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!

 

 

When you wonder if you measure up

The chairs were arranged in an inviting circle and the coffee was sputtering cozily in the corner. On the door was a sign saying "Welcome to the 24-hour prayer meeting"

I walked around, fluffing pillows and making sure that the keyboard was plugged in. I checked my watch: 5:34. Maybe they're all still getting off work. 

Over seventy people had been invited, but I knew that it was Memorial Day weekend and I might have only a handful show up to pray.

At 6:45 the room was still empty, so I sat and held out my similarly empty hands. Lord, I said, this is for you. You asked me to pray with other people, so here I am. I've sent the invitations, but I can't make them come. I hope you like this. I hope you can use this, even if it's just me all night. 

Suddenly, into the expectant space, I felt these words:

"It's already a success. It's already a victory."

I sat up straight and opened my eyes. Really? You aren't disappointed if no one comes? You like it already--before anything happens--just because I obeyed? 

In that moment, relief blew through my heart and the anxiety I didn't know I'd been holding dropped on the floor. I sat there for a minute or so, just enjoying the realization. He was pleased. He even called it victory! Wow.

I felt like Samuel, learning that man looks at the outward appearance while God looks deeper. (Check out 1 Samuel 16:7 for the story)

Things that look"unfruitful" or "a waste" may tip the scale in unseen battles that we will never know until later.

If He calls it a success, who am I to call it failure? So why is the prospect of Christ being formed in me somehow less significant in my eyes than twenty people showing up to a prayer meeting?

Friends did come to pray with me :)

The thing is, we live in a culture pretty obsessed by numbers, stats, and feedback. 

At school, we measure success by grades.
At the gym, it's the number on the scale or the pounds lifted.
At work, we are evaluated on a sliding scale in dozens of categories designed to measure output, growth, and efficiency.
In online dating, it's the number of winks or likes.

So what if the grade is borderline, the scale doesn't move, and the winks don't roll in? 

In the absence of measurable, positive feedback, we can easily conclude that the effort was a failure. Like that age-old riddle about the tree falling in the wood, we ask, if the Instagram post didn't get any likes, was it any good? No, we conclude, it wasn't.

This formula is dangerous and inaccurate. Inaccurate because numbers are only a partial measure of value, often dependent on the human dolling them out. And what if that human is having a bad day? It is dangerous because the value of something--or someone--may be wildly mis-represented.

Now, please don't misunderstand--numbers are good, helpful tools. I use numbers every day at work to help me reach targets. I learn from feedback and rankings. And, in the world of social media, the number of clicks can give helpful clues as to what stories mean the most to readers.

But when the numbers become the only feedback that matters to me, or when I become unwilling to obey the Lord's leading if it flies in the face of those numbers, my heart needs to be re-aligned. 

These are questions that I've been asking myself:

• Do you feel discouraged when no one notices your efforts? 
• Do you get the urge to quit when you feel like your best try just did a bellyflop? 
• Do you hesitate to embark on something that you know won't have a tidy accompanying list of accomplishments to check through?
• Does the thought of being graded--in school, at work, or by friend's opinions--make you nervous?

Oh, yeah, been there. Still there, friend. The good days are the days I choose to step back, and purpose to remember truth.

And the truth is that our God is a God who sees. He sees holistically, accounting for the state of my heart, not just the tally marks on my list. (Genesis 16:13)

Faithfulness in little things matters to him immensely. He notices when you turn to him, try that brave thing, choose to obey--even if no one else is impressed. (Luke 16:10, Matt 25:21)

He does not break the broken--he lifts and heals. Failure or depression or mental illness or addiction do not disqualify you from his love or from serving Him. In fact, He tends to choose weak things and people over the strong ones. (Romans 8:39, 1 Cor. 1:27-29)

The economy of the Kingdom sounds backward. The weak and lowly--even kids--are rulers. The King bends to serve his subjects. The poor are rich and the rich are poor, and the small, weak things are chosen over the strong so that God will be magnified.

It sounds so crazy...but maybe we are the ones living topsy-turvey.

FMF {Five Minute Friday}: Hope

My first experience with timed free-writing was in college. My professor knew we were anxious about the research paper she'd dumped on us the week before, so she came to class that day armed with an unlikely activity.

She passed around lined sheets of paper, set a timer for five minutes, and told us to "word-vomit" every single thought we had about our research onto that paper. We were not allowed to edit, re-think, spell-check, or erase because the point was to simply write, without calculation or consequence. It was magical, and I was hooked.

Now, three years after college, there is a community of bloggers who free-write on a new word every week. We do it for fun, for encouragement, and to remind ourselves that our unedited selves are still worth sharing. For more info, check out Kate Motaung's blog here!

This week's word is HOPE.

Hope? Yeah, I thought I'd lost it.

It got misplaced somewhere after college when I woke up one morning to find myself in a hostile place, doing those mind-numbingly same things day in and out. My friends were gone or out of touch, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt welcome in a crowd. I felt stuck and stupid for getting myself stuck and hopeless that anything would change.

But the Hope of the world was living in me, no matter how dormant I felt.

He was alive and active, even if I wasn't alive to it.

He doesn't merely have hope--He is hope.

He leaned in and whispered to my hopeless heart that He hadn't gone anywhere. Slowly, like crusty ground under a steady soak of rain, I softened.

Hope had found me again.

And to you--yes you, the one scrolling down this post on your iPhone--He whispers, "Child, I am still here. I AM hope. I am hope for your crusty dreams, your family situation and the apathy that numbs you. Open your heart to me."

Hope will find you. 

You prayed, this happened.

We're halfway through the bag of espresso from Milan, which means it's high time for an update on how your prayers impacted those two weeks!

*Coffee in Milan, not my kitchen. I wish!

Instead of going on the mission trip as I have for the past three summers, the Lord asked me to stay here while hubs led the team. When I asked God to show me His plans for those two weeks, I got a clear answer. Pray. Pray with other people. 

And many of you did, both online and in the blue living room across from my house.

From my heart--thank you. From the hearts of Italians and Asians who had no idea you prayed--thank you. Your courageous minutes spent in prayer mattered.

Only two of these people knew you were praying for them!

Some of you joined the online prayer team, covering each day of the trip via email. 
Those moments set aside while you were sitting at those stop lights, brushing your teeth or standing in line at Starbucks to pray--they counted. They rose like sweet incense, doing battle on behalf of real people with real situations who encountered a real God during those two weeks.

Some of you came to the twenty-four hour prayer meeting in College Station. 
This was so exciting! I had never done anything like this before. It was humbling, exhilarating, and exhausting.

I want you to know that the sleep you sacrificed to come to the apartment in the small hours of midnight, praying on the curling carpet for people you would never meet on earth--it was seen by the Lord of Heaven's Armies. Your prayers meant the world half a world away.

The team felt the difference.
Thanks to an international texting plan, we were able to send encouragement and get up-to-the-minute news from the team during the trip, especially during the 24-hour prayer meeting. It was thrilling to sit on the opposite side of the globe and pray for a conversation happening thousands of miles away, knowing that our God was working.

Here are some specific prayers you prayed, and the response God gave:

1. You prayed that God would give our team the emotional energy to keep going. 

On a team of seven people, five were introverts. For you extroverts reading this, please take my word for it--twelve-hour days filled to the brim with challenging conversations can be extraordinarily draining.
 But the Lord gave the energy we asked for! The quieter ones on the team reported that they were surprised at their own ability to keep engaging in conversations long after their reserves would normally have sputtered out.

2. You asked Him to heal one of the girls on our team, who was sick with stomach cramps. 

The stomach pains ended up being something more serious than a simple virus, and she has spent much of the past week in the hospital. However, we praise God that the hospital visit was not needed until after she had returned from Italy! Please continue to keep her in your prayers.

3. You asked God for unity, and wisdom for the team leader.  

As his wife, this special request for my man really meant a lot to me. He told me later, after the jetlag began to wear off, that he definitely felt the Lord giving him wisdom in some challenging situations. The unity of our team was a key component in the success of the trip.

4. You prayed for students to trust in Jesus Christ.

We have a new brother and a new sister! Amelia*, a Chinese student studying in Italy, befriended our team during the first week. She had heard the gospel in Italian before, but it was not until a girl on our team, also from China, explained salvation in her heart language that it finally clicked. She still has many questions, and we were excited to hear that she met with one of the long-term missionaries just last Sunday to talk about Jesus more.

Marco* decided to follow Jesus as a result of a lunch conversation with two of the guys on our team during the second week. As each of them told about the difference that knowing Jesus has made in their lives, he leaned in eagerly. They sketched a simple bridge to illustrate how Jesus made a way for man to return to a holy God, and he said "yes--I want that."

The team was not just the seven people who got on a plane in Houston. It was also every one of you who prayed. Thank you for being part of God's work in Milan, Italy. 

*Names changed to protect our friend's privacy.

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

Finding community in your mailbox

If you’re short on time, skip to the bottom! This post is an invitation to join in on something that really was an awesome experience for me last semester. It was so much fun that I’m doing it again! 

________________________________________________

Community used to be so easy. 

As a kid, Mom made our play dates with families who became like cousins. We had sleepovers, played for hours in blanket forts, and made friendship bracelets that we swore to never remove. "Pretend" was the game, and we created stories elaborate enough to put any soap opera to shame. 

Even after friends went home, my sisters were there. Living with someone binds you together in a million little moments. They blend together, creating a foundation of shared culture. In it are a zillion nuances of understanding that go comfortably unspoken and you hardly have to work at being understood.

Then I grew up and moved out.

Suddenly there were no sisters, no one to put that hangout on my calendar for me. I had to find community for myself.

It has been anything but easy.

At times I flung myself into ministry, thinking this was fellowship. I poured myself into other girls, draining my emotional reserves, never realizing that the way to receive is to come empty, not full and self-sufficient. 

At other times I recoiled, stung by indifference or careless words. Rejection left bruises, and I erected walls to protect myself from more bruises.

But Jesus has been pulling those walls down with his love, helping me forgive and try again. And again.

Seventy times seven.

He has also shown me that community doesn’t always look the same. Life stages come and go. Sometimes community matches the classic images of a cup of steaming coffee in a quiet coffee shop...but most often it doesn’t.

Sometimes it means dashing across the street for a hug because you caught a glimpse of her taking out her trash.

Sometimes it means ditching all your well-made plans for the evening to watch her kids so that she can connect with her mom.

Sometimes it means giving grace and understanding when she can’t return your text for three weeks, or cancels the lunch date for the second time.

And sometimes? Sometimes community looks like writing a card to another woman you’ve never met. 

Last semester I impulsively put my name on a list with a group of other bloggers who decided they were tired of junk mail, who believed in the power of words to encourage. 

As Kaitlyn, one of the organizers put it, 

"Here's the thing: We all use our words in conversations and blog posts and tweets every day. We're already spending them somewhere, but there are times we each need a pick-me-up. We can use our words--our written words--for good."

A week later I received an email with a list of seven other women and helpful instructions. Each week I wrote one note to one of the girls on the list, and each week I received a note from one of them in the mail! 

 It takes no more than five minutes to write a card. Each week, I had so much fun browsing the next woman's blog and twitter feed, looking for clues that would tell me her hopes, her fears, her quirks. I often prayed for her, and it made me feel connected in a way I thought impossible via the internet. 

Because sometimes community is found in your mailbox.

If you want to try it out, sign up HERE. (And don't wait, because the form closes tonight around midnight-ish!)