I saw this over on Shaun Groves’ blog. It’s a little long, but please watch the whole thing. It is beautiful, heart-breaking and inspiring.
Category: Something Other than Us
Trinkets
Posted by – February 28, 2008
A friend of mine is going to Ethiopia this weekend, and since I have two Compassion kiddos there, he agreed to take gifts to them.
Have you ever tried to shop for a child in poverty. It’s an odd feeling. Knowing the money I was spending on trinkets was a month’s salary for their parents. But also reflecting on the fact that these kids don’t get gifts. Their parents don’t pick up a toy on the way home from work.
As I walked the aisles of the local Stuff-Mart, fingering stuffed animals and colorful packs of crayons, my heart felt very full. And I just started to pray over the stuff filling up my cart. And please, don’t think I’m this overly spiritual person. I’m not. At all. Which is what made this moment in the crowded aisles that much more special. That holy. My normally worldly mind was filled with heavenly thoughts.
I prayed that the teddy bear with the soft fur would bring comfort to little Nardos. That she would hug it close when there were shouts in the alleyway outside her house.
I prayed that Baheru would use his imagination as he peered through his new binoculars. That he would point the lenses to something beautiful–to a green tree, or an ant crawling in the dirt.
I prayed that Nardos’ new t-shirt and necklace would remind her that someone thousands of miles away loved her.
I prayed that each time Baheru turned on his flashlight, it would chase away the darkness and fears.
And on they went. As I packed the items carefully into small backpacks later that night, I had a hard time perceiving the fact that, in a few days, these gifts would be opened on the dusty floors of mud huts. I can only pray that these tokens will bring a bit of joy to children surrounded by despair.
You MUST read this…
Posted by – February 21, 2008
So, I posted a little while back about Compassion taking a group of bloggers to Uganda. I’ve been reading their blogs since they left, and y’all, it’s been incredible. I’ve laughed and I’ve cried…and most importantly, I have a renewed sense of what I’m doing at Compassion, and why I’m doing it.
I know that many of you won’t have time to read all 16 of these blogs. So, I just wanted to post some highlights. And I would encourage you to keep checking these blogs out in the coming weeks. I know they’ll have powerful, life-changing stories to share.
And, if you don’t already, please consider sponsoring a child. I guarantee you, after reading these blogs, you’ll have a hard time resisting the pull to sponsor!
“Do You Know What It Means to Adopt?”
In Uganda With Compassion…
Small Enough
The Faces
“If it wasn’t for Compassion, I wouldn’t have found Jesus.”
Our Boy
Crying for my poverty?
Oh, and you should definitely check out our flickr page. Some incredible photos there!
Mother Teresa’s Crisis of Faith
Posted by – September 4, 2007
Recently, I read an article about Mother Teresa in Time magazine, about her so-called “crisis of faith.” Since this story has been all over the place lately, I won’t really rehash it here. (You can read it in the above link, if you like.)
Since I read this article, I can’t stop thinking about it. Phrases like these have just gotten under my skin, and stayed there:
- extravagantly dissonant
- self-contradiction
- seemingly peaceful
- Jesus took himself away
- Teresa finally woke up
I’m not here to discuss whether Mother Teresa was a Christian (between her and God), or her methods of ministering to those living in Calcutta. I’m here to discuss people’s perceptions of a Christian who has a crisis of faith.
I think the thing that made me the most angry about the article in Time was their implication that Mother Teresa’s doubts meant that Jesus was no longer “present.” What the heck does that mean anyway? When I’m angry at someone, when I don’t understand someone’s actions, it doesn’t mean that I think they’re gone. Granted, I understand with God, it’s different. I’ve never physically seen God. So it can be easy to not “feel” his presence. Especially when I’m mired in this sinful fallen world–mired in my own sin.
And I think that’s what gets me the most about the recent criticism of Mother Teresa. Those people, the ones who refer to the “dissonance” and “contradiction”–have any of them seen poverty first-hand? Do any of them understand what it’s like to look in the face of a begging child, her belly swollen by malnutrition? Have they seen a mother die slowly, painfully of AIDS–while her children watch? Watched a teenager sell her body so her family can eat?
Because if they had seen those things, they wouldn’t ask, “how could Mother Teresa have had doubts?” They would ask “where did she find the strength to keep going?”
Another thing that drives me crazy, is the assumption that Mother Teresa’s doubts cancelled out her faith. The claim that she must have been less than honest when she spoke about her love of Christ, her faith in the Lord. That, is one of the most erroneous beliefs I’ve heard. I can only thank God that he forgives my unbelief–that He makes me whole, despite my brokeness.
Again, I’m not making any kind of judgement call on Mother Teresa herself. I’m just saying, I know what it’s like to have doubts, to be so angry, so confused, so filled with grief, that I can’t see straight–I can’t see God. And I find comfort in knowing that other people who proclaim Jesus as Lord have dealt with the same feelings.
So, when I read Mother Teresa’s words, read her fears and her doubts, I sympathize. And I will claim her words as my own:
Come, be my light.
About Something Other Than Us
Posted by – June 22, 2007
Don’t you hate it when you miss out on something really cool? Well, I don’t want you, my loyal reader(s) to miss out on this like I almost did.
If you look to the right, there’s a sidebar, called the 40 Day Fast. Each day, someone in that list is going to blog about a cause–something they believe in. I read many of those blogs daily, and I am often moved to tears–and more importantly, moved to action–but the words of these people, most of whom I’ve never met.
I ask you to take a few minutes and read the daily blog, and pray about how God is moving you to think about something other than yourself.
The fast starts today! So read Kat’s entry, linked to the right. And for more details about this fast, just read the “learn more” link just below the 40 Day Fast Banner.
*NOTE-I can’t figure out how to put this in my sidebar, so I’m just going to post it here. Sorry about that!
June 22 - Kat
June 23 - Brant Hansen
June 24 - SAM
June 25 - Shaun Groves
June 26 - Kristin
June 27 - Chaotic Hammer
June 28 - Stephanie
June 29 - Stephen
June 30 - Jeanine
July 1 - Truevyne
July 2 - Ryan G
July 3 - Jeremy Thiessen
July 4 - Steven
July 5 - Susanne
July 6 - Valerie
July 7 - William Guice
July 8 - Todd
July 9 - Scott
July 10 - Transition Pete
July 11 - Marianne
July 12 - Mark Jaffrey
July 13 - Michelle
July 14 - Lucas Parry
July 15 - Tim Harm
July 16 - Andrew Osenga
July 17 - Shawn
July 18 - Lorijo
July 19 - Euphrony
July 20 - Brody Harper
July 21 - Amy
July 22 - Erin Mount
July 23 - Dray
July 24 - Jessica
July 25 - Carlos
July 26 - Mom
July 27 - Ted
July 28 - Charla
July 29 - Rick
July 30 - Tressa
July 31 - Toby
So much stuff…
Posted by – April 10, 2007
Last week, I almost had a panic attack in Target.
My cupboards were COMPLETELY bare, and eating stale potato chips for breakfast was getting old, so I decided to run to Target to pick up some groceries. As I pulled into the parking lot, I realized it was the first time I had gone shopping since I returned from Ethiopia. As I stood in the crowded aisles, I felt compeltely overwhelmed by all of the stuff. Sodas stacked ten rows deep. Wracks of sparkling jewelry. Enough food to feed entire villages in Africa. As I held a pack of Easter candy in my hand, contemplating that the cost equalled an Ethiopian farmer’s pay for a week, I just wanted to run away. How do I find that balance between poverty and gluttony? How can people starve there while we gorge ourselves here? How do I reconcile those differences? How?
I pushed my squeaky cart down the shiny-tiled aisles, my head aching. I signed my credit card slip without looking at it. I willed the hot, angry tears not to fall from my eyes. Because I don’t understand it. I don’t know the answer. Children are starving, but that doesn’t mean I should starve. Because they have no money for medical care doesn’t mean I should not go to the doctor. Where is the inbetween?
God has blessed me so I can bless others. When I break that cycle, the truth about my heart is revealed. When I break that cycle, the scales tip crazily. When I break that cycle, I find myself crying at Target.
I mustn’t break the cycle.
Sometimes, I don’t understand…
Posted by – February 7, 2007
I work for a ministry that serves children in poverty all around the world. More than 800,000 children in 24 countries. It’s an incredible ministry, and I love what I do.
But sometimes, it’s hard. Despite all that we do, children in our program still die. Every week, all the employees are given a prayer guide. We pray for our staff overseas, and those who sponsor our children. And every week, on the back of this small brochure, is a list of children who died in the past week.
Vitoria.
Juan.
Carlos.
Jenifer.
Andrea.
Statistically, it’s a small number. But they’re not a number. They’re children. Children shouldn’t die. But they do. Every single day, 30,000 children under the age of 5 die. And each week, I see the names of a dozen or so of them. And a lump forms in my throat. And I know that for every ten I see on the list, there are hundreds of thousands who are making it–who are overcoming this poverty that tries to crush them.
But until the day when all of God’s children are safe, I will mourn.
Let Us Not Make His Birth Common
Posted by – December 4, 2006
*Note, I realize a lot of you have already read this. But when I looked back through old blogs, I realized I had never posted it. So, here goes!*
Let Us Not Make His Birth Common
Brandy Campbell
December 10, 2003
I love Christmastime. But as I sit here in my darkened living room, watching the lights on the tree twinkle, inhaling the scent of cranberries and cinnamon, I wonder if I understand the season I love.
I fear that I am not amazed by the advent. I’m afraid that I’ve allowed Christmas carols to influence my thinking, when in fact the story of Jesus’ birth cannot adequately be summed up in a few verses sung by a choir.
It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around the miracle of Jesus’ birth. Not only the miracle of a virgin bearing a child; more the miracle that God allowed himself to be born. That he allowed himself to be bound up by skin and bone and blood.
Jesus left behind the streets of gold and crystal sea for the dirty roads and muddy rivers of earth. The hands that formed all of creation now clutch the finger of the one who just gave birth to him. The voice that spoke forth the beginning of time is now reduced to cries and coos. The eyes that saw the past, present and future now struggle to focus. He left the crown for a cradle and a cross. He used to listen to the songs of the angels. Now he listens to the shaky, frightened lullaby of Mary. He left a place we can’t even imagine to go to a place we sometimes wish we could forget.
And what’s amazing is He knew what would happen. He knew the physical pain—Jesus knew that he was leaving a place of no sickness to live in a world festering with it. Jesus came here knowing that he would have skinned knees and blisters, stomachaches and stubbed toes. He knew that ultimately he would face a humiliating death, beaten, stripped naked, and suffocated. Thorns gouging his brow. The searing pain of a spear in his side. Rusted nails splintering bones.
I mustn’t forget that Jesus left a place where there were no tears to come here. What was it like the first time he felt hot tears on his cheeks? He was tempted, abandoned by his friends and family, mocked, ridiculed, and forsaken. He wept. Why did he do it? We all know the pat answer: to save us. But couldn’t there have been an easier way? Did he really have to be all human? Couldn’t he have taken away His pain? Couldn’t he have struck dumb those who would mock him? Paralyze those who would beat him?
But Jesus chose the path He did, knowing the consequences, knowing the costs, knowing the reward. And it all began at Christmas. In a city crowded with strangers, a young girl knelt on the hard ground, giving birth to the Savior. Did Joseph pace nearby, looking up at the sky, crying out for help, for answers. When Mary held her child in her arms, could she understand the reality of it? When she laid him at her breast, did she realize her milk was nourishing her creator?
I don’t think she understood. I don’t think her human mind could wrap itself around the deity in her arms. I know mine can’t. I can only pray that the Christmas season will bring with it more amazement than familiarity. May I never make the birth of my Lord common.
