Zawadi, the Dentist, and Changing Lives

Warning: this post is a shameless (though un-paid) endorsement of the work that Compassion does in the lives of people living in poverty around the world.

I've sponsored children through Compassion since I was 16 and I highly recommend it.  They are a solid organization that strives to help alleviate poverty not through handouts, but rather through education and multi-generational training as well as helping with immediate material needs.  I like that they use local staff whenever possible, that they rarely raise costs (I think it was $24/month when I started in 1996 and it's $38/month now), that they don't write asking more money beyond your monthly sponsorship, and that they encourage and help facilitate site visits of your child when possible.  If you're interested in making a very tangible difference in the life of a child, here's their website, where you can learn more: Compassion 

This weekend I got a letter from my current Compassion kid, Zawadi.  Compassion facilitates these communications to and from the kids and sponsors maybe about 4 or 5 times a year, and it's always fun to read what is sent.  Zawadi is six and lives in Kenya.  One day soon I expect I'll be getting letters that she writes herself, but for now they're often fill-in-the-blank type formats, and they're always written for her by a Kenyan Compassion staff person.  This letter made me laugh (as per usual) and also made me feel slightly ashamed of my feelings about going to the dentist.  I thought I'd share it with you, so you can enjoy it too.

Side One, (fill-in-the-blank) "My Dental Checkup"

My last dental checkup was on June 21, 2014.  The dental checkup was done at our project center.  I went for my dental checkup with went alone.  [editor's note: I personally LOVE doing stuff with Went Alone.  That guy's a laugh a minute.]  I felt very happy about going to my dental checkup.  [another editor's note:  really?  man.  I feel like an entitled jerk for not going to the dentist because it's scary and it always hurts me.  I'm such a crappy adult.]  One thing that was done at my dental checkup was thorough teeth checkup.  [editor is note-happy: Wow, didn't see that coming!  In other news, I'm suspicious Zawadi didn't actually fill this one in herself.]  At my dental checkup I learned that sweety sweet foods are not good for my teeth.

Side Two, Freestyle

The top of the page has a coloring and drawing area.  Here, take a look.  I think you'll agree that it's already obvious that Zawadi is an artistic genius.

Please note the strength of feeling our young artist put into the coloring of that puppy.  Look how well she stayed in the lines!!  Is that good for six?  I have no idea.  I don't have kids, but I'm pretty sure she's a prodigy.  And check out that handbag she drew next to it!  

Under the pictures is says this:

"Hallo Leslie!!  How are you?  How is your family doing?, she asks.  Zawadi says she thanks God for this far he has brought them.  Zawadi says that her family prays for you and always loves you.  They wish you good health and God's blessings in everything you do."

So yah.  Sponsor a kid.  It's pretty fantastic.  You can do it yourself (even if you're a teenage without a job.  I know from experience).  You can do it as a family (what a great way to teach your kids about helping others, yes?)  You can sponsor as a group (youth group?  small group?  quilting circle?  cricket club?  whatever.)  If you want to know more about it, I would love to talk with you.  $38 a month to change a kid's life.  Plus awesome notes like this one above.  How much easier could it be?

We Do Not Know

This blog is about this newscast.

I watch this and I think about how I have no framework for this sort of event.  I'm like a 2 year old who sees a deer and calls it a cow, because that's the closest thing in his vocabulary.

I see glimpses of what is happening in places like Iraq and Israel and Palestine and I call it "tragedy" or "terrible" or some other impotent word because that's the closest thing in my experience.  It's all I've got.  I don't really understand it.

Just like I don't understand a whole host of hard things that are part of normal life for so much of the world:
Hunger.
True need.
War.
Bombs.

I don't understand what it means to be hunted down for any reason, but especially not because someone hates me for the religion I was born into.

I have never witnessed the kind of hate that looks a person in the eyes and then chooses to steal the life from them.  It's here- that kind of hate- in my own country.  I know this, but I have never experienced it myself.  And I certainly have never experienced it being allowed to run unchecked through the land.

What is going on in the minds of those who managed to climb onboard that helicopter?  What about those who didn't?

"About 20" go on.  "About 40,000" are trapped.  That's gonna take a lot of trips.

And even for those to get on the helicopter: Where will they go?  Will they ever get to go home?  See their families?  Return to some sense of normal?  Will some country take them in?  Will they end up here, in my country?  Will people jeer at them and tell them to "Learn English or go back to your own country?"  Will we really do that to these precious, traumatized people as we have to so many other precious, traumatized people who have fled to us for help in the past?  May it not be so.

Or will they never even be "lucky" enough to face our scorn?  Will they spend the rest of their lives in a refugee camp somewhere, joining the masses of displaced people who never make it back home?

Why was I born here and that little girl was born in Iraq?  So much that I don't understand.

And then I think Oh, it's time to get ready for bed.

I go about my normal routine.  I will lament being alone; I will probably be awakened sometime in the night by the noise of my frat-boy neighbors having a party.  I will hit my snooze too many times before I get up in the morning.  I'll put out my trash and go to work and meanwhile, on the other side of the globe, a little girl is boosted to safety in a rescue helicopter.  Or she isn't.  And my brain stops.  The confusion and sorrow are too thick.  They clog my brain and I run out of comprehension.

These are the times to be thankful for this promise from Romans 8:26- "In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness.  We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with wordless groans."

Oh friends.  We do not know.  We are caught up in a crazy tornado of chaos.  Of horror and monotony and the guilt we feel for worrying about school clothes and Pinterest projects and movies while the world falls apart around us.

It's not that we don't care.  Most of us are sorry this is happening.  But we don't ache.  It's that we don't understand or know what to do.  We are uninspired because we don't know- the people, the places, the pain, the fear.  We are limited creatures.  Perhaps out of mercy, we have been created to disconnect from that which we don't understand if we are allowed to do it.

We disconnect, and that is easier for us, but there is a price for this disconnecting.  That little girl will pay it.  Or maybe her sister will, still trapped in the mountains.  She waits in the heat.  For water.  For rescue.  For hope.  But the question is, will it come?

Hope, Fear, Determination

"That's what momma always says. She says that beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it's the middle that counts the most."
-Hope Floats

I am tired to the very core of my life being a never-ending series of beginnings and endings.  I'm not getting enough middle.  Since I graduated college I have moved communities- like, everyone in my life is new- five times.  I am currently living in my second Reset situation in two years.  And in a few minutes I will voluntarily go do another small beginning in this year of beginnings.

Another I-need-to-introduce-myself-to-everyone-in-the-room evening.

Maybe this time the stars will align and I'll get to stay here and people will have a chance to KNOW me and for me to KNOW them and they will become my family so that I don't have to live life by myself.

Maybe.  Hope is frail, but it's hard to kill.

It's exhausting and scary, walking in alone.  Full of flashbacks of walking into the cafeteria on the first day of high school...

...nagging whispers of insecurity...

...pangs of longing for the family and people-turned-family that you had to leave behind and you wish were at your side now, reminding you that no matter what these new people think, at least one person in the room knows who you are and loves you anyway.

Moving is hard.  Being single is harder.  Doing both at the same time is like being forced to participate in an emotional version of American Ninja Warrior on steroids.  It tests your nerve and teaches you about yourself.  Hard lessons.

I'm not as confident as I'd like.  But brave isn't fearless.  Brave is determined.

So tonight I will again insist that my hope win out over my fear.  I will walk in, imaginary plastic cafeteria tray in my hands, and try to remember names.  Smile and answer questions.  Endure the awkward silences endemic in baby relationships.  I will be determined.  I will protect that tiny bit of hope that tells me this won't always be my life.  And I will pray that my hope is telling me the truth.

Peas please!

I don't really remember how I decided to grow a sun-room garden.  It was probably related to the crazy-cold-snowy winter we have just survived in the Midwest.  I do know a real garden was never a real consideration, thanks to the bunnies that live in my yard.  My neutral feelings toward rabbits combine with my laziness to equate an aversion to planting food for bunnies.  So I decided I could do some potted garden plants in my sunroom, well out of reach of my kitties.  Cause I can actually throw them farther than I trust them.

Anyway, I went to Menards.  I wanted to grow some tomatoes.  I did some stellar, high-school-project-worthy internet research and was armed with the knowledge that tomato plants need about 5 gallons of dirt each.  I find this to be a little greedy, but my feelings seemed unlikely to change anything in this situation, I resigned myself to feed my tomato plants' gluttony for dirt.

The Plan was to leave with some big plant pots, some tomato plants, and some dirt.

What I actually left with was a seed bed flat, a bag of starter soil, and three packets of seeds.  As it turns out, you can't find tomato plants in northern Indiana in early April.  It's too early.

Already smarter.

So I planted those tiny little tomato seeds.  Was I surprised that they looked like the seeds you find in the tomatoes on your sandwich?  Yes I was.  Does this make any sense?  No it doesn't.

I also plants some snap peas.  The directions said the peas should be "direct sown", not started and later transplanted.  But I had no place to direct sow anything, so I planted them in the seed bed flat, too.  I mean, it's an art, not a science, yes?  Here's what it looked like.  I realize that this is not an interesting photo, but I take pictures when I'm proud of myself...

Water and wait.  And the magic begins.  Have you ever grown something from seed?  It's like watching a miracle.  I know that science can explain it, but for me, the explanation takes nothing away from the magic of watching something that seems dead come to life.  Life pops out of the dirt.  I think it explains why you don't often run into an atheistic farmer.

A few days later and my peas, by far faster than the tomatoes, were ready to graduate to big boy and girl beds.  Happily, my green-thumb-friend Megan happened to be coming that weekend, and she was willing to help.  Everything in life is better with a friend along for the ride.

We headed to the store.  Cause buying dirt isn't weird for the rest of the world.  The prices of the containers were insane.  Like, $25 each.  And I would need, oh, maybe 10.  Luckily, I came up with a solution.

Disney Princess to the rescue!!  I bought a kiddie pool.  It was $13.  Please note that it says, "A dream is a wish for every princess."  This nonsense leaves me hoping that line's a poor Chinglish translation and not Disney's intention.  Anyway.  Process pictures...

Am I using a serving spoon as a trowel?  Yes.  Am I feeling happy?  Again, yes.  As is Megan, in her stance of victory (pictured here with slotted spoon).

Our finished project.  Yah, we planted our peas in two concentric circles.  Were we considering staking the plants?  Um, no.  Well, I should speak for myself.  Megan may have been, but I wasn't.  Oops.

But never fear!  A couple weekends later, as the plants reached heights of a foot or so, on the porch with Dad and Sue and Sara, we came up with a great staking plan.  Using my smarty-pants phone pictures, Dad's tape measure, my estimating gestures, and our awesome mathematical skills, we figured out how much wire fencing I would need, and Dad cut me the piece.  He formed it into the right shape for me and I carried it home to The Fort.  If fit perfectly.  Shazzam!!

You're amazed, right?

Look at those beautiful peas!  I can't wait until I get to eat some yummy-lishous snap peas right from my sunroom!