Traveling Hearts Notebook

Kisses From Kate (Feb 2009)

2011-06-18T15:29:00.000-07:00

Monday, February 9, 2009 (Kisses From Kate) This is a post that Kate wrote a couple of years ago. If you are not familiar with her mission go here to her blog.

OK. I was advised not to put this on the blog, so someone will come behind me and take it off if they deem that I was too delirious and didn't know what I was saying. I however feel that it is very good for all the people who daily comment on how awesome I am to know how IMPERFECT and sometimes insanely exhausted I am, too!

Let me see. Yesterday was just one of those days that those of you with multiple children will understand even if you dont have double digits. Christine has gone back to school so its just me at home. I am so thankful that school has started which gives me some quiet time in the morning to do the laudry, make lunch, and get a jump start on dinner, so that I can be fairly calm when the chaos ensues later in the afternoon.

Anyway, yesterday, the power had been out for going on 72 hours. Running water was shut off around 2, right about when the kids came home, meaning none of my beautifully filthy children could get a bath. It was one of those days when everyone just seemed a little louder than usual, and no one wanted to listen or acknowledge anything I said. Oh, I forgot to mention... Remeber the seven children that were living her for a while until we found them a mom? Well when she took them, she already had a 2 week trip to Kenya planned, so they are back with me for a bit. The 4 from accross the street that were burnt are also still here... in case you lost count, that is 22 children and one Mommy.
It had rained all day, making my firewood wet and impossible to start a fire on (power was still out so the electric stove inside didn't work), it was nearing 8 and dinner wasn't ready, the big girls had gone to get water from a well to wash our feet in (I can't stand when my kids get in clean sheets with dirty feet!), and 20 children were running around my house pretending to be zoo animals. Just close your eyes and laugh with me for a minute. please.

By 8:30 the beans were finally done and we were all sitting in a huge circle on the living room floor (we outgrew our table a loong time ago!). It was pitch black and our last candle had burnt out, so we couldn't see anyone. When I passed out the food and had a plate leftover, I just assumed I had miscounted. And then I started asking Joyce a question.
She didn't answer. "Joyce?" No answer. "JOYCE?" No answer. So I got up and went around the circle counting heads. 19. No Joyce. I yelled her name inside and outside, tripping and stumbling through the dark, still with no answer. My mom-self began to panic, I ran to check the bathtub even though I knew there couldn't be water in it. I grabbed my phone to use as a light and ran around the compound. Nothing. Then as Agnes went to check the garage, she tripped and fell. When I went to make sure she was ok, I tripped too, over Joyce's legs. There she was, fast asleep and halfway under the kitchen table. We all fell to the floor in stitches!
That was God's little gift to me yesterday. Not only an opportunity to sit on the floor and CRACK UP with my children, but a little reminder of how much I love and value each of my children individually, even though there are so many of them. A reminder that even on days when they don't listen and make so much noise that I want to pull out all my hair, I wouldn't trade any one of them. He reminded me that when even just one of His 6 billion plus children turn away from Him he is saddened and seeks her out, the Sepheard who left His 99 sheep to find just one, and REJOICED and laughed when He found it. He reminded me of the sorrow He must feel when I stray from Him, don't trust Him, don't ask Him and the way He rejoices when I come back and lay at His feet. He is seeking you. He values and loves all of His children, even though they are too many to count. Ten minutes later, the power came back on.
This morning I woke up at 5 to make breakfast for ALL 22 of them, double checking the circle this time. When I was in the kitchen cooking the eggs, I kept thinking I smelled something rotten, but didn't think too much of it. When the kids left for school I went to investigate. Maybe the trash can? No, I cleaned and bleached that yesterday. Maybe the fridge? No I cleaned that out already too. It smelled like it was coming from behind the stove so I pulled the stove out from the wall. I don't know exactly how to describe this. There was a very large rat who had crawled up inside the back of the stove. All I could see was his very long, thick tail and a clawed foot. I had cooked him; I am assuming days ago, and he was totally rotten. The smell was enough to make me vomit. I put on my electirician hat, opened the back of the stove, threw up, and pulled the decaying rat piece by piece out of my stove. Then I sprayed everything in my whole kitchen with bleach and poured the already made coffee back through the filter, because I'm gonna need it a little stronger today (great trick Suz!!). I am simply sharing this with you so that today as you get ready for whatever work is ahead of you and think of how daunting all you have to do is, you can laugh and rejoice that you do not have a rotting rat in your stove. No, I do not have anything eloquent or wise to say about the rat or what God taught me through it. It was just plain nasty. But I am sitting here laughing about it because I know that God has gift for me today, a lesson for me today, someone's heart for me to change. And if some rotten rats come with that... Bring it on!

How to Change the World . . . . September 16, 2010

2010-12-10T20:12:00.000-08:00

By kristen

I’m talking about how to teach your children (and yourself) how to change the world over here today. Plus, I’m giving away FIVE copies of my new FAVORITE children’s book!

The Mercy House FAQ . . . . September 15, 2010

2010-12-10T20:11:00.000-08:00

By kristen
’ve laid a lot on y’all this week! Thanks for the love and support. It’s both humbled me to my knees and created instances of The Ugly Cry.
If you’re catching up————
——–Mercy Me-Part I
——–Mercy Me-Part II
——–Mercy Me-Part III (giveaways are still going on-will end/be announced next week)
Link to The Mercy House
Link to The Mercy Shop
Last year, I launched a parenting newsletter. I concluded the series on The Fruits of the Spirit and will now be redirecting the newsletter to updates and information for The Mercy House. If you’ve already subscribed, you don’t need to do anything. If you don’t want to receive this, you can unsubscribe when you receive this announcement in your inbox.

I will be sending out the first Mercy House News tomorrow with updates on how much money/monthly supporters we have up-to-date. So make sure you subscribe if you want to know!
Questions:
Do you have any? Please leave a comment. I will try to answer them in the comment section.
Ideas for Fundraising, PR, donate items to The Mercy Shop…you name it:
We need it.
This isn’t about me or my family, this is about us, loving mercy, together.

A Bed, A Bag of Rice & A Business . . . . August 25, 2010

2010-12-10T20:06:00.000-08:00

By kristen
His name is Francios (said in my best French accent which sorta sounds like fancy Texan).
He’s six:

He’s one of the Compassion children our family sponsors. He lives in Togo, Africa. In the last six months, he’s written us five letters!
God blessed our family with some extra and we were able to send Francios a family gift a couple of months ago. Compassion allows you to send a financial gift every year to your Compassion children.
Last week, when my daughter opened a Compassion envelope, she gasped. I could tell it wasn’t an ordinary (although always special) letter. This photograph was accompanied with a letter of thanks from Francios’ family:

With our family gift (small by American standards), this precious family bought there first bed! (There are 5 in the family) They bought rice and supplies and most importantly, they started a business! (selling used clothes)
One of my favorite things about Compassion is they don’t just help people out of poverty, they give families the tools to help themselves. They meet with the family when a family gift is given and help them decide how to spend it best.
This financial gift -that we’ll never miss- might have changed Francios’ family.
But it changed mine more.
__________
Rescuing children from poverty is one of the most inspiring and beautiful experiences our family has ever shared together. It’s never too late to sponsor a child. You can do it today.

Make Yourself at Home . . . . July 29, 2010

2010-12-10T20:05:00.000-08:00

By kristen
We showed up at the Student Life Camp as they were unloading for their 9th week of camp. It was really amazing watching these college kids empty four large Penske rental trucks and set up for more than 1,000 kids. When I complimented one of them, they said, “Oh this is a small camp. This is easy.”
Compassion had agreed to let us visit with Maureen and even though she was free to let others do her setup work, she asked our family if we minded hanging around while she performed her duties. (A true example of her heart and work ethic!)
We were happy to just watch and thrilled when they let us help. My hubby did a little drilling:

My kids helped with the packets of the children needing sponsors:

Everyone pitched in and constructed a replica home you might see in the slum, where Maureen grew up.

After she gives her compelling and touching testimony, she stands in the doorway of this mock home and answers questions.

People are moved at the image of this beautiful girl who has been rescued from poverty.
As I helped Maureen hang some “fact cards” on the interior walls of the home, she said, “This would be a nice home in the slums of Africa.” I remembered Vincent’s home and I silently nodded my head.
Once the home was completed, our family of five gathered inside. The average size of a family in Africa is usually at least five and I wanted my kids to see what it felt like to live in such a small space:

As I sat there with my family squeezed into the small, one-room dwelling, the nicest home on the block, I thanked God once again for His gentle reminder, this tangible example of perspective.
I’m pretty sure my family will never forget it.

When Jesus Isn’t Enough . . . . July 7, 2010

2010-12-10T20:03:00.000-08:00

By kristen
When I sat in his closet-sized home in the middle of Africa, I couldn’t take my eyes off the pathetic interior or ignore the dripping rain on my head.
I tried to not to imagine the “community toilet” he shared with neighbors adjoined by paper-thin walls or how far he walked each way to school everyday, in the dark, both ways.
The peace on his face was undeniable and the light that radiated from his eyes filled the dark room of his orphan-led home.
I didn’t understand how he could be so content with so little. And I couldn’t stop the question, “Why are you so happy? Why aren’t you afraid?”
He looked at me as if I’d missed it entirely and said, “Because I have Jesus.”
He didn’t say anything else. It was a heavy statement. It was enough.
He was right, I had missed it. Entirely.
I equate Jesus to comfort and blessings. And when I sat in a hovel, a young boy called home, void of every comfort, I was envious of his contentment.
I returned to a lifestyle with every blessing, only wanting more.
I add Jesus like salt and pepper to a tasteless dish.
He isn’t the main course, just an extra on the side.
Jesus isn’t enough for me.
I think about my happiness that is clouded with every storm that blows into my life. I think about my happiness that is contingent upon what I have versus what I want. I think about my happiness and the strings I attach to it.

I think about a young boy who taught me more about Jesus and myself in a single sentence than my entire Bible College degree and 37 years of living.
One of the great lessons I learned in Africa: When Jesus isn’t enough, something is wrong.
I’m on a quest to make it all about Jesus. It’s easy surrounded by the comforts of my American life to melt back into the The American Way-bigger is better, more is what matters.
This is a painful journey, but more than anything, I want Him to be enough for me.
Is Jesus enough for you? If your happiness, like mine, is determined by how much or how little you have or the next exciting thing in your life, can I gently remind you to return to Him? He is waiting to be enough.

Rescued From Wealth . . . . April 23, 2010

2010-12-10T20:02:00.000-08:00

By kristen

“I avoided coming to visit the poor for a long time. I was afraid my heart would be broken by their condition. Instead, today, I found my heart broken by my condition.”

-a quote from the book Too Small to Ignore,

by Wess Stafford,

President of Compassion International

Big Plans for Our Refrigerator . . . . March 26, 2010

2010-12-10T20:00:00.000-08:00

By kristen
I have a good life.

Everything is orderly (hello, Type A) and has a place–from things that fill a space to abstract emotions and concrete thoughts–there are appropriate compartments.

It’s tidy and neat, just the way I like it.

But then I experienced Africa.

And nothing fits anymore.

Revamping your life is hard. It’s uncomfortable.

Our family has decided to shave off the fluff, to remove some of the extra from our lives.

So, we taught our kids how to clean toilets. Confession: For the past 2 years, we’ve had our house cleaned twice a month. (It was the best 2 years). I’ve worked for my Dad’s small business for several years, while at home with my kids. It’s only a few hours a week, but I used a bit of the money to get my house cleaned. Totally justifiable since I work from home. But totally uncomfortable since I’ve returned from Africa.

You can judge me if you want to.

My daughter gagged a bit as I showed her the toilet cleaning technique. Further proof that this was good for all of us. “Why are we doing this again?” she asked. “We can sponsor more children each month if we clean it ourselves.” (sidenote: Having your house cleaned twice a month doesn’t mean you don’t clean it yourselves. It only stayed “clean” for a precious 30 minutes!)

My children took this small change in stride. They didn’t complain as we tackled room after room.

When we got to the kitchen, I carefully removed the pictures of our sponsored kids from the refrigerator, so I could clean it. (While I was in Africa, my hubby and kids moved the Compassion pictures from the box I stored them in, to the fridge.)

It was a change I loved and decided to keep.

“Mom?” my daughter said, as she wiped down the countertops. “Do you know what my dream is?”

I stopped and listened. I knew this was going to be big.

“To fill our refrigerator with pictures of sponsored kids.”

I cried.

My kids get it. They really do.

(And then they told me what they wanted in their Easter baskets. So, they sort of get it.)

White Girls Can’t Dance . . . . March 22, 2010

2010-12-10T19:59:00.000-08:00

By kristen

In Africa, we only visited one village that wasn’t a Compassion project.

It was at the end of our trip, during our debriefing time, when we visited a very remote Maasai tribe. Entering the village was like stepping into the pages of National Geographic Magazine.

Branches and sticks circled the small village to keep wild animals away. Mud, manure and hardworking women turned huts into homes. These indigenous people survive only on the meat, milk and blood of their animals. I’ve never seen a more primitive way of life.

Although this village is remote, they allowed us to view their way of life because they wanted us to buy from them. As we entered the village, they insisted that the women in our group sing and dance with the Maasai wives. It was an honor we couldn’t refuse (especially since the man instructing us held a warrior club).

He led us to nine of the wives (one with a baby strapped to her back), many of whom looked like girls. They removed their heavy beaded necklaces and placed them over our heads.

Y’all, I don’t sing.

And I certainly do. not. dance. (Because snapping fingers and swaying does not a dancer make). But I also wasn’t feeling rebellious.

A low moan and foreign words came from the lips of the women as they bent and moved back and forth. It sounded something (or actually, nothing) like “Maaaaaaaaaa Woooooooooo Chuma Dago Soto (and then, I do not lie, they said) Hell, Yeah“

So, we bent and we sang some noises and we all ended each phrase with…

“Hell, Yeah.”

Totally inappropriate for a Compassion International trip.

http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=10265008&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1 Maasai Dancing from keely Scott on Vimeo.

But it worked.

WFMW: Letter Writing Tips . . . . March 17, 2010

2010-12-10T19:57:00.001-08:00

By kristen

One of the most unexpected and amazing parts of my trip to Africa was learning just how important a sponsor letter is to a child.

Every Compassion child I met had reread the letters from their sponsors until they were nearly memorized. The letters were prized-possessions.

If you’re a new sponsor, you will receive a packet with a little bit of information about your child, like the one I received right before I left for Africa:

(Ephantus in Kenya)

While in Kenya, I met a boy named Anthony, a recent graduate of the Leadership Development Program (LDP), who had been a sponsored child for more than 20 years:

Anthony is a young business owner whose smile could light up a room. He was joyful and kind, articulate and thankful to Compassion and his sponsor. But he had one regret: in all the years of rising out of poverty, he never received one letter from his sponsor. He said every Saturday he would long for his name to be called, so he could learn more about the family who had changed his life.

It never happened.

Anthony was still overcome with gratitude for his sponsor. “I prayed for him everyday,” he said in a quiet voice. “I still do.”

If you sponsor a child, I cannot urge you enough to start a relationship with them. It won’t just change their life, it will change yours.

Out of Africa . . . . March 14, 2010

2010-12-10T19:55:00.000-08:00

By kristen

I don’t know who I am.

It’s a startling realization to not recognize yourself: My own voice sounds hollow. My eyes hold a distant stare, remembering all I’ve seen in Africa this past week. My thoughts keep me awake at night.

Just days after I returned, I found my husband carefully watching me. “I don’t feel like I know you,” he said softly, beckoning.

“I don’t feel like I know me either,” I said.

And I cried.

I feel more than guilt for such an easy life, accessible food, clean water and abundance. I feel aware. The blinders are gone. I can’t pretend I don’t know how the poorest of the poor live. I can’t act like there aren’t children who go to bed hungry. I can’t ignore that 30,000 children die each day from preventable causes.

I can’t stop thinking about Vincent, living as an orphan and father, in squalor. When I close my eyes at night, his face is what I see. I see him in his “home” that’s not fit for an animal.

I see the joy of the Lord in his eyes. Peace. I see Jesus.

I think that is what is so hard. I cannot reconcile his lack of every basic need and such fullness in his heart and life. The two don’t mix.

In America, in my town, in my home and heart, I complain about a dirty house, yard work, needing a “break” from cooking or my children. Every basic need is met, PLUS more luxuries than I can count.

With so much, how can my joy be incomplete?

How is it that I can see true peace in one of the largest slums in the world, where the smell of death is prominent and it’s rare in the most blessed nation?

I’m not sure how to mix these worlds together; how to show my spouse all that I’ve seen and all that my heart holds, or parent my kids without guilt.

I don’t know how to find myself again. I don’t know how to return to my everyday life when children still need to be sponsored. But I’m trying.

I am so thankful for this place, although foreign and uncomfortable, I’m not alone. God is right here with me, leading me into new places.

I may be out of Africa, but it will never be out of me.

——————————————–

I’ll be privately reflecting this week, but will still be hosting Works For Me Wednesday this week and also The World’s Largest Nerf Party this Friday (giveaways, included! There’s still time to have a party with your kids to celebrate Mason’s defeat of cancer!).

Kenya: Day 7: It’s Time to Leave Africa . . . . March 11, 2010

2010-12-10T19:54:00.000-08:00

By kristen

My duffle bag is packed, waiting by the hotel door.

In just a few hours, I’ll be leaving Kenya, flying thru the night to Amsterdam.

We had a debriefing meeting with the Compassion blog team last night and we cried as we started decompressing and processing all that we’ve seen.

Our leader, Shaun Groves, told us a story about a man named Everett Swanson. In the 1950′s, he was visiting a friend in Korea immediately after the Korean war. There were thousands and thousands of orphans left without parents and homes during this country’s devastating time.

Everett Swanson saw children piled up in the doorways of homes, trying to stay warm. They were abused by the guards who tried to scatter them because they were a nuisance. Everett watched as a guard picked up a child by the wrist and ankles and threw them into the back of a truck.

He said to his friend, “No one, no matter how small, should be treated this way.”

And he wept for the children.

His friend looked at him and said, “Now that you’ve seen, what will you do?”

Now that you’ve seen, what will you do?

Everett Swanson returned to the United States and started Compassion International.

Compassion is now reaching one million of the poorest children in 25 countries.

I’m going to be honest with you: I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to return to my normal life. I don’t know how to take what I’ve seen and experienced, smelled and touched and live the same way in my perfect little bubble.

Now that I’ve seen the face of a Maasai woman with my own name and learned of her hardships, walked thru the dark alley of hell, called Mathare Valley, touched the face of an orphan named Susan, learned that one of my own sponsored kids is living in dire poverty with a crippled father, watched an angel dance, I have to answer the question that burns in my heart and keeps me awake throughout the night….

What will I do?

—————————————————-

Two of our sponsored children live in Africa. I’m leaving my heart with them.

http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=10018565&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1Many of you have sponsored a child this week. I am so thankful that you saw the need, heard God and acted. I am grateful that you carry this heavy burden with me. Some of you are asking the same question I am: What will I do now that I’ve seen?

For those of you who’ve read along, but haven’t been able to sponsor yet, I implore you to talk about it as a family. There are still children waiting to be sponsored.

During the next several days, I will be reconnecting with my family. There will be a lot of hugging and crying and figuring out how and what we’re supposed to do. Will you pray for me as I process all that I’ve been exposed to?

I love y’all.

Day 6: Maureen . . . . March 9, 2010

2010-12-10T19:49:00.000-08:00

By kristen

Maureen grew up in a one room shack with dirt floors and one family bed for six people. The poorest of the poor. Breakfast and lunch were a luxury and dinner usually consisted of porridge without sugar. She didn’t know what it felt like for her stomach not to rumble.

Once after going several days without food, she and her sister decided to go look for some in their Nairobi slum. They found rotten vegetables and rotten fruit and thanked God for it. “I was around 6 years old. It was a breakthrough,” she says.

Maureen was invited to register in a Compassion project and got a sponsor when she was seven years old. Her life slowly began to improve. She says at first she only went to the Saturday project for food. It was the first time she’d had a balanced meal, which is enough to prevent malnutrition. She would pretend like she was going for seconds and fill her bag with food for her three other siblings. Compassion dropped off monthly food supplies to her home and paid for her school uniforms, shoes, education.

After some time as a sponsored child, she asked Jesus into her heart. “I let go of my bitterness and God came into my life.”

Maureen is a special young woman. She is now 24 years old. After completing the child sponsorship program, she interviewed and was accepted into Compassion International’s Leadership Development Program, designed for bright students with leadership skills who want to go to the University. There are 275 LDP students in Kenya (one of them is the man from the video yesterday who met his sponsor at the Catalyst conference). It costs $300 a month to sponsor an LDP student. This pays for their college education and gives them a living allowance.

She will graduate in May with a degree in Education. Her eyes welled up with tears when she mentioned the sponsor she’d never met. She said, “Do you know them? They are well-known because they sponsor sixty LDP students.” I quickly calculated $18,000 in my head and thought I misunderstood her.

“Yes, it’s true,” they are great donors to Compassion and they write us all letters. They are creating a legacy in us.

Mckmama and I spent a lot of time talking and the more I got to know Maureen, the better I began to understand the beauty of Compassion International and the total picture. It was so fulfilling to see this young girl escape poverty and learn that she used her LDP monthly allowance to move her entire family out of the slum and better their life.

We exchanged email addresses and she said, “Are you on Facebook, I’d like to friend you.” I laughed at the unexpected question! and said yes, of course.

When she was asked, “What would you say to your sponsor if you could right now?”

She answered confidently, “I’d tell them I’m a hero because of them.”

___________________________________

I have now seen the ends and outs of Compassion International. I have never been more impressed or blessed with a ministry that answers the high calling of God. It’s the real deal. If you still haven’t sponsored a child, this is your day. Don’t neglect the tug you feel in your heart. It’s God.

Day 5: Today, I Went to Hell . . . . March 8, 2010

2010-12-10T19:48:00.000-08:00

By kristen

Armed guards (or bouncers, as Kenyans call them) walked us down a descending, muddy trail into Mathare Valley, one of Kenya’s largest slums, where 800,000 people live in an approximate two mile area.

Bile rose up in the back of my throat as my senses were overwhelmed with raw sewage and the smell of depraved humanity.

Silent tears streaked my face as we walked tightly in a group at a fast pace. We were told to “get in the project and get out” as quickly as possible. No cameras allowed (expect by our professional photographer, Keeley, who took pictures from her hip, under her jacket).

I simply do not have words to describe what I saw today. In my wildest imagination, I could never create these images. It was dark and oppressive. Evil and dangerous. The children looked so unhealthy, sick, desperate. The living conditions are not for the living.

Mathare Valley is a hell hole.

It is littered with young prostitutes, lonely orphans, vile pornography and extreme violence. Drug use and addiction, alcoholism are very common. The Compassion International project is deep in the center of the slum. We walked through absolute filth. I had to cover my mouth and nose several times to stop gagging.

I saw so much hopelessness. Where was God? How could He allow so much suffering?

The Compassion project is in the middle of this mess. The minute we entered the gate, I burst into tears, nearly sobbing. I felt such relief to be in a safer place. I immediately noticed the Compassion kids looked different. I saw something that was lacking in the rest of the Mathare Valley slum: it was hope.

There are nearly 300 children in this project, one of three in the area. Some of the beautiful children sang to us and performed a drama. Out of all the Compassion projects we’ve visited, I found it unbelievable to discover the most talented, gifted children in the worst of conditions.

It was like watching beauty rise from the ashes.

We went to the home of one of the boys who sang to us. His name is Vincent. He is in a child-led home, which is Kenya’s way of saying, he is a total orphan and there are no adults in his home. He is both brother, father and mother to his sibling. Vincent was orphaned as an 8 year old child and is now 18.

Compassion came alongside him and saved his life. Compassion gave him a job of delivering food, so he can provide for his brother. Vincent’s home was the most pathetic we’ve seen. It was just a dank, dark space, the size of a walk-in closet. It leaked rain water on us as we talked with him. There is no electricity, no running water. He does his homework by a small kerosine lamp.

We asked Vincent to describe a typical day: “I get up a 4 a.m. every morning. I get myself ready in the dark and then wake up my brother and he gets ready for school. I drop him off and then I walk an hour and a half to school, each way. I get home at 6:30 p.m. and I bring food home from school for my brother and I to eat. I do my homework by candlelight and then start again the next day.”

I asked him, “Are you afraid?”

He said that he used to be, but then he found Jesus. “I am not afraid with Christ in my life.”

There wasn’t a dry eye. We were simply overwhelmed by this amazing young boy, alone in the world, brave and strong, a Christ-follower. He smiled when he was asked what he did for fun. “I like music,” he said quietly.

The Compassion social worker asked him to sing us a song he had written:

http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=10011386&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1

Today, I went to Hell.

But I found Jesus in the midst of it, helping Vincent and his friends find a way out.

Even now, after being back at the hotel for two hours, I feel like I’m in shock. I will never forget the smells and images of Mathare Valley slum.

There are five children in the one Compassion project we visited who need a sponsor and countless others in the surrounding areas. Today, I saw what Compassion does. It simply and profoundly saves children from death. It gives them life.

Day 4: My Rescue . . . . March 7, 2010

2010-12-10T19:46:00.000-08:00

By kristen

They said her village was too far away.

Too remote to travel to Nairobi to meet me at the city amusement park.

But by some miracle and communication error, she came.

Makena, one of our family’s sponsored children, traveled with a Compassion social worker by motor bike for two hours, bus for an hour, and finally by car to join our newly sponsored boy, Ephantus. They came to meet their sponsor. Me.

It was a double blessing.

Makena, 7, experienced one hundred firsts today, including leaving her primitive village and riding in a car for the very first time. Ephantus is six and is from an urban Nairobi slum.

I cannot describe the unbelievable connection I had with these children. To them the word sponsor is equivalent to our word hero. They both said my name whispered in their mother tongue with reverence.

It was both humbling and empowering: Sponsorship rescues them from poverty, but it has rescued me from wealth.

Today, I became a mother again. The translator told these two children from different tribes and parts of Kenya, they were now brother and sister. Because of me. Tears mingled with laughter as we all experienced new things….

…..riding on a third world ferris wheel

….like petting a baby crocodile

….riding a camel

….together

…….and holding a crocodile egg

I fought back tears when I learned that Makena’s father was seriously injured in a land dispute recently in his village and was left for dead. He survived, but is crippled and unable to care for his family. I was told “the mother is strong,” but I ache for her as she is both mother and provider to Makena and her three siblings.

But these kids aren’t some distant strangers who will get an occasional letter and $38 a month from an American. This is my family. These are my people. Sponsorship is so much more than a financial commitment, it is a relationship. Relationship breeds love. I love these children. I weep for them. I want Ephantus to have new shoes. I want Makena to have a new dress, since her best one is ripped. I want the best for them.

When it was time to give my sponsored children gifts, I was empty-handed because I had only prepared for one. I was thankful I had stuffed Ephantus’ new backpack very full and brought him two soccer balls.

I quickly emptied my polka dotted bag and split the items. I’ve never been more proud to carry my things in a paper sack.

A brother and sister born out of compassion:

Compassion International has joined our hearts and lives forever, here and in eternity. I thought I was sponsoring children to help them.

Turns out I was the one needing to be rescued.

________________________________________

Perhaps, you do too. Click here to sponsor a child.

I strongly urge you to watch what happens when a sponsored child grows up and becomes an adult and meets their sponsor for the first time after 19 years of relationship. (Make sure you
watch it to the end).

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WW0uTKblmN4]

*Did you know Compassion allows you to give family gifts to your sponsored child up to $1000 a year? Compassion International meets with the family to decide how the money should be spent…a new roof, beds, etc.

the really good photos are by Ryan Detzel and Brad Ruggles and the thought behind this post was inspired by Shaun Groves.

Day 3: Why I’m in Kenya . . . . March 6, 2010

2010-12-10T19:40:00.001-08:00

By kristen

Today we traveled far outside the city limits to visit the Maasai people, a nomadic tribe indigenous to Kenya. More than three hundred women and children met us at the road and walked us into the Compassion project.

The Maasai tribe is known worldwide for maintaining their strict cultural and ritual traditions and resisting modern ways. For centuries, women, especially have suffered in their male dominated world. Polygamy is very common, with men having 3 or 4 wives and dozens of children.

“Female genital mutilation (FGM) and forced marriages of 13-year-old girls to men decades older than them characterize the lives of 99 percent of Maasai girls. A gender-oppressive culture, few and understaffed education facilities, and long treks from home to school and back across the vast savanna plains full of wild animals are some of the challenges girls in my community endure to access education” a quote from one of the Maasai women who grew up as a sponsored Compassion child. (You can continue to read her amazing story and how Compassion saved her from this traditional life here).

The Maasai Compassion project we visited exuded joy. Sheer happiness. It is unbelievable how much Compassion has helped this tribe as a whole.

Today, I saw hope.

http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=9961844&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1

I saw a classroom full of children, excited to learn about Jesus! They were knowledgeable, engaged, interested. Happy!

We
were honored to serve 300 children lunch. It’s tradition to work for
your food, so we served some of the children before we ate:

We traveled to the home of one of the Maasai women, ironically named Kristen
.

She is the third wife of a very old man. She has seven children, one of whom is registered in the program, but waiting to be sponsored.

Her only income to support her very large family is selling her beadwork. She sells a single beaded necklace for 100 shillings. That’s the price of a Coke.

I am wearing a bracelet she spent hours making while I’m typing this post.

The tiny, dark kitchen where she prepares food for her family is the size of a closet:

We brought several weeks worth of food as a thank you for letting us visit her home. (LV demonstrating how the natives carry food on their head).

I fell in love with the colorful Maasai people today. They shine Jesus.

I wasn’t invited to Kenya to blog Compassion’s relief efforts because I’m special or because my blog is a certain size.

I wasn’t asked to come along on this life-altering journey because I am a good writer or gifted in any way.

This isn’t about me.

I am in Africa because of you.

You are the reason I traveled 33 hours across the globe.

I am in Africa because of them.

I left my home and family to tell their story.

I’m just the person in the middle. I’m the narrator of a God story. A conduit.

You have the hard job. You have to weigh my words, take courage and let them seep into your heart. You have to make a choice.

This is about this child needing a sponsor today, right now:

This is about you.

Click here to sponsor a child.

Day 2:True Religion . . . . March 5, 2010

2010-12-10T19:38:00.000-08:00

By kristen

I met an orphan today.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget her face:

These beautiful children welcomed us today into the Compassion Child Sponsor Program about an hour outside of Nairobi. Their faces glowed as they sang and danced for us.

There are 3o3 children at this project who are helped by Compassion. They are fed a balanced meal weekly at the local Anglican church, educated, visited in their homes and watched over. Compassion steps in immediately if they see a child or their family become highly vulnerable.

I sat down on a bench and she scooted towards me. “What is your name?”

In perfect English, “My name is Susan. I am 12.”

She looked at me. I mean, really, looked into my eyes with a question in hers and then she blurted out, “Can I touch your hair?”

Automatically, my hand found my gnarled curls. I haven’t been blow drying my hair straight, so it’s a bit wild and I thought she might be intrigued by The Crazy.

“Yes, you may touch my hair.” She stood behind me and I felt her hands tangle in my hair. She smoothed it out, scrunched it up, all while lightly caressing it. (I wanted to say ‘a little to the left’ because it felt really good!)

She tried braiding my hair and after a few minutes she gave up saying, “I think something is wrong with your hair. I can’t braid it.” Oh Susan, you are a wise one.

She sat down again and I returned the favor, lightly touching her neat rows of perfectly braided her.

Again, her eyes found mine and she questioned, “Can I touch your skin? It is so white.”

This time I could only nod as she gently touched my arms and

then my legs peeking out from my cropped pants.

“You are the first white woman I have touched,” she said in an almost hushed voice.

[Dramatic pause because I almost cried]

“Would you like to see a picture of my children?” I asked.

“Oh, yes!” she said as I dug a photo from my backpack and the other children gathered around. “They are so beautiful. So white.”

I told her that our next family picture would have another child,,, perhaps with skin like hers.

She placed her hand over mine.

Little did I know that Susan was one of the eight children deemed highly vulnerable by Compassion. She is an orphan.

But she is loved by her grandmother, a widow, raising her and three other orphans. Her grandmother is 66 years old, outliving the life expectancy of the average Kenyan woman by nearly two decades. When Compassion found her, the grandmother couldn’t walk, was in extremely poor health due to the stress of raising four orphans on a widow’s mite.

Compassion has made all the difference for this little family.

They have returned their dignity by aiding them in the most practical ways: improving their pathetic home into livable space, helping to grow a garden, providing job skills and money to start a business and so much more.

(the wall of her home)

I’d say there is more joy and contentment in their tiny home than in most of ours.

We packed up to leave and Susan caught my eye. We had already said our goodbyes, but she gave me the same questioning look. I nodded. She ran from the playground (funded by Compassion), and climbed into our van. She threw her arms around my neck.

We held one another. It was like she knew I would mother an orphan one day and understood that I needed one more hug. Or maybe she needed a hug from a mother.

Hot tears mixed with hot water as I washed away the dirt from the streets of Kenya back at our hotel. I couldn’t erase away the feelings and the emotions of poverty and human suffering of such great magnitude. But I don’t think I’m supposed to.

I want to feel it all. I want my heart to break with what breaks the heart of God.

I want to do hard things. I’m asking you to get uncomfortable. I’m asking you to stretch further than you’d like. I’m asking you to do something hard, bigger than you imagined, greater than you planned.

I’m asking you to give up a few fast food meals a month, to take a second look at your family budget, to sponsor a second child or a third. I’m asking you to give until it hurts.

Because it’s in that place of being stretched that God will meet you and bless you. I believe He throws open the windows of Heaven and pours out more than we can handle when we care for the widows and the orphans.

James 1:27 “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”

I’m asking you to rescue a child from the grips of poverty.

Jesus says that is true religion.

Please, click here to see children waiting for a sponsor. Children just like Susan. There are twelve children from today’s project needing a sponsor. They need you. I’d love for my friends and family and blog readers to sponsor all 12 of them.

Jesus: The Great Social Worker . . . March 5, 2010

2010-12-10T19:36:00.001-08:00

By kristen

Today I walked the muddy streets of Nairobi, Kenya. I stumbled over the rocky path littered with filth and entered the home of a young mother, named Caroline.

She kept her small one-room-home tidy and greeted her guests with a warm smile, holding her one year old on her hip. She wiped the corner of her baby’s mouth with the edge of her dress as she explained how the Compassion Child Survival Program had made an enormous difference in her life.

She’s not so different from me, really. Sure, our worlds are like night and day, one American living in opulence, the other African, living in squalor. But there is a chord that binds our hearts together: we are both mothers.

(her daughter, Eunice)

Please visit (in)Courage to read the rest of her story….

Day 1: Moved With Compassion March 4, 2010

2010-12-10T19:34:00.000-08:00

By kristen
She wore a yellow dress, cinched at the waist, with shoes too big for her feet and a smile too big for my heart.

Her three year old hand found mine and it didn’t take long for her to climb into my lap.

She was a perfect fit.

Her name is Paris and she is a child at Compassion’s Child Survival Program (more info on CSP) in one of Kenya’s 42 projects, that focuses on aiding and educating pregnant women and their unborn. We spent the day learning of this amazing project that invites expecting women into the program for the first three years of their child’s life. This program is crucial since so many children die in the first five years of life.

We were welcomed by song and native dance that left me a weeping mess. Joy and beauty mixed. (here’s a 17 second clip)

Women shared their testimonies of how Compassion teaches them prenatal care and the importance of a balanced diet, vaccinations and breastfeeding. They also learn useful skills (jewelry, soap-making) so they can make money for their families.

We then traveled (on the wrong side of the road!!) to the homes of several of these mothers, dirt roads…through a winding slum…the smells of fish, smoke and sewage filled the air. Emaciated dogs and goats peppered the roads, along with piles of trash and people.

People everywhere, some milling, some begging (and even trying to reach into the windows of our van), many as street vendors trying to sell fruit, meat covered with flies, or their handmade items.

Parking on the side of a dirt road in a congested area, we walked down a winding path to the home of one of the mother’s in the Compassion Child Survival program. Her name is Jackline.

She was so proud to welcome us into her home. It was the size of my master bathroom, with one family bed. She spoke with hope in her voice and with thankfulness to God for the work of Compassion.

She proudly showed us her skill of turning dirt and charcoal into briquettes she used to roast corn, making a profit of around .7 cents each. She usually sells 7-8 ears of corn, making less than around $.50 cents a day, but enough to make a difference for her precious family.

Today, I saw hope in a slum. I listened to her dreams of a future in the middle of unspeakable squalor. I saw Jesus.

Paris, the adorable three year old in the yellow dress was waiting when I returned to the project, with her arms outstretched. I was told that her time in CSP is nearly up, and she will be available for individual child sponsorship very soon.

She needs a sponsor. She needs you. I think of my own three year old thousands of miles away living with every luxury of an American child. The only difference in Paris and my little girl is they were born in different places. As her mother, I want the best for her. I pray for God to bless her.

Paris’ mother prays the same thing. She has the same hope for her child. She prays that someone will be moved with compassion. She prays for you.

You can make a difference today, right now. For only $38 a month, you can change a life! Please, I’m asking for the mothers I met today, will you to be the answer to their prayers?

There are twelve children who need sponsors at the CSP project we were at today. Twelve kids waiting on a mother’s prayer to be answered.

“Christ has not body on earth but yours,

no hands, but yours, no feet but yours.

Yours are the eyes through which Christ’s compassion for the world is to look out;

yours are the feet with which He is to go about doing good;

and yours are the hands with which He is to bless us now.” Saint Teresa

Click here to see the children waiting for a child sponsor.

I’m Not Sure If It’s Night or Day . . . March 3, 2010

2010-12-10T19:32:00.000-08:00

By kristen
But we made it! The travel was smooth and uneventful and we’re just getting to our rooms to catch a few hours of sleep before a packed day tomorrow. I can’t wait to tell you all about it.
So, yes, Mom. I’m okay. Thanks everyone for your prayers! I felt them traveling across the globe during the last 30+ hours.
The amazing adventure has begun!

Goodbye. United States of America. Hello. Third World Country. . . . March 2, 2010

2010-12-10T19:28:00.000-08:00

By kristen

The other day when I mentioned our plans to adopt, my friend Missy, emailed me and said, “Get ready, because Satan HATES adoption. He preys on orphans and he’s going to fight you.”

To which I replied:

“Um, we’ve been talking about overcoming lust and pornography in marriage for weeks on my public blog and I’m going to Africa on Tuesday…I think Satan knows my name,” I emailed her back thinking of the week we’d been having.

Her reply: “I bet Satan has wanted pictures of your face all over Hell.”

And that thought, (especially for this good girl) pleased me immensely. And scared me a bit.

I understand that spiritual warfare is real, but for some reason, I’m always slow to see it as that. This past week, all my carefully laid plans fell apart-from childcare for my kiddos to unexpected expenses, to plain old discouragement. I got nasty comments, a few mean emails, and physically, I felt horrible.

I’m not gonna lie, it’s been a tough journey to get to today.

And if you must know, I stopped for sweet tea waaayyy more than I should have and thus, I’m traveling in stretchy pants today).

(Even on the way to the airport I ran by Chick Fil A. I figured I needed to start this trip in the right frame of mind).

But, I’m on my way to Minneapolis right now, where I’ll meet up with the Compassion Team: Shaun Groves, Patricia Jones (Team leader and my roommate), Keely Scott (photographer), Chris Giovagnoni (Compassion staff), MckMama, Brad Ruggles, Kent Shaffer, LV Hanson, and Ryan Detzel. We’ll arrive in Amsterdam Wednesday morning for a layover and then on to Nairobi, Kenya, arriving after about 36 hours of travel.

And I’m just giving Satan and Hell fair warning, there are many people praying for this journey and I’ve got an amazing partner (GOD) leading the way.

Would you pray for our team?

Would you pray for me? Because the whole Wanted Poster is sort of new for me.

To My Family . . . . March 1, 2010

2010-12-10T19:26:00.001-08:00

By kristen
To my precious children and best friend:

Well. Here we are. We have anxiously and excitedly counted down the days until I travel to Kenya, Africa.

There has been an palpable energy in our home for weeks, an expectant feeling and more love, touching, hugging and being than I’ve ever experienced. My heart is so full. As I’ve readied for this journey, each of you has come beside me and enabled me to go. You’ve given me the greatest gifts-encouragement, courage, love and abiding joy.

To my children: You’ve given me wings to fly across the globe and tell another child’s story. You’ve selflessly released me to shed the light on the forgotten, to give the poor a face, so that children might be rescued from poverty.

Thank you, sweet babies. I am honored to be your Momma and I am so proud of each of you. You have taught me so much.

(the note my oldest made for me, tucked away in my unstamped passport)

I love you.

To my husband: You are the perfect match to my soul. I’m taking you with me because I am not whole without you. You will walk the dirty streets and see the dust covered children with me. I carry you in my heart. Thank you for being my greatest friend and champion. You have encouraged this in me, you have been my hero and shown me Jesus.

I love you.

The day I said yes to this trip with Compassion International, I knew I would return a different person, never seeing life the same thru my naive eyes.

But I didn’t know I would be a different person before I even left. My sweet family, you have prepared your hearts and we will never be the same.

I am ready.

My Upside Down World . . . .February 8, 2010

2010-12-10T19:20:00.001-08:00

By kristen

Before bed the other night, we were reading a chapter of Do Hard Things to our 10 and 7 year old. (I’ll be sharing more about this book in the months to come). I was encouraging my kids to do hard things and shared this story with them:

I was a nerd in high school.

Not the classic geek with taped glasses and a pocket protector, but a misfit, nonetheless.

I was a Christian, carried my Bible most days and even wore a rhinestone pin on my clothes that spelled the name Jesus.

And that combination pretty much clinched me a spot at a lunch table on the other side of the room from the popular kids. I also had very few dates.

I didn’t feel sorry for myself though. Actually, most days I was proud to be different.

I was on the school newspaper and developed a love for graphic design (this was in the early 90′s). I had a dream of making a Christian t-shirt to wear to school. I came up with a design after school hours on the computer. My idea: an upside down world that said, “I want to turn the world upside down for Jesus.”

I wanted to do something hard.

My daughter couldn’t believe I never had that shirt made. It just wasn’t an easy thing back then. I wasn’t sure she’d gotten the point of my story.

I hadn’t thought about that young girl in a long time. I went to bed feeling discouraged that I couldn’t even get caught up on laundry or get my toddler to eat her dinner, much less change the world.

Well, something amazing happened this past week:

I got my shirt!!

My unbelievable hubby created it online and surprised me with it.

Y’all, I cried when I read the front:

(it says “I want to turn the world upside down for Jesus.”

-Kristen, Age 14

and I sobbed when I read the back:

(We are THAT family. com Kenya March 4-10)

I haven’t even gone to Africa yet and my life is being turned upside down.

It’s a new, uncomfortable place –

That feels right.

What is your childhood dream? Are you living it?

And how about that hubby of mine???

I’m Going to….. January 12, 2010

2010-12-10T19:16:00.000-08:00

By kristen
Two years ago something amazing happened that changed my life.

I was brand new to the blog world and discovered a community of bloggers, like Rocks in My Dryer and Boo Mama. They were both talking about going to Africa with Compassion International and blogging their trip.

It was during that week on their amazing journey, that we welcomed our first Compassion child, Bereket from Ehthiopia, into our hearts. I’ll never forget explaining the work of Compassion to my children over dinner, showing them his picture.

We set out to help him. In doing so, he’s helped us. We see the needs of others more clearly now because of that boy.

We chose Ethiopia because we knew my twin sister and her family would be bringing home a new daughter from there. She’s home and, oh my, has my heart grown for the continent of her birth. I think of her sisters, left behind, working as slaves and worse, every day. I whisper prayers over them.

And then, I discovered Kisses from Katie in Uganda. I shared my heavy, heart-burden for the unbelievable life of sacrifice this young woman leads. You helped me carry the burden and together we bought $3,200 in chickens and blankets in just 24 hours.

Just this past Christmas, under the tree, was a package with our new sponsored child, Judith from Uganda, where Katie lives. She’s ten, like my daughter and they have already written to each other.

And today, just two hours ago, I sat with my kids as they lovingly and longingly chose a third child to sponsor.

Her name is Makena, she’s 6 and she’s from Kenya. (She was chosen because a little red heart marked her Compassion picture which signified that she has been waiting for a sponsor for at least six months. My son, “Mom, no child should wait that long.”)

My heart has grown.

And now, my life is going to change forever.

It’s surreal, that two years after discovering the blog world and sponsoring our first Compassion child, and even more recently, falling in love with a strange land I’ve only seen in pictures, that I’m going….

to Kenya, Africa, with Compassion International.

Many details, papers, arrangements need to be made, but one thing is heavy on my heart as I type this…I need to ask, will you pray for me?

What is Traveling Hearts?

2007-06-30T19:58:00.000-07:00

Today my family and I had lunch with a truly amazing family. These are people who are generous, genuine, loving and creative. If I continued to describe them I am afraid you would think I was exaggerating.

Long story short . . . their daughter (8 years old) told me that she wanted to start a foundation.
She had a mission, a name and she has even begun to create some supplies.
My son (7 years old) was on-board immediately. He has been missing our twice weekly Kindermusik with Seniors and complaining about it for some time now.

The foundation is called "Traveling Hearts" and the mission is to go to hospitals and retirement homes in order to bring love & happiness to residents.

Welcome to the beginning of our journey. I will be turning this blog over to the founder -- Her parents or I will be with her EVERY minute she is on the computer but the direction and feel of Traveling Hearts will be hers.

Check in on us every week or so -- leave us your comments -- be inspired and blessed by Traveling Hearts!