Category — Dominican Republic / Compassion

Brian Seay with Compassion kids in the DR from Mary on Vimeo.

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”

Matthew 19:14

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I took the above video in the Dominican Republic in November. Read about my trip by clicking the button in my left-hand sidebar. Brian (featured in the video) and his wife will be leaving for Ethiopia very soon to adopt two children. I’m sure they’d appreciate prayer as they prepare for this great adventure!

And remember, even if you don’t think you could adopt a child, you can make a difference in the life of a child through a Compassion sponsorship.

I feel like I’ve told you most of the highlights of my trip to the Dominican Republic by now.  But I’ve decided there is one child I missed, because his face won’t get out of my head.  He was one of the children in the 9-11 year old class that I visited on my last day there. The kids were just getting ready to do their devotions when we all showed up, and they carried on, seemingly un-phased by the ring of strangers gathered around their little patio classroom.  First came the singing, including You Saw Me When Nobody Saw Me.  Then a little boy stood up and proceeded to read us a story out of the Bible.

I was impressed with how fluently the boy read.  Because of the class he was in, I know he couldn’t have been more than 11. I currently have three 10-year-olds, and know for a fact that plenty of kids years older  don’t read that expressively and well, especially the Bible.

Once he had gotten done reading, our interpretor read us the same story in English.  It was the story of Peter trying to walk to Jesus on the water. After the interpreter finished reading the story in English, she said, “Now, he is going to explain the story to you.”

And he began. I was expecting a sentence or two that highlighted the key point of the story, similar to what I ask from my children in their daily Bible journal.  But he went on. And on. For three minutes he spoke earnestly, pausing only to give the interpreter time to relay his words to us.

There are difficult times in life, he said, times when we may be afraid, times when we feel like we are sinking. We shouldn’t try to walk alone. This is the time to reach out to Jesus. Jesus will pull us up out of the water, and bring us into the boat.  He spoke eloquently and in detail.

I looked at his handsome face and thought of the rough and ragged neighborhood just beyond the gates of this Compassion project.   The filthy water going down the middle of streets.  The tin shacks and the barred windows and the need for us tourists to leave our valuables in the van so desperate people won’t steal.

This was where he lived.   I wondered about the difficulty he had faced in life.  You could tell he’d seen challenges, plenty of them, because he owned those words. His understanding went way beyond head knowledge, beyond trite Sunday school phrases. He spoke with conviction and with power.

He knew without a doubt where his source of strength was in life.

And he laid his faith out fearlessly to his friends, to his teacher, and to the ring of strangers standing around his outdoor classroom with its chipped formica tabletops and tiny rickety chairs.

I thought again of my precious children, my privileged children, and the ease they’ve had in life. We in the Western world consider it a blessing when children grow up having everything they need. And yet I stood marveling at the rare and obvious strength that God had grown in this young man through trial.

In the midst of bad water and rickety houses and outdoor schoolrooms, powerful work is happening in a young boy’s heart.

I am so afraid of trial.  I avoid it.  I complain when my plans are thwarted.  I take all sorts of measure to stay comfortable, to keep my life easy, to protect that to which I think I am entitled.

I’m not going to pray for adversity, because I’m just not that brave.  But I want to always remember that little wise-beyond-his-years boy.  And when adversity comes– as it always does– I pray that I will have similar courage. Courage to lean on God as my source of strength. Courage to survive– to thrive. And to share my source of strength with those around me.

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COmpassion sponsorship page

I’ve written lots about the children in the Dominican Republic who stole bits of my heart. But I haven’t adequately explained my feelings for the people I traveled with. (Warning: Mush ahead).

I had vague impressions about several of the people before I left home. I felt like I was already friends with Shaun- among other things we’d already talked about our 3 year olds both of whom prance around in swimsuits and heels, Miss America-style. I guessed by their blogs that Melanie and Jennifer would be people I would enjoy. But the rest of the crew was a mystery to me.

That first afternoon in the Miami airport, as we gradually assembled, I had the chance to chat with various people as they arrived.

Jennifer was warm and down to earth. There was something familiar about both her manner and her face– I never figured out what it was, but I suspected all week she might be some long-lost relative.

Melanie has a deadpan rapier wit that had the whole group dissolving into laughter even in the first few minutes we were together. She continued to make us laugh all week.

When Tim and Nick showed up, I greeted the adorable Nick (it was so nice to have kids in the group) and then immediately assaulted Tim with questions about “Pagan Christianity” a book I’d been reading and wondered if he read. Thankfully he had no qualms about discussing theology with someone he’d known for exactly two minutes. But he’s a blogger after all– we bloggers are used to shooting off opinions to strangers.

Marlboro Man (husband to Pioneer Woman) and I found common ground immediately: horses and homeschooling and our stance on kids and chores. (It’s good for ‘em, in case you’re wondering.) His girls’ escapades on the escalator made me giggle and grab my camera– and miss my own kids a little more.

Shaun jumped in immediately with teasing– it wasn’t til later that I read his blog post speculating whether I was “a little nuts or highly medicated. I got even by running over his feet multiple times with my wheeled carry-on.

Brian (or ‘86′, as we called him later in the week) immediately got me yakking about Ethiopian adoption, which is a sure way to make me feel comfortable. Turns out he’s in the middle of the adoption process himself.

Keely had returned from a trip to Peru the previous day, but was spunky and ready to go again. Her phenomenal pictures added so very much to my blog posts during the week.

Steve (once he had wolfed his pizza!) greeted me with that genuine smile of his that made me feel like he was truly glad I was there. And his actions during the week made his warm heart even more obvious. (See, Steve, if you had a blog I’d link to you here, not myself!)

The week gave much more opportunity to get to know each other. The daily bus rides to the various projects. Mealtimes at the hotel and at the various Compassion projects. Then of course there were the evenings, sitting around that horseshoe table in the conference room, yakking about everything under the sun as we tried to get meaningful words out onto our computer screens.

By the end of the week there was such a sense of camaraderie, of rich and honest friendship. We shared so many experiences that it felt like our friendships had been put on fast-forward.

We watched each other reach out to the kids, striving to interact with them in a way that would be bigger and longer-lasting than the short amount of time we had with them. We read each other’s thoughts about the day in blog posts, and in the process saw viewpoints on the day that we missed. We saw each other’s eyes mist up, awash in similar feelings for the kids, sad over the struggles these kids faced, but joyful at the hope that Compassion has brought to their lives. It was tremendously invigorating to me to be in the company of people so like-minded, so passionate about the welfare of children.

When I broke down on Thursday evening, JoAnn, another of the Compassion staff, was there to talk with me, and give me tissues and hugs. “I’m not going to tell you it’s going to get easier because it won’t,” she said. “Actually, the more you see [of children in poverty] the harder it gets.” Not easy words, but ones that resonated. It should not ever be easy to see children in need. Her understanding of my wildly flailing emotions was a comfort to me, even though my hurt was not something she could truly fix.

We asked about each other’s family and looked at each other’s family pictures. Shaun said even hi to my family via Skype. And of course we teased each other mercilessly. Actually, listening to the talk bouncing around that table as we blogged in the evenings, it was a wonder that we got anything of substance written. Most of us walked across two freeways to see the ocean up close and some of the crazier ones of us even did a little cliff-jumping.

Keely cliff-jumping

When it came time to say goodbye to the group in the Miami airport, I was full of regret. It felt like we’d known each other six months, not six days.

Maybe we’ll meet again in this life. I hope so. But whether we do or not, my life is greatly enriched by these new friendships. The chance to see Compassion at work was wonderful. But I count these new friends as some of the best gifts from this trip.

Thanks, y’all. The trip would not have been the same without each and every one of you.

My friend living in Taiwan blogged recently about the gecko living in their house.  She is low key about its presence in her house.  In the Dominican Republic when I spotted lizards basking in the sun on rock walls, I thought of her pet gecko, and was glad that the Dominican lizards were comfortably outdoors and did not seem especially inclined to move.

When it was time to head back to the USA, we went through the usual airport security screening.  An outdoor x-ray of our bags.  An indoor screening with shoes off and various items taken out of bags.  Then there was a wait to get on the plane. After all this screening and waiting and walking, the last thing I expected to see when I got on the plane was a lizard.

But when I walked to my seat on the plane and leaned over to hoist my bag into the upper bin, there he was.  A three inch long pale green lizard sitting on the top zipper of my carry-on bag, looking at me beady-eyed..

I gasped.

Resisted the urge to scream.

Wished my camera was in my hand instead of in the compartment that he was sitting on.

Then I tried to figure out the proper thing to do.  What is the best way to get a lizard off a plane?  Make a mad dash up to the front of the plane and let the little guy off outside?

But people were still getting on the plane — I’d be fighting traffic to get to the front.  What if he ran away before I got to the door?  Or- horrors - climbed up my arm?

Perhaps throwing a jacket over him might be a better option.   But my jacket was in the same compartment that my camera was.   Under the lizard.

Next option:  look helpless and hope a man comes to my assistance.  (I’m brave like that.)  But no one was paying the slightest attention to my dilemma.  Looking around I exclaimed, “There’s a lizard on my bag!”

No reaction.

This time I made eye contact with the people in the row behind me.  “A lizard!  There’s a lizard on my bag!”

A Dominican grandmother caught me gesturing at my bag and helpfully tried to zip it shut more completely, not even seeing the little lizard.   I gasped and pointed, trying not to get too close lest he leap like a louse.

Her eyes widened.  Then in one quick motion she flicked the little guy off my bag and onto the floor, where he scuttled toward the back of the plane and disappeared under a seat.

Problem solved.

Alrighty then.

After I shut my mouth and thanked the woman and put away my bag, I sat down and tried very hard not to think about the little guy skittering around under the seats as I sat there for the next two hours.

This little lizard is going to America.

One of the things that I feared as I prepared for this Compassion trip is that my previous exposure to poverty in Ethiopia would make me feel less for the children in the Dominican Republic. I was afraid I would be jaded. If you’ve seen one tin shack, you’ve seen them all, right? I mentioned this to my cousin Dave, a thoughtful man, and he said, “Well, maybe you’ll be less overwhelmed than some people. Maybe that will let you write better.”

I was encouraged by that viewpoint, but there was still a part of me that was afraid. I prayed that I would be able to write well, to describe what I saw in a way that would bring you there with me. But still I was afraid.

All week long, as we bloggers sat together at that horseshoe of tables in our hotel, talking and laughing and pounding out posts, I was always one of the last bloggers to finish writing. I delayed starting to write, toying with various approaches, wondering which stories would do the best job of helping you feel what I’ve felt this week. I hashed over words and erased paragraphs and resisted the urge to beat my head on the table.

At one point Steve looked across the table at me and said, “Do you feel pressured, knowing we’re all sitting here, waiting to read each other’s posts?”

I told him that wasn’t it. Instead it was that I felt such a sense of privilege, such a weight of responsibility on this trip. Compassion had chosen me to advocate on behalf of children living in poverty, to speak for those who have no voices.

At one of the Compassion projects this week, the kids sang a song that contained the line, “you saw me when nobody saw me”.

That is the job that Compassion entrusted to us this week. To help our readers be the lucky people who have eyes to see what is out there in the world, to see what is beyond the scope of our everyday lives. Yes, seeing the reality hurts. But it’s better to hurt than to never see.

I wanted to do the best job possible at bringing that world to you. No– let me rephrase. I wanted to do the best writing I’d ever done in my life. I wanted every word to be perfect. All week long I struggled under that burden, that longing to be wonderful for the children. I must say here that the burden I felt was entirely self-imposed; no one in the Compassion group was anything but encouraging to me, and certainly I know that it is God who does miracles, not me.

But still, I went the whole week wondering if my writing was doing the work I wanted it to…was it good enough? Compelling enough? Detailed enough? I spent the week vaguely unhappy with myself, wishing always that I could tell the story of these children a little bit better.

Last evening at dinner as we were getting ready to wrap up the trip, we did some talking about what we had seen, and how we felt about it, and I realized that one of my fears was that not enough would change from this trip, from my effort. That too many children would still be in need a week from now and a month from now and a year from now.

At the conclusion of our discussion Shaun read these words from 1 John 3:16-20

This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth. This then is how we know that we belong to the truth, and how we set our hearts at rest in his presence whenever our hearts condemn us. For God is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything.

And I found myself weeping in the middle of this room full of new friends. God knows my heart. He knows my hopes and dreams and intentions. He knows my abilities and weaknesses. It is silly, perhaps downright arrogant to hope for great sweeping changes in this world because I hopped on a plane and wrote a few well-intentioned blog posts. But silly as it is, in my heart of hearts that is what I long for. Because the children of the world deserve nothing less.

I know that there are lots of ways to help out in the world. But if making a difference in the life of a child is something that interests you, I hope you’ll visit Compassion International and become a child sponsor. And don’t forget to read the stories of the other bloggers who also want to make a difference for children. The need is enormous. The scope of the work can be intimidating. But together we can make a difference.

Angelica and her aunt Claudia

In four days of Spanish class, otherwise known as the Compassion blog trip, I’ve managed to learn a few key phrases. I can ask children their names and ages. I can say, “How are you?” and “Which sport do you like?” I can say hello, goodbye, beautiful, and smile. If someone asks if I know Spanish, I can say ‘a little’. Not a huge vocabulary, granted, but more than I’ve possessed up til this point in my life, a fact which pleases me ridiculously.

Today I learned another key question: “Do you have a sponsor?”

I used that question on dozens of kids at the Compassion project we visited today. The majority of the kids did have sponsors. (Compassion statistics show that in the average Compassion project 90% of the kids do.)

But a few children I met today did not have sponsors yet. And one of those children latched onto my arm and then hopped into my heart. Her name is Angelina and she is ten years old. She answered me shyly when I asked her questions, but soon grew confident enough to sit next to me, and ended up spending much of the project visit right by my side. She snuggled against me. She smiled every time I looked at her. She picked a flower and put it in my hair. She asked me when I was coming back. And she won my heart.

I asked her questions about her life. I hugged her a dozen times. I told her that I would pray that she would get a sponsor soon. I told her I hoped to visit her again someday. I resolved to send her pictures from my visit. And I left the project wanting to do everything in my power to make sure that she does get a sponsor.

Soon.

Because every kid deserves to have someone to cheer them on.

When I got back to my hotel, the first thing I did was sit my sweat-laden self down at the computer, open the sponsor page, and click on the Dominican Republic. I didn’t find Angelica, which may mean she has a sponsor and doesn’t know it yet, or that her packet is out at a concert (like the Bebo Norman concert this evening).

But as I clicked from page to page looking at child after beautiful child, I recognized familiar faces. I saw familiar names. I’ve been in and among these children this week and let me tell you, they are wonderful. They deserve every bit of goodness that there is in life. They deserve good food and good medicine and a good education and faith that there is goodness in their future. They deserve to have a connection with someone who cheers them on and makes it possible for them to walk this world with hope in their eyes.

You.

You can be that person, if only you are willing.

Wherever your heart stands at this moment, will you do me a favor? Go click on the pictures of all those precious children. Look at their faces.

Then pray about it. Think about it. If you aren’t sure about finances right now, ask God to point out some area of your life where you might be able to find a few extra dollars in your budget.

He can do it.

He can make it possible for you to do it.

You will be glad you took that step of faith.

And the child you sponsor will be forever grateful.

The other awesome bloggers on this trip

Melanie
Tim and his son Nick
Marlboro Man and his daughters
Jennifer
Brian Seay
Shaun Groves
Keely Scott, our photographer

Mariolvis and her mother

Another view of the outside of Mari’s House

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Mariolvis: “When I started college, I was very afraid. I didn’t know if I could do the work. But I have been here three years and I have gotten three medals [for academic achievement].”

The University of Santa Domingo, where Mariolvis now attends school.

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Compassion International: releasing children from poverty

This morning as I walked up an uneven set of stairs and stepped into the hubbub of my third Compassion project of the week, I didn’t know that this was the project that would touch me to the core.

Kids jostled in rows of white plastic seats, expectantly facing the front of the room. As we walked in, workers scurried for more chairs and kids stared, some frankly curious, some chattering with friends. Most were willing to smile if you smiled at them.

The kids did a presentation and sang songs before heading off to individual classes. Today’s group of kids was older than yesterday’s batay group. Apparently there are so many kids in some projects that the various classes have to use the facility on alternate days of the week, or at different times of the day.

We spoke with the supervisors of the project. They offered expense ledgers and child records for us to examine and answered all our questions about the way the project was being run. When someone referred to the pastor as the leader of the project, he shook his head modestly and gestured toward the sky.

No, it is God.

I am so impressed with the pastors of these Compassion projects. They have so much humility and so much love for the people they serve.

After talking with the pastor and the staff, we were sent to visit some of the classes. Then it happened. Three or four of us peeked into a classroom filled with teenagers. A few more chairs were squeezed in, and we settled in and looked around at a ring of bright expectant faces. We introduced ourselves and I asked the kids to tell us what they want to be when they grow up.

Hands went up immediately, and teen after teen told us their dreams for the future. Architect. Doctor. Accountant. Electrical engineer. And on and on.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, for the first time this trip, my eyes were overflowing. Because what I saw bouncing around this room as child after child spoke was the brilliant shimmer of hope.

They believed that they could do these things.

And, looking into their eyes and seeing the way they spoke and the way they carried themselves and the way they smiled shyly but proudly into my eyes, I believed it too.

That’s what Compassion has given these kids. Plans for the future. Not just fairy-tale dreams. But real plan. This Compassion project with its cattle-stall bathroom door latch and its rickety wrought-iron stair rail and its wonderful grace-filled pastor has equipped these children with the tools that they will need to go on and make something of their lives.

Their dreams may change. They still have some things to learn. Opportunities may lead these kids in ways that they do not now envision. But this Compassion project has given these kids the precious gift of hope.

I prayed over those kids before we left their class. I prayed that they would have wisdom and health and good decision-making skills and most of all an all-encompassing love for God. I prayed them everything good– all the best stuff that I hope and pray for my own children.

And here’s the really amazing thing. Because of what they’re gaining from Compassion, they have a shot at it all.

I know that skeptics are reading about this trip, wondering if we bloggers are being allowed enough access to truly get a feel for the project. Of course Compassion would want to show us its best side, give us access to only the prettiest stories. I know that some fluffing and primping has happened. As a mother of ten, I know it is not natural for a room full of preschoolers to all be wearing clean shirts at the same time. Nor would it happen by chance that nearly every little girl in the project would have a fresh hairdo on the same day. (I am a mom of 4 African daughters and I know a fresh hairdo when I see one!)

But here’s what else I know. In the last three days I have interacted with dozens of Compassion staff and dozens more children. We have toured three projects along with visiting the main Compassion office. At each stop there was a palpable concern for the well-being of the children. A genuine delight over children who have succeeded. A pride at the importance of the work that these people do.

One person may be able to fake that level of caring. Maybe even five could be convincing. But every person in the organization? I don’t think so.

I have been a Compassion sponsor for ten years. Sometimes as sponsors writing that Compassion check each month, we are too far removed from the actual work to be 100% sure of its efficacy. The best we can do at times is to pray that the money is being well spent.

I’ll be honest: I came to the Dominican Republic expecting to be happy about the work I saw being done here. But I tell you now that Compassion has far exceeded my best expectations.

The work being done here is exciting. It is effective. It is liberating children from poverty in the name of Jesus Christ.

If you will partner with Compassion by sponsoring a child, you will be allowing more children to grow up with that precious life-giving gleam of hope in their eyes.

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More stories at Compassionbloggers.com

In ten years of sponsoring Compassion kids and writing letters and sending pictures and praying for them, I’ve never actually met my child. Until today. Today we drove to a small village on a sugar cane plantation an hour or so from Santa Domingo.

The homes were ramshackle and small, with peeling paint, patchwork boards, and rusty metal. The project was mostly quiet– we were arriving during school time. But here and there people sat in white plastic chairs under palm trees, staring at us as we drove up.

First on the agenda we visited the children in their classes. The preschool class was just adorable. Just look at these little faces!

We had fun asking the kids questions about their school, listening as they sang to us (at eardrum-popping levels), singing ‘Deep and Wide’ with them, and even doing the chicken dance.  (OK, must confess –  I am not so much in love with the chicken dance.  But Melanie and the kids had a blast at it.) In another room we sang the ABC song in English, and the kids countered with a cute  A-E-I-O-U song in Spanish.  When class visits were done, Steve, Melanie, Jennifer and I grabbed our gift bags out of the van and then headed to meet our kids.

My little Maicol (pronounced Michael) is eight years old and is just learning how to read.  One of the first things I showed him was a letter that my 10 year old son had written him.   He listened as the translator read the letter to him.  Then, utterly engrossed, he painstakingly sounded out the letter for himself.

Eventually we looked at the pictures, and his new soccer ball, and his new shirt.  But I think that the two biggest treasures to him in that backpack were the letter from my son, and the handful of suckers that I had tossed in at the last minute.

After the initial meeting we headed for my little guy’s home to visit with his grandmother.  She was an exuberant elderly Haitian lady, pouring sweat on this brilliantly hot day, and exclaiming to me excitedly in Creole. Thankfully our wonderful translator Augustin turned out to know a little French along with his English and Spanish, and we limped through our meeting with at least some level of understanding.  Amazingly enough, this woman is the mother of 10 children.  What are the chances that the guardian of my sponsored child would be a mother of ten, just like me?

When the grandmother was asked what she hoped for her grandson, she pulled him over to her and asked him to answer the question.  To be a baseball player was his answer. Proudly displayed on the wall of her house were high school diplomas from two of her children.  I hope that with his strong interest in reading that little Maicol will do well in school and be able to graduate from high school as well.

During the rest of the day, as we visited other areas of the little village, ate lunch, attended a school presentation, and took pictures of the children, my little Maicol bopped back and forth between me and his playmates.  He’d run off to play for a few minutes, then come back to check and see if I was still there.

He sat on my lap or next to me during the school presentation, wore my watch for several hours, and talked me out of my camera at least different five times.  By the time I left, he knew how to zoom in and out, turn off and on the camera, and toggle back and forth from picture mode to view mode.  Smart kid.

It was really hard for me to say goodbye to him, not knowing if I’d see him again in person.   One thing that visiting my child did, though, was to make me resolve to write him often.  He’s old enough to remember my visit.  But that is not the only impression I want to make on his life.

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–If you would like to sponsor a child, click on the Compassion graphic in my sidebar or visit the child sponsorship page. 

–If you’d like to see more wonderful pictures from the trip (most from Keely), check out Compassion’s Flickr stream and click on the Dominican trip link.

– If you’d like to read more stories from the other bloggers, read Compassionbloggers.com

New(ish) post below this one. Don’t miss it!

I love this song, really I do. Shaun speaks my heart.