungroves.com — Sat, 15 Jun 2013 20:25:13 +0000

Author: Shaun Groves

Bill Gates is once again the richest man on the planet. And he’s using his wealth to fight malaria, the leading cause of death in some of the world’s poorest countries. He’s making progress too. But he’d accomplish even more if the right people got sick.

WIRED Magazine recently asked Gates “How do you get the media as excited about saving lives as they are about the next phone?”

“We need a malaria epidemic in the blogging community! Either that or we need people who have seen the malaria epidemic to start blogging. Seriously, we have two communities that don’t intersect with each other. One is about a billion and a half people—families, children—who live in malaria-prone areas. The others are living pretty nice lives, and it’s great. If the malaria epidemic was nearby, this stuff would be very prominent.”

Five years ago a group of bloggers from the U.S. stepped off a plane in Uganda. Jet-lagged, nervous, battling bats and a dial-up internet connection, we wrote every day into the wee hours of the night. Hundreds of children received access to healthcare, clean water, nutrition, education and the gospel as a result.

Love Like This

shaun@shaungroves.com — Sat, 01 Dec 2012 02:16:04 +0000

Author: Angie Smith

Todd will be the first to tell you I’m a terrible unpacker.

I traveled a lot this Fall, and more often than not, my suitcase sat by my bed untouched until I was preparing to leave again. I would take out a few things and put a few more in, but the suitcase was never empty in between.

As a child I used to watch my father fold his business clothes neatly, one shirt on another, breathing in the smell of his aftershave as the zipper wound around the edges. While I hated the fact that he was leaving, I loved the way it was packed. It was so organized and simple. It narrowed a complicated life into sections and pockets, and it was so manageable that way.

There’s something to be said about a freshly packed suitcase.

But there’s always the mess of coming home. Trying to make your life fit back on the hangers and realizing it isn’t as easy as reaching in and tucking away. There’s washing and ironing and folding to be done, and the closet already seems full. It’s so much work to make it all right again, and it makes me imagine life looking like it did a few days ago.

It’ll never be the same, I think.

I’m tempted to leave it alone and let the memories steep a little longer.

Thanksgiving

shaun@shaungroves.com — Sat, 24 Nov 2012 01:52:26 +0000

Author: Kevin & Layla Palmer

Happy Thanksgiving 2012!

We’re home!

(Translation: I made it through 3 of the 4 flights, but chickened out on the last one and we drove home from Houston!)

And speaking of things I’m afraid of…

Last week was jam packed with ‘em. Planes, pills, and unfamiliar places, chock full of scraggly stray dogs. But there’s nothing like being surrounded by a group of talented/healthy/unafraid people to make you want to keep trying when you’re right there in the thick of it.

(My biggest fear now is that they all think I’m more wacko than they might have before- ha!)

But enough about me and my phobias. I want to share some more about the trip…

Our group leader, Shaun, warned us that re-entry would be hard, but we had no idea just how completely overwhelming adjusting to even the most familiar of blessings would be this Thanksgiving. The blue, and green, and orange ones…the twinkly, fragrant, warm ones.

Cooking Lessons

shaun@shaungroves.com — Sat, 17 Nov 2012 22:19:14 +0000

Author: Shaun Groves

“Is this hard work?” I ask. He shrugs and grunts the way ten year-old boys do. And I don’t need a translator.

He presses the chunk of carrot against the grater and it becomes a blur. Lifts the grater and reveals a pile of orange, smiling at this magic trick.

“Your wife will be very happy some day that you know how to cook.”

The translator makes quick work of my sentence and it sounds so much better turned into Spanish. Like carrots into cake.

Under the brown of his cheeks there must be red. He wriggles and smirks without making eye contact.

“He isn’t married yet?”

She translates and he shows teeth for the first time. Always working.

The Secret’s In The Cake

shaun@shaungroves.com — Sat, 17 Nov 2012 13:18:56 +0000

Author: Jennifer Schmidt

“Vinegar and Cocoa,” Bitter and sweet, “and cafe.”

“Ahh, yes, coffee makes everything better,” I declared, priming Selena for her secret chocolate cake recipe,” we can be coffee loving sisters together.”

“I owned my oven for a long time before I ever learned to use it,” she confessed.

Woven

shaun@shaungroves.com — Sat, 17 Nov 2012 13:10:56 +0000

Author: Angie Smith

I swing the curtains wide open and pull the most annoying stunt known to children.

“WAKE UP! IT’S GOING TO BE AN AMAZING DAY!”

They are less than thrilled.

A few minutes later we stand in a row, all watching our toothbrushes move in the mirror.

“Where are we going today?” Abby asks.

“Today is the day we get to meet Fernanda!” I’m substantially over-emoting, but we’re a little road-weary and I think if I act as tired as I feel we might be in trouble.

Ellie spits out her toothpaste, wipes her mouth, and leaves the bathroom without saying a word.

A few minutes later I ask her what’s going on and she tells me she doesn’t really want to meet Fernanda.” I can tell she’s nervous.

“You know, I think you’re going to have a really special connection with her.” I say, rubbing her back while she stares at her hands.

“Well, then you’re going to be disappointed.” She answers.

Dads And Daughters

shaun@shaungroves.com — Sat, 17 Nov 2012 05:01:33 +0000

Author: Kevin & Layla Palmer

Long and bumpy bus rides lead to the loveliest of things around here, and we feel so lucky to have captured so many of them for keeps.

What Distinguishes a Child as Highly Vulnerable?

shaun@shaungroves.com — Sat, 17 Nov 2012 01:50:53 +0000

Author: Compassion Blog

Meet Christian and his mom Nicolasa.

Their home, Nicolasa explained, was the proof she needed that there is a God.

Her home is how she first knew she was not alone.

Then Nicolasa’s eyes glazed, no, not glazed – danced, with tears and she repeated, “Gracias. Gracias. Gracias. Muchas gracias,” and I knew her heart had not been hardened by her circumstances. I knew her heart was softened by gratitude.

Gratitude. It’s mysterious, isn’t it? Like hot water that melts away the hopelessness and the loneliness and the, “why am I here” resistance.

Boys Will Be Boys, But…

shaun@shaungroves.com — Fri, 16 Nov 2012 12:42:02 +0000

Author: Jennifer Schmidt

He knew I was watching him. That cute, little rascal.

It started as a quick pinch to the kid sitting next to him, and oh, how his eyes danced as our eyes locked.

That pinch became a full fledged body push under the table ( yes, head and all), and then it culminated with a perfect head lock that would do my three teen boys proud.

The boy mom in me couldn’t resist giving the “raised eye brow” thing. (Come on, moms, you know that look.) I followed up with a quick wink.

He blushed, chuckled and whispered to his buddy.

Open

shaun@shaungroves.com — Fri, 16 Nov 2012 12:38:28 +0000

Author: Angie Smith

I’m too exhausted to think of anything but settling the girls and falling into bed.

I wash hair, find jammies, and tuck them in.

They’re asleep in an instant, faces still flushed from the second wind they got around 11:30 p.m. {Awesome}

I let the warm, damp towel linger on my face, staring into the mirror at my tired eyes.

I don’t even look like myself.

I’m empty, drained to the bone of any strength I brought with me.

If I had the capacity, I would let myself cry, but I can only think of making my way to bed and letting the dark hide me for a few hours.

I should read. I think. I need His words.I reach my Bible, thumbing for a few seconds and then letting it rest on my lap.

I wake a few hours later with my glasses still on and the pages of 2 Corinthians open wide. I set it next to me without closing it, because it comforts me this way. It feels like home, I guess.

I close my eyes, thoughts like anchors in search of ground, spirit parched desert-dry.

Formed For Flight

shaun@shaungroves.com — Fri, 16 Nov 2012 04:40:13 +0000

Author: Shaun Groves

“Richard.”

He’s stirred from his nine year-old boy daydream, eyes wide and fixed on mine.

“Richard, when you are a man…”

He nods along but drifts off again as if his future self is standing in the corner. He eyes the tall man’s height, his stubble, every detail himself.

“…what will you be?”

His eyes find mine again. “A pilot.”

Confidence.

“A pilot?”

He nods. We laugh and tell him Angie is afraid to fly. So many people are. Richard isn’t and he’s not interested in those who are – he’s gone again. I can see in his eyes that he’s floating away from the conversation, up up up in his dream.

“Richard,” I say. “Have you ever been in a plane?”

He hasn’t. His mother shakes her head and chuckles out the details of Richard’s obsession. “All he plays is flying an airplane. All he draws…airplanes! Always airplanes!”

His mind is in the clouds. His hope too.

“Richard.” My voice is an annoying tether yanking him back toward earth – but he tolerates it and listens. “Richard, I fly all the time.”

His eyebrows lift.

“I was probably on…200 airplanes last year.”

“What?” he blurts.