Compassion Bloggers

Love Like This

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

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.

The House That Compassion Built

shaun@shaungroves.com — Fri, 16 Nov 2012 04:37:12 +0000

Author: Kevin & Layla Palmer

We’re learning so many things about Compassion on this trip. Not just the organization, I’m talking about the noun, too. We leave our hotel every morning at 9:00, and come back with a heart full of the stuff thanks to all the folks we’re meeting.

Today, we spent time with a woman named Nicolasa.

She lives at the very tippy top of a mountain with her children and she was kind enough to have us all up for a visit.

The Day We Met Our Compassion Child

shaun@shaungroves.com — Thu, 15 Nov 2012 12:45:40 +0000

Author: Kevin & Layla Palmer

We met the little girl we sponsor through Compassion today.

Our bus pulled up in front of her school around 10 o’clock this morning, and after three months of waiting, two different airplanes, and one very bumpy bus ride- there she was…standing 10 feet away from us.

She was holding up a big paper sign that read, “Welcome – we love you” and her smile said the same thing, too.

She was so much sunshine to the square inch!

We bonded over paper and pencils…

Esperanza

shaun@shaungroves.com — Thu, 15 Nov 2012 12:44:44 +0000

Author: Angie Smith

She is wiping her brow, and her expression tells me our arrival is a surprise.

The door is wide open and she is welcoming us in, but her other arm motions to the ground, points to the pile of trash, and ends up on the unmade bed on the far side of the room.

I know what she is saying. I’ve done it many, many times myself.

Come in, please…come in.

I wish I could have made it more beautiful for you.

I begin to shake my head before the translator gets a word out, and as he confirms my suspicions I smile and nod at her, assure her that her home is beautiful and we are grateful to be in it.

She wipes her hands on her shirt, explaining that she was just about to leave for the market. I wonder if they forgot to tell her we were coming, or maybe, like me, she’s just lost track of time.

In any case, it doesn’t look messy to me. It’s dotted with stray posters advertising popsicles and bargain prices. Most of them are in English, and she explains that she doesn’t know the words but she wanted to have color on the walls.

She strikes a match and lights a stick of incense, and immediately the room fills with a musty, perfumed scent. She waves her hands, willing it closer to us as a smile finally drifts across her face.

Her son Anibal is 12, and he has the kind of grin that will no doubt make girls weak in the knees one day. I can tell he has a little mischief in him, which I love. He is undeniably charming, gentle in his mannerisms, and shy enough to make you work for sustained eye contact. In other words: a challenge I accept.

The Best Christmas Present Ever

shaun@shaungroves.com — Thu, 15 Nov 2012 12:42:06 +0000

Author: Jennifer Schmidt

The white lights twinkled on the tree, Christmas carols played softly in the back ground, and my mom bustled in the kitchen pouring eggnog and plating cookies. The stage was set for a most memorable Christmas Eve, and I could hardly contain my excitement as I prepared for this “most special gift” my parents hinted at throughout the day.

My ten year old imagination went wild with anticipation wondering what could be “this good” that it may just possibly be the Christmas present ever.

A family trip? The coveted light up disco ball for which I’d been begging, or maybe even that cool doll that I’d been eying?

Mom came in. It was finally time. The best time. Present Time.

Around the Christmas tree, my parents gathered my four brothers and me, and reverently passed out our most special gift of the year. Over the moon with excitement, I waited with baited breath as they started to explain our present. Finally, I knew I had hit the jackpot, but then I heard something that just could not be right.

Hope in the Darkness

shaun@shaungroves.com — Thu, 15 Nov 2012 12:38:51 +0000

Author: Compassion Blog

What do you go to?

What do you go to in that moment when a bad day turns into the worst day? When that altercation turned into a situation and that situation is now a reality that is lingering and sticking?

What did you go to when your heart cracked and fell and darkness was suddenly not just the sun setting?

I thought I knew the answer to that question for Marco. I had heard it so many times.

Marco was a sponsored child. His sponsor wrote him faithfully for several years. At age twelve Marco’s life darkened when a family situation (which he did not divulge) left him feeling hopeless.

He explained to us that in those days he needed encouragement. He needed hope.

Before he could finish his sentence I ran through all the options. ALL the options for a child in poverty, as if the list were vast?

How To Change The World On A Napkin

shaun@shaungroves.com — Thu, 15 Nov 2012 12:37:33 +0000

Author: Shaun Groves

There’s more than one way to change the world. My favorite is so simple it fits on a napkin.

In the middle is one child.

The next ring is that child’s home.

Then comes her community.

Next, her country.

Beyond that, the world.

There are two main ways of going about changing the world. From the outside in. And from the inside out.

I’m no expert, but both make a lot of sense to me. Still, I’ve chosen to invest in one more than the other.

Love Moves

shaun@shaungroves.com — Wed, 14 Nov 2012 08:05:50 +0000

Author: Angie Smith

I would like to say I overslept accidentally, but the reality is I ignored my alarm. I thought about the plane that would take me from my house in a few hours and I hit the snooze button. I stared at the wall, unmoving.

Todd whispered that it was time, and I stood, legs weak and mind racing. I went through the motions of putting on my clothes and makeup, and after a few minutes I heard footsteps coming and tried to pull myself together for them. Look brave. Act like it’s not a big deal that we’re leaving today.

“I’m scared, mommy.” Abby said as soon as she walked in the bathroom.

I turned her to face the mirror and while my hands unconsciously braided her hair, I asked what she was the most concerned about. She snapped the hair tie on her wrist, rocking side to side.

“I don’t want to see the people who live on the street.”

I steadied her head with my hands, straightening her up so I could finish the braid.
Her eyes met mine in the mirror.

“I can understand that. Is there anything else?”

She shook her head, but her shoulders stayed high and locked.

“Maybe there is, but you just don’t know how to say it. You think?”

I reached my hand out and she handed me the rubber band, nodding as tears filled her eyes.

“You’re moving, baby. Stop moving. Mommy’s trying to get it steady.” It was easier to tell her to stop moving than to admit my hands were shaking.

“Just stay still, hon.” I felt the tears, the knot in my stomach; the paralyzation that comes from fear.

I couldn’t move.

Writing Life Stories Through the Scars

shaun@shaungroves.com — Wed, 14 Nov 2012 05:45:04 +0000

Author: Jennifer Schmidt

Writing Life Stories Through the Scars (Peru: Day 1)

After tiresome hours of exhausting labor, I vividly remember my first moments with our eldest son. I close my eyes and am instantly transported to his every quirk; hearty squalls giving birth to his voice, eyes prying open for their first time, teeny tiny hands clenching into fists, but what I remember most are his feet.

Oh, I just love precious baby feet. Grabbing, kissing, and yes, smelling these teeny appendages is like therapy to me. Am I the only odd one who wants to bottle and sell the newborn baby feet smell?

Each and every detail intricately etched by the Master’s hand comes to fruition in this perfect portrait of two precious feet.

As a new mom there are so many decisions that consume us. What’s the best way to feed them? Should I put them on a schedule or feed on demand? Cloth or Disposable? Let them cry or rock them to sleep? Turquoise or neutral for the nursery?

Compassion In Peru – Day 1

shaun@shaungroves.com — Wed, 14 Nov 2012 05:07:37 +0000

Author: Kevin & Layla Palmer

There’s so much on my heart today. So much I want to tell you. I’m struggling to put Day 1 into words though, so maybe I’ll just start with something simple…

We’re in Lima, Peru with Compassion.

We’re learning about what they’re doing to release children, one-by-one, from poverty. We’re witnessing firsthand how they work holistically with individual children to address their spiritual, economic, social and physical needs, and how they give each and every one an opportunity to become a responsible and fulfilled Christian adult. We sponsor two children through Compassion, and we’re so grateful for the opportunity to see how everything works, up close and personal like this.

Today, on day one of five, we dove heart first into Compassion’s Child Survival Program. We spent time with mama’s and their (under 3 year old) babies and it was so incredibly awesome to hear what these women are doing to help each other and each other’s children.

For Thanks To God

shaun@shaungroves.com — Wed, 14 Nov 2012 04:53:15 +0000

Author: Shaun Groves

We walk the desert, uphill past a mama dog lounging under a gray sky feeding her pups. We climb past brightly colored homes made of wooden planks and sheets of plastic.

When we arrive at the house a little girl cracks the door and says, in Spanish, “I’m not mama.”

We wait for mama and when she comes she’s barefoot. Her hair is pulled back and her son’s sweaty face rests in the curve of her neck.

She opens the door and we walk through. Her house is a facade opening into a roofless courtyard. In the courtyard are laundry lines draped in grandmother’s hard work hung out to dry. And a room made of scrap wood, scrap metal, scrap plastic. Inside the room are two beds where three children, mama and her husband sleep.

Layla kneels before big sister, smiling, asking what the dog’s name is. “Mickey Mouse,” she laughs. And we laugh too.

Layla asks the best questions, really listens, asks some more. So she unearths the best story.