Compassion part 8: Changed Lives

"It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men" - Frederick Douglass, abolitionist and statesman

This is the eighth and final post in my series discussing the work of Compassion International. It wasn't quite the ten posts I promised, but hey! Life happens, and it's good to fully live it when it does.

We discussed the weight of a hurting world, and learned that while we may not all be able to do great things, we can all do small things with great love.

In the next post I introduced you to three beautiful, small people from three far-flung corners of the globe.

We met Egi, the seven year old from Indonesia with the shy smile and beautiful eyes.

You saw Yegele, the sweet kindergartener who loves to play "house", and lives with no daddy.

We peeked into the life of a tiny boy named Gregori, a preschooler in Peru whose birthday is coming soon.

If you watched this video of Helen when she received her sponsor after waiting for over a year, you probably cried--I know I did!

And before the weekend, we talked about sports fanatics and saw how loving God means letting our hearts become invested in the things that move His.

I'm closing this series with one of the most compelling videos I've ever seen. 

Compassion International has been in operation since 1952, so they invited some of the children who have now graduated from the program to tell their stories as adults. If you ever wondered, "does sponsorship actually make a long-term difference?" just watch this.

Thank you for coming along with me for the past week and a half! In case you're curious, Egi, Yegele and Gregori did not find their sponsors this month, but this means that their profiles will be placed back on Compassion's website for anyone to find. If one of these children has touched your heart, you can search for them by their names, found below:

Egi Ricard Sarumaha

Yegele Telahun

Gregori David Quezada Pintado

And of course, these are only three of thousands of children waiting for sponsors! Check out the Compassion International homepage to see all of the children. 

Compassion part 7: How to love a true fan

Imagine that you're married, and imagine that your spouse is passionate about sports. (Some of you won't have to imagine very hard.)

Your spouse watches every game and physically goes to every event possible. He memorizes details about all the players, even personal details that don't relate to their performance. He adjusts his schedule around watching the games, adjusts his budget around supporting the team, and his entire mental concept of the year revolves more around what sport is currently playing than the temperature outside. Some would call him a "fan-atic".

Photo cred (words mine): Chris Breikss

If you are married to this fan, you probably knew from the moment you began dating him that it would be hard to get close to his heart without sharing in the things he loved. So you bought the t-shirts, cleared your weekends for big games, and cheered at his side until you were hoarse. You even painted your face. You invested in the things he loved, and it knit you close as the seam on a pig-skin.

God is inviting you into intimacy with him. He is passionate too--much more passionate than the loudest sports fan on the planet. 

But instead of sports, God's blood pounds deep and fast for broken people. 

He watches every person's moments and physically became present when philosophers and Jews alike agreed--Diety becoming man was impossible. He memorizes details about each person, even personal details that don't have a shred to do with their performance. He adjusted history to become one of the poor, abandoned his stupendous power and glory to rescue the weak and helpless, and his entire concept of what is valuable turns our economic and social structures firmly on their heads. 

His heart melts for the mistreated. 

He laughs with delight over little ones. 

 

Injustice and oppression make him boil.

Photo cred: Freedom House

 

He leans toward the lonely.

Photo cred: Ding Yuin Shan

 

Giving extravagantly and unexpectedly is his modus operatus.
 

Know this: the path to intimacy with God is to share in the things He loves. 

His right hand is stretched out to you. In the palm is an engraved invitation to join him in radical love for the unlovable. He invites you to sell the stuff Pinterest tells you to crave so that you can give it away and have real treasure. He beckons you to stand with Him for the oppressed, the forgotten, the weird and the socially awkward. 

"I want to know him and the power of his resurrection, becoming like him in his death..."

How can we know Him in his sacrifice if we are unwilling to sacrifice? How can we know Him in His death if we are unwilling to die to ourselves?

It is impossible to love Him without loving them. 

Over the past week, I have written here in this online space about one way that we can join our Savior in his love for the least of these. I have shown you the pictures and profiles of three beautiful children who are poor, small, weak, needing love. Sponsoring one of these children is one way that we can join our Jesus in extravagant giving that dives headlong into loving without counting cost.

 Read about Egi, a 7-year-old from Indonesia.

 

 

Yegele is a 5-year-old from Ethiopia who lives with a single mother.

Little Gregori from Peru loves to play with cars.

The deadline to sponsor these particular children is TOMORROW, October 1st, 2015!

 

 

Compassion part 6: Watch Her Reaction When She Gets a Sponsor

Today I planned to write about letters, both received and sent across continents.

I wanted to type down the translated words here for you to read. I wanted to tell you how each exchange has helped us know the kids beyond their photos, revealing their fears, their loves, and the days of their lives.

I planned to talk about how fun it is to find a fat envelope that has traveled thousands of miles, and how we know that the ten minutes we spend writing will mean more to our sponsored kids than all the checks we write.

Actual letter from Asnaku, who lives in Ethiopia.

But any words I put write here would be flimsy next to this video produced by Compassion, Australia. Just watch it!

To read about the three beautiful children that I am trying to connect with sponsors of their own, click here! 

Compassion part 4: Yegele

Today is day #4 in a ten-day series showcasing three precious children who are waiting for a sponsor through Compassion International.

Yesterday, we met a soccer-loving seven-year-old named Egi who sleeps under a tin roof on one of the largest islands in Indonesia. (Click here to see his post!)

I love this quote by former president Nelson Mandela because it strips away any illusion that peace and security will come about naturally, all on its own.

"Safety and security don't just happen, they are the result of collective consensus and public investment. We owe our children, the most vulnerable citizens in our society, a life free from violence and fear."- Nelson Mandela, former President of South Africa

Every human is bent from birth toward evil and selfishness. It is the law of entropy, if you will--we will become worse, not better, if we simply follow our desires.

Because of this fact, no society will  become--or remain--safe and good without the strenuous efforts and thoughtful actions of men and women willing to put aside their own love of comfort and ease for the sake of those who are poor and oppressed.

Compassion International is one amazing channel through which collective consensus and personal investment are making a difference.

Wherever they operate, Compassion partners with local churches to provide critical resources to children and their families. Each child in the program is personally connected to a sponsor--a normal somebody who commits to investing in that child. This helps Compassion provide that child with medical care, food, tutoring, educational opportunities, and mentoring.

Today, meet Yegele!

Yegele has a much more worried look than a typical five year old should have. 

She lives in an area of Ethiopia heavily affected by HIV and AIDS. Other common health problems include tuberculosis and parasitic diseases. 

The city where she lives is large, with over 130,000 residents. The community has many modern amenities such as running water, electricity, telephone services and health centers, but sorely lacks schools, employment centers, and educational opportunities.

At the kindergarten she attends, Yegele loves to play house, and other group games with her friends. Yegele lives with her mother and one sibling, but there was no mention of her father on the profile card. The cryptic notes say her mom is sometimes employed as a day laborer, and most likely earns around $20 per month. 

As I have prayed for Yegele this week, my thoughts kept drifting to her mom. What is her story? I wonder what hopes fill her mind in the middle of the night for Yegele and her other child. Did she do Yegele's hair and help her pick out that white outfit for the picture taken at the development center?

I want to support Yegele!

Great! Yegele's starter packet is currently displayed in the lobby of Fellowship Church in College Station. If you live here in town, just stop by during office hours to pick it up. Please mail in the sponsorship information by September 30. 

If you live out of town, no worries! Just email me at cherise.castille[at]gmail[dot]com to send me your mailing address, and I will be happy to mail your packet to you. 

I can't sponsor right now, but how can I help?

Pray for Yegele. This moment, if you can. Pray that God will give her a sponsor soon. Pray for her health, Pray that she will be protected from abuse and disease. Pray for her family, her education, and her development. Most of all, pray that she will know God's love and give her life to him as her savior, letting him transform her from the inside out. 

Share this post! You never know whether your random Facebook friend is the one who is meant to build a life-long relationship with Yegele through sponsorship. 

Be an advocate. Compassion International needs our voices to connect thousands of children just like Yegele with people who have the funds and willingness to be their sponsors. Click here for more information. 

Just joining the conversation? Welcome! Here are links to the previous posts:

Compassion part 1: When you can't feed 100 children
Compassion part 2: Meet the kids!
Compassion part 3: Egi

Compassion part 3: Egi

Yesterday we finally got to meet all three kids in the packet for the first time! More than eighty of you clicked to see little Egi, Yegele, and Gregori's faces. Whoo hoo! Every click or share filled my heart with hope that all of these precious little ones will have sponsors by next week on September 30.

If you're just jumping in today, welcome! This is day number three in a ten-day series showcasing the work of Compassion International for impoverished and at-risk children around the world. (To catch up on what you missed, click here for Day 1, and here for Day 2!)

Compassion International operates on the assumption that:

"In a world where more than a billion children live on less than $2 USD per day, child sponsorship is the most strategic way to end poverty."

Many of us ache with sorrow over the tragedies occurring around the world, but feel helpless to help from our living rooms. Or, we feel simply overwhelmed because the Great Need just feels too great.

Friend, you are small. That is truth. But when a small person offers their smallness to a Great God , that tiny offering can be used to change the world.

Today, and for the next two days, I want to open the profile packs a smidge further and really introduce you to each child so that you can make a more informed decision about whether one of them is waiting for you. 

Today, meet Egi. 

Egi Ricard Sarumaha turned seven on the seventh of June - his "golden birthday".

He lives in an island community called Sukarami where around 2,700 people live elbow-to-elbow in homes made of cement floors and tin roofs.

The area is known for torrential rains during the flood season. Can you imagine the deafening effect of a heavy rain on a tin roof?

Egi lives with his father, his mother, and one other sibling. His mom stays at home with the kids while his father tries to keep steady employment as a day laborer. However, he is not always successful, since Egi's profile says his father is "sometimes employed". Most day laborers earn an average of $53 per month in Sukaramai.

Children living in Sukaramai are at risk for diseases such as dengue fever, malaria, and skin diseases.

Compassion International's work in Indonesia began in 1968. They partner with churches to help them provide Indonesian kids with the opportunity to rise above their circumstances and reach their full potential.

Your sponsorship of $38 per month would allow the staff at Agape Denninger Student Center to give Egi Bible studies, medical checkups, nutritious food, sports, character building programs, reading and writing classes and special celebrations.

One other thing that surprised me--it said that the center staff would also offer meetings and seminars to Egi's parents!

This means that in a very practical way, your sponsorship of a single child may actually be part of God's plan for an entire family's transformation through the love of Christ.

How do I support Egi?

Egi's starter packet is currently displayed in the lobby of the Fellowship Church office in College Station. If you live here in town, drop by after your morning cup of coffee to pick it up. Everything you need to get started will be inside. 

What's that, you say? You live out of town? Just email me at cherise.castille[at]gmail[dot]com to give me your mailing address, and I'll be more than happy to mail Egi's packet to you. 

I can't sponsor right now, but how can I help?

Pray for Egi. Like, right now, wherever you are. Pray that God will bring him a sponsor soon. Pray for his health. Pray for his education, his family, and his development. Most of all, pray that he will choose to follow Jesus and let God's love transform both him and his community. 

Share this post with anyone you think might want to be Egi's sponsor! You never know--that co-worker or relative may be the one who is meant to build a life-long relationship with Egi through sponsorship. 

Be an advocate. Compassion international needs our voices (and facebook pages and twitter accounts) to connect thousands of children just like Egi with people who have the funds and the willingness to be their sponsors. Click here for more information. 


 

Compassion part 2: meet the kids!

Welcome to day #2 in a ten-day series here on the blog! I've never done a series before, but I'm sure you'll agree--a single post just wouldn't do justice in this case.

The purpose of this blog sequence is to have a discussion about compassion in a hurting world, and to introduce all of you to three very special children. 

Each one of these kids has a story. Each of them hails from a different continent. Each one is waiting anxiously for someone to say "I choose you."

Yesterday, I kicked off the conversation by teasing you with little glimpses of the kids' profiles (so mean, I know!), and telling a little bit of what it has been like for my husband and I to sponsor kids through Compassion International. To catch up on what you missed, click here! 

I know you've all been dying to see the faces of the three kids in my packet, so without further ado, meet Egi, Yegele, and Gregori.

Egi - age 7

Isn't this the sweetest second-grader you ever saw? 

Egi lives in an island community in Indonesia where rice is the staple for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Like most little boys around the world, his favorite game is soccer. His parents have signed him up for the Compassion program hoping that he will soon receive medical checkups, nutritious food, sports, and the reading and writing programs that the Agape Denninger Student Center provides. 

"There are no greater miracles than those when lives are transformed" - Unknown

Yegele - age 5

This little sweetheart is five, but she is so tiny that she could be mistaken for a four-year old. Yegele reminds me so much of the way Asnaku looked when I first sponsored her--they could almost be sisters! Both of them live in Ethiopia, a country where Compassion International has been working since 1993. 

"And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones who is my disciple, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward." - Jesus (Matthew 10:42)

Gregori - age 3 1/2

I made sure to mention the "1/2" when listing little Gregori's age, because he will turn 4 next month on October 27. Imagine how amazing it would be if Gregori could receive his very own sponsor by his birthday!

"Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love." - Mother Teresa

Thirty-eight dollars is a small thing for many of us. It is a blouse. A dinner out. A gym membership.

For thirty-eight dollars a month, children sponsored through Compassion are nurtured, given nutrition and medical attention, and hear about the love of Jesus. As they grow, they receive educational opportunities, love from the development center staff, and leadership training that will set them on a track to become mature, self-sufficient adults.

Thirty-eight dollars may seem like pocket change, or maybe it represents a true sacrifice. But to a single mom hoping for a better life for her son, it is a miracle. It is a way to break free from a cycle of malnutrition, illiteracy, and hopelessness.

Sponsorship involves money, but it is far more than just throwing cash at a faraway project. It is relationship. You will write letters to your child which, for many sponsored kids, are their most precious possessions. You will receive letters. You will watch them get taller and see their handwriting improve over the years. Many sponsors even get the chance to visit their sponsored kids!

One thing is certain--both you and the child you love in this way will never be the same.

Sounds great! How do I sponsor one of them?

For the next two weeks, you will not be able to find any of these children on Compassion's website. They were temporarily removed so that I could personally connect someone (maybe you?) with each child.

Starting today (Tuesday), the three starter packets will be displayed in the lobby of the Fellowship Church office in College Station. (Click here for directions.) You can either:

• Run to the church office in a mad dash to beat everyone else to pick up a packet (Actually, you can drive normally. Car wrecks = not good.), OR
• Email me at cherise.castille[at]gmail[dot]com. If you live out of town, just give me your address and I will be more than happy to pop your child's packet in the mail to you. 

One little thing: PLEASE let me know if you have chosen one of the kids, even if you pick up the packet from the office! Aside from reassuring me that the packet wasn't just misplaced, this will also give me the chance to encourage you and answer any questions you may have. 

I'm interested...what's next?

Over the next few days, I will share more of each child's profile and details about their family situations and the countries where they live. I hope to give you a better sense of who each kid is as an individual, and show you more of the amazing work that Compassion is doing in these three locations. 

If you'd like to check out what Compassion International is all about, visit their website here! 

Compassion part 1: When you can't feed 100 people

Sometimes the needs of our hurting world can feel like a crushing weight.

Barrel-bomb shrapnel is pulled from a newborn's face and Nigerian schoolgirls are pulled roughly from their dorms, still missing a year later.
Tsunamis sweep generations away, wildfires turn homes to ash in a dry land, and masked soldiers think nothing of beheading children while masked doctors do the same in sterile clinics.

Each tragedy pulses through our phones and computer screens with numbing regularity. It's tempting to shut our eyes, plug our ears, and roll over into a deep, comfortable coma.

Don't.

Do not buy into the slimy lie that because you cannot heal our world, you should ignore it.

You cannot stop all the wars or heal all the diseases, but you can make a difference.

I love this quote by Mother Teresa:

Picture from FMSC: http://preview.tinyurl.com/oocguxv

So, my question to you is this: If you could lift one child out of hopelessness, would you?

I'm asking because I just received a fat packet from Compassion International with the profiles of three children inside.

You guys, they are three of the most beautifully unique children I've ever seen.

Up on my fridge, between the wedding invitations and graduation announcements, are two brown faces that my husband and I love like family. 

One is a young man named Eric. Eric is from Mexico and he writes to us to tell us about his grades, his hopes for the future, and his love for futbol (soccer). In his last letter, he told us that he wants to follow God, but he is not sure that he can. His father refuses to take the family to church, and we pray his heart will soften.

The other is a dark-skinned beauty from Ethiopia with round eyes and angular shoulders. I became Asnaku's sponsor when she was six, and she is now thirteen. She loves the color red, and she worries about her schoolwork. She wants to do well and get a good job someday, and she asks when will we visit? Her letters are always decorated with artwork.

The high level of care for the children, the financial integrity, and the quality of communications provided by Compassion International has been impressive.

But far beyond the medical, educational, and social benefits given to each child in the program, the personal connection we've been able to have with both Eric and Asnaku has been something truly special.

So here's the plan: for ten days my blog posts will focus on the children in this packet and on the work of Compassion International. 

I have two goals:

1. To find loving sponsors for Egi, Yegele, and little Gregori by the end of September, 
2. To have a conversation about compassion, need, and God's ancient and unchanging pursuit of poor and broken people. 

I hope you'll join me, get to know the kids, and show them to your friends! Because while we can't do everything, we can do something.

FMF {Five Minute Friday} : Try

Trying leaves something bitter in my mouth.

It's not that I don't love an adventure. Someday I want to visit every continent, jump out of an airplane, write a book, and taste escargot. I buy that weird looking vegetable at HEB and look up ways to cook it. I am not shy with strangers.

But something about trying has the smell of defeat on it already.

I'm trying, I sigh when I just can't measure up.

I'm trying, is my frustrated whine when those around me criticize.

And I'll try sounds like placating someone when you know it's not going to work.

How did that word get sullied and sour to me? How did it lose its adventure and become an obligation that was un-fillable?

Maybe it was when too much was hung on the trial. Too much was at stake. Too much could be lost by failure. Try became trial, and I was in the docket.

Maybe it was when trying to perform well somehow wriggled its way in to displace trying for fun.

Once upon a time, trying was sampling life. Trying new flavors, new friends, new feats on the jungle gym was the essence of Carpe Diem--seizing the broad, sparkling day and shaking it down until it ran over. It was hopeful exploration, happy inquisition.

I want to step out of the docket and grasp the jungle gym bars again.

 

My life is like the movies

I have a crazy story for you. 

It was lunchtime a few weeks ago on a workday. I was chasing the last of my food with my fork when I got an odd text from my friend, Macie.

“Cherise, have you ever been to Pine Cove?”

And then, two seconds later—“And did you ever live at [insert address]?”

Um…yes. I had been to that family camp many times, but not since I was in high school. And that was my old address.

Immediately, my mind started running through bizarre explanations for why she might be asking. Did the camp release some ancient video online that showed pictures of me? Did I lose something at Pine Cove that had my old address in it? Why would she have it?

The truth was stranger than I guessed.

Macie is the kind of girl to whom encouragement is like air: she breathes it in eagerly and then exhales it to everyone around her. Just standing near her is like a fresh breeze to your heart. When I met her, she was a week away from marrying one of my hubby’s best friends. Our apartments stand facing each other now across the street, just right for five-minute conversations if we happen to be getting home at the same time.

Because words hold such weight for her, she has kept a growing stash of encouragement in a burgeoning drawer somewhere in her house. On the day of the weird text, she’d been doing some spring cleaning and decided to sift through a stack of notes from 2003, the year she had become a believer in Jesus.

One of the notes was from a camper she met while working at Pine Cove as a counselor. It was written in careful cursive on notebook paper decorated with gel pen swirls.

It was chatty, talking about summer plans to go camping and about how the writer was about to get her driver's permit. It told Macie she had a beautiful heart and that the note-writer was praying for her. 

It was signed, “Cherise Beekman”.

Y’all. That camper was ME.

It's seriously like a movie! I can picture it in lights: “Girl discovers that she knew her friend before she really knew her.” We had a first class freak out on the phone as we uncovered our secret past.

That summer in 2003, my dad had been out of work nearly eight months. My sweet grandma had died of cancer only a few weeks after the layoff, and our family had been feeling the strain of change, grief, and uncertainty. Some kind person paid for us to go to Pine Cove as a family. The counselors were wonderful—so grown up and so kind to the bony fifteen year old and her three younger sisters.

One of them was a bouncy person with flaming hair and a big smile who went by—wait for it—“Hip Hop Anonymous”. Isn’t that a great name for her?

So our friendship didn’t actually begin in 2008 when Macie bounced in to Jenny’s apartment with leftover wedding shower cake to share. In reality, I met Hip Hop Anonymous in 2003, before our husbands ever laid eyes on each other and before Macie ever joined our church!

God knew we were meant to be friends. J

Why I got mad at the eye doctor

I have always hated lack and imperfection, especially when the lack is in me.

When I was in 9th grade, the teacher noticed that I was squinting at the board. With a deep sense of dread, I finally agreed to go to the eye doctor.

Sure enough--I was nearsighted. I flat-out refused to wear the glasses prescribed for me, and bristled at the condescending manner of the doctor.

How DARE he. 

I could not stand the thought that something was wrong with me, and would rather continue squinting than admit deficiency.

Glasses may be a silly example, but I still don't like to see my faults. I cringe to se
e cellulite, my messy kitchen, or the ugliness that can lurk in my heart. Eve and I--we both get this urge to run and hide when we see our nakedness.

But my lack and imperfection is precisely the reason that Jesus came. 

And He didn't come wagging His head at me, hand on hip in disgust. He came running, calling me beloved. 

My emptiness and His abundance are a perfect match. In fact, I was designed to have no sufficiency of my own so that Christ would be all in all. 

Without seeing my glaring deficiency, would I ever turn to the Sufficient One? Probably not. If I were perfect, why would I need the Lord? My hated faults are gradually becoming almost like friends, because anything that brings me to Jesus is a good thing.

And when a perfection-obsessed society gets a glimpse of the Perfect One shining out of this obviously cracked and broken jar, they will say, "Well, it can't be her. It's gotta be Something else."




If you want to dig a little deeper, here are a couple of the verses that God has used to show me truth in this area of my life. (Can you tell I recently read 2 Corinthians? :) )

"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me."
-2 Corinthians 12:9

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us."
-2 Corinthians 4:7

"Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God."
-2 Corinthians 3:5

Nora Beth ♥

My darling niece has finally arrived!

Isn't she just the most beautiful little burrito you ever did see?

Nora Beth made her entrance last Tuesday night at 10:15 pm with a cry and her little hand raised up by her face, as if eager to grasp at the outside world.

My sister and brother-in-law chose not to discover the gender until she was solid and warm in their arms. Just an extra layer of wonder piled on the already incredible mystery of a new person becoming.

When Dad yelled from the kitchen that he had finally gotten THE text, we sisters came thumping and squealing down the stairs. It was gender-reveal party and grand entrance all rolled into one. I think we were a little drunk with the suspense.

Later that night, I finally held her for the first time. With her tiny 7 pound self nestled in my arms, I was struck by two thoughts:

#1. This is the child who will one day be a "cool older cousin" to every one of my future kids. (Such a fun thought! I had amazing older cousins.)

#2. This little girl will never stop existing.

Never.

Once a person begins, they will never vanish or vaporize, even if their bodies turn back to dust. The Bible tells us that we are created to be eternal personalities, forever existing in one state or another. (See Matthew 25:40-46)

And that is not all. We are created to exist forever in relationship with the One who made us.

Sweet Nora, I pray this over you: that your relationship with Him would start early, be deep, and stay strong until you see Him face to face. Welcome to our family, beautiful one.


______________________________________________

Click here to read how my sister first told us that she was pregnant. :)

A letter to the bride

Little cousin, you were so lovely that weekend, radiant in your womanhood and your love.

You ran to us the night we arrived for your rehearsal dinner, all glowing and breathless with arms flung wide, and I felt like years and miles hadn't mattered at all.

You are no longer the doe-eyed little girl who made flower chains with my sister and begged us Olders to "be the bad guys" for your games. You no longer climb trees barefoot, sharing secrets with the Twin Cousin and concocting pranks for your big brother.

That was precious, but this, this new season you've joined us in--this is glorious.

You made those forever promises as you stood in your lace, and I leaned close to my own love and let the vows re-imprint themselves on my resolve.

You will see--weddings get a new layer of richness and meaning after you have your own.

The East Coasters were the last pockets of family to finally meet my husband. It felt like your new love and mine were initiated into the clan on the same fun-filled, rain-blessed weekend. Every outrageous game of Brandi Dog and Farkle, every crochet stitch taught--they turned our far-flung lives into community again and I remembered how much I love our family.

The couple that started it all: Grandma and Grandpa Beekman

Sweet cousin, I love you. I love the love I see in you, between you both, and pouring out to everyone within reach.

I pray you keep choosing love. Keep choosing humility.
I pray you keep choosing to open yourselves to friendships, even when they move away or get pregnant before you do or take a while to return your calls.
That you will have grace for the budgeting foibles that will come.
That you find a beautiful new "family culture" as you discover how to do the oneness of marriage.

Aaaaannnd I secretly pray that you move to Texas. (Because that would be awesome!)

Never Thought I'd Use Facebook for This...

Four months ago, I was on facebook, staring at a blinking cursor with fingers poised. I was about to apologize to someone I hadn't seen in six years.

My thoughts were nervous, skittish of the message I was about to write. 

She won't even remember this. It was so long ago! She'll think I'm weird for dredging up the past. Worse, it might make her feel bad, maybe even create wounds where none existed. 

But I couldn't shake the conviction to make things right.

I'd been sitting with God, venting to him about someone who frustrated me. Eventually, the venting had given way to softness, me confessing the prickles in my own heart that were bristling in frustration. (Isn't it cool how that works?) 

Suddenly, in the clarity of that softness, I saw myself six years ago. There I was, frustrating someone with my own immaturity. I sat still in the flash of realization: the flaws in Past Cherise were the same that made me bristle with irritation now. 

Takes one to know one. 

So there I was, typing an apology halfway around the world. 

"...I know it has been many years, but would you forgive my arrogance from that time?..."

Her response came within five hours, full of forgetful grace and forgiveness. My heart basked in the glow of her words from my facebook screen. I felt light.

Then, two weeks ago, a conversation jogged another memory of another hurt both received and given. This time it was from even further in the past, a time before puberty, braces or the end of fifth grade. Really, God? 

Obediently, I tapped out another facebook message. I received another surprised, grace-filled reply less than a day later. The sweetness of the exchange made me wish I had sent it sooner, felt the freedom years before. But until that week, I hadn't remembered.

In our apartment, there are certain little piles that have always been there--part of the decor. Technically, they're clutter, but they no longer register as mess in my brain. 

In my heart, it's the same. There are certain character issues and wounds that feel like part of the landscape--part of me. Invisible until my Healer says "See that?"--then it's suddenly there, conspicuous. 

I am so thankful that He is gentle, showing me the piles one by one. 

The one where I'm a 2 year old with a splinter

My finger is pink and throbbing and my throat trembles with a sob. The memory is flooded by the yellow glow of the lamp by the couch. Daddy sits and draws me to him. Even sitting, his knees are still as high as my chest.

"Ok, let me take a look, sweetie."

I remember his big, warm hands tilting my finger for examination. So gentle, so safe.

"You have a little splinter--see that? I'm gonna get it out for ya."

He must have explained. He always explained. Patient, child-size words for my reassurance were always in abundance. My Daddy has a teacher's heart.

The next thing I remember is the blanket over my head, a sheltering shadow of fibers glowing in the lamplight while the warm hands tenderly coaxed the painful spot.

The edge of the blanket hung below the huge knees. My finger and its splinter were out there, in the brightness. All I could see were the shoes below and the yellow light pressing pinkly through the weave of the blanket while my wound was probed.

I didn't need to see it; I needed only to stand still and open my hand so Daddy could fix me.

This week, I was shifting loads of laundry from one machine to the next when God pulled this memory, dripping with intensity and light, from the archives of my memories. Hubby was shocked that I could remember so much at age two! I'm not really sure how I can, but I'm thankful. Since that moment with the laundry, I've turned this memory over and over in my mind like a shining penny, relishing it for the truth it deposited in my tiny-girl heart.

She was loved.

She was safe.

Even if her finger hurt, Daddy could be trusted.

Twenty five years later, I am so thankful that I have a daddy who--by his tenderness, his compassion, his gentleness, his delight in his daughter--set the stage for me to know God, the Father.

Daddy, I know you'll read this. I love you, and happy birthday. :) 

To: My Mommy on Her Birthday

Today is your birthday, but I am over 100 miles away. 

If I could, I would wake you up with herbal tea and a walk in the sparkling dawn because we both love mornings. I would clean your house, rub your back, and then let you nap while I made dinner. 

But I can’t, so here—these are a few of the thankful thoughts I’ve had all day about you.

Thank you for being a mommy who snuggled and kissed and hugged freely.

Thank you for putting up with math-induced pouting and door-slamming.

Thank you for singing about birdies and cherry trees and barrel-and-a-heap while the ball bearings squeaked beneath us.

I am so thankful that you taught us for an entire year about China.

And that you made dollies and their tiny fashions with us.

Thank you for reading aloud.You dedicated hundreds of hours to this, enthralling our hearts forever with the beauty of words and stories.

For making us apologize to each other. 

For apologizing to us.

For nature hikes, sketchbooks in hand.

For encouraging dress-up and pretend (even if it meant the whole living room disappeared under boxes and sheets).

For Hershey-bar pie and Swedish tea rings at Christmas.

For all the times you packed and unpacked for camping trips.

For trimming our bangs in your bathroom, swishing the hair bits away with that funny brush.

For thrift shopping,
                bra shopping,
                                and shopping to fill shoeboxes meant for kids in Belize or Bhutan or Belarus,  making Christmas expand beyond my own wish list.

For letting our little fingers into your sewing, your paints, your charcoal pencils and teaching us that art isn’t about the product, but the process.

For loving Daddy and for kissing him in front of us.

For long talks in the bathroom, in the car, and during walks through our suburban streets with our tennis shoes crunching in tandem--talks anywhere about everything.

For treating me like an adult, but letting me be a little girl whenever I need it.

And finally, thank you for not hiding your flaws. This most of all. Because of it, I have hope that perfectionism is not permanent. I know that there is strength in humility, and beauty in admitting need. 

Blessed are the poor in spirit, because their daughters see God through their brokenness.

Happy birthday, Mommy. I love you.

Five Minute Friday :: Fly

Once again, I'm squashing my inner perfectionist. I'm linking up with a group of brave bloggers who were all handed a single-word prompt, a five minute timer, and told to simply let the words flow. No backtracking, no second guessing. Just writing for the joy of words, for the exploration of our own funny minds, and for the reminder that writing is fun.

Thank you, Lisa-Jo Baker, for making your blog a safe place for this much-needed reminder. :)

So here I go!

Prompt: "fly"

____________________________________________________

I was twelve. I was sure the other passengers knew it, but they were smiling at me like I was only three.

We were certainly all acting like three year olds--all of us squealing and crowding the tiny window and enjoying the rumble of the engines beneath us. It was our first flight. To see us, you would have thought it was the first flight in human history.

Grandma's car had to be brought from Houston. Daddy could have done it alone, but he knew that a thirty-minute flight would be like Christmas to his girls. So he invited us along.

I can close my eyes and still see the moment of liftoff. My braces are exposed in a permanent grin, the asphalt running by faster and faster until--

a sudden tilt!

The ground and cars and landscape became toy-like beneath us. It was so novel: tiny buildings and roads and points of insincere blue that we knew were backyard swimming pools, all beneath a truer blue of sky than we had ever seen.