The Compassion Bloggers are writing again, from Ecuador this time.
(It is almost ironic that they are there the very same week a team from our church are there too. Our pastor was blessed to meet the last living Auca Indian who took part in the murdering of Nate Saint and Jim Elliot. In his eighties, he is now Chief of his tribe and a follower of Christ, won to the Lord through the work of the widows of the men murdered.)
And so I log onto the computer that I have avoided for weeks now due to depression, packing, a blogging conference, and moving, (in that order) only to find that for almost a week now Shaun, Ann and her Farmer, and a few others are writing heart-wrenching words that bring a longing to participate and sign up every face in each photo.
I read Ann’s words amid boxes piled high, of children waiting 3 years for a sponsor, of the Farmer going along and getting blessed, and of Hope, the child and that given through Compassion.
I worry where to put what while she has only two beds and dirt.
She rents and hangs pig feed sacks where glass, screen and two inch faux wood blinds painted white hang in my rented window frames.
She longs for her children to be sponsored and receive the three meals a week, while I read Ann’s words and then stand with tears streaming, staring into my pantry -stocked, looking for mac-n-cheese to make for one of mine who whines that she is hungry when, truly, she doesn’t know hunger. All the while the hunger to do more gnaws at my heart.
I have seen Compassion through the grateful eyes of the mother of a sponsored child.
Won’t you click over and sponsor a child today?
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