When I was in college, some friends and I went on a trip to Jackson to see a band by the name of Shane and Shane play. I thought I was just going to hear some good music, worship my Lord, and leave the same. I was wrong. You see, before the intermission, Shane and Shane spoke of an organization by the name of World Vision. World Vision is a sponsorship organization in which they find children from all around the world who don't have the necessary things that they need to have a life of meaning, and they search out sponsors to pay some money each month in order that these kiddos can have:
clean water to drink instead of sharing a trough with donkies.
shoes to protect their feet from rock and thorns.
medicine to help them fight the HIV virus that their mothers passed on after careless affairs with men.
school paid for so maybe, just maybe, they can learn enough to get out of the endless cycle they are in.
the love of Christ shared with them by missionaries.
a new article of clothing at Christmas. Thats right I said
a new article. Now some new clothes. Just one.
I didn't even make it through the speech trying to convince my peers in the room to shell out a small amount of money a month before I was a puddle of emotions. I don't handle stories of children without shoes, without water, and without health care very lightly. I knew that I was called to do something.
The concert people (is that the official term) passed out packets that held the faces of the individual children that needed to be sponsored. They asked us to pray over the child in our hands and then pray about sponsoring that child. It didn't take much prayer on my part. I knew what I had to do. I had to make a very small sacrifice each month in order to provide the child staring up at me a better life. And it was the sweetest face in the picture. The child that sat in my hands was 2 years old. His dirty face and clothes begged to be shown some love. There was no denying that ache and heartache was all this baby has known. And I was going to change that.
I ran as fast as I could to the concert people (its official, this is their name) and made my first payment for the sweet child, M. I was a mother. A sponsor mother. But the love that I felt was like none that I had never felt before.
For 3 years now I have written letters, received letters, and gotten pictures of a healthy. happy, growing boy. M is now 5.
When I got married, the Mister brought K.N. with him. He sponsored K.N. sometime ago and loved and wrote him just as I was doing with M. I was so proud to be a step-sponsor mom. Well, more like adopted sponsor mom. I have grown to love K.N. just as much as my own M.
Before we found out about Baby R we were tossing around the idea of sponsoring a little girl. 2 boys and a girl. The perfect sponsorship family. Not that Baby R has changed our heart about the little girl, it hasn't. I still have a longing in my heart of hearts for the girl in Ethopia or Ghana or Swaziland or, well anywhere, that belongs with my family. And I won't stop praying for her wherever, whoever she is, but until the time is right I will pray. And ask.
I will ask you to consider sponsoring a sweet child who is less fortunate than you. Maybe you can sponsor a little girl to make my heart beat easier. I may never touch, see, or hug these children in this lifetime, but by golly I can't wait to see them in heaven. In their own little way they help to complete our family. Invite a child into your home and watch the changes that take place.
Until I can sponsor our little girl, maybe you can sponsor one for me.
