Meet John

The first thing I noticed about John aside from his familiar shy expression, was the way I could see his heart pounding through his shirt. There had been a misunderstanding about which John we were meeting, (John seems to be a name as well loved in Sierra Leone as it is in the U.S.) so he was given no head’s up that he’d be seeing me. When we arrived at the school, he’d already walked home. A staff member took a motorbike to go get him and bring him back. When he walked up to the school’s porch, his day suddenly went from a regular Tuesday of math exams and after-school chores, to four grinning Americans chattering about meeting his sponsor and receiving a gift and getting a video of him. He blinked and had a mic above his head, two cameras on him, and me hugging him.  

He was crazy nervous, and I was too. My first relief was that he spoke English (one of four languages he told me later), so I could communicate with him without an interpreter, but understanding each other’s accents was tedious, and he hardly spoke above a whisper. I gave him his gift and he put his watch and Ohio State hat on without hesitation. We looked through a photo album, I read him notes from the girls, and showed him a letter he’d sent us years ago. He grinned at his crayon drawings and told me what each was. I asked to see his classroom.

He took me across the school yard to a building with narrow bench desks and a wall of chalk boards. I asked about the algebra problems on the board. He said it was from today’s exam, and then explained to me how to solve one of them. He lost me at exponents, as has every math teacher I’ve ever had.

We asked if we could see where he lived. He said it was too far. He didn’t want us walking the distance with our stuff. When we told him we had a vehicle and he could ride along, he agreed. When we arrived, he introduced us to his family members. I gawked at the trees in his back yard loaded with bananas, and he grinned and told me they weren’t ready to eat yet. He was relaxing, but each word was still so quiet.

I asked if I could see his room, the place he spent his time. It was in a separate building. On the walk over I asked about his siblings, their names and ages, how they were doing. “Fine. Thanks be to God” he replied. The standard Krio answer, but it still catches my breath, especially considering the horrors the country has faced the past 2 years. Then he asked me a question. “What?” I asked softly, desperately hoping not to annoy him with my endless requests for him to repeat himself. Between adjusting my ears to a new accent, his quiet tone, and the volume of little voices from his village following us, I was trying to catch each word and not having high success. He asked it again. I paused, apologized, and asked him to repeat it once more.

“How is Kayla?” he said carefully. I stared for a moment.

“Kayla?”

“Yes. Your sister.”

“Kayla my sister!?” I said, stunned. “How do you know Kayla?”

“You sent a photo with her in it.” he said matter of factly.

I answered that she was very well and that I was amazed he remembered. He moved on but my brain was stuck repeating “how is Kayla”.

He told me one of his after-school chores was laundering his clothes, and held up his sparkling white uniform shirt, a startling sight considering the thick red dust. The room he and his brother shared was small. A clothesline ran on either side, for each of them to hang their clothes to dry. The tiny bed was made and the room was orderly and clean. John pointed to a paper tacked above the bed. It was a schedule of his classes. And next to it on the headboard was a notebook. He picked it up and showed me pages of meticulous class notes. “So this is how you are getting such good grades!” I said, looking from the schedule to the literature notes. He gave me a shy grin.

We went back out and he introduced me to some if his friends. Amos grinned wide, much more outgoing than John, and asked if I could take a photo of them together. I told him I would do my best to send a copy the next time I sent photos to John. Then John called for a boy across the way. “David is my best friend, he said.” David came up and shook my hand. We talked about what the boys liked to do. They talked about soccer, but said they had no ball.

“How is your family?” I asked David.

“Both of my parents are dead”, He answered.

"I'm so sorry", I said.

“Do you have uncles and aunts? Grandparents?” I asked?

“No.”

“Do you have a sponsor?”

“No. I have no one. No one but John.” He added, and smiled at John.

I showed John every photo in my phone gallery. His friends and the rest of the village children crowded in to see videos of Landon and Sami in the snow, and to stare at my “very big dog”.

John went into his room and brought out an album that looked vaguely familiar. It was dirty and ragged. It was photos of us I had sent with a team maybe 6 years ago. “See, Kayla!” he said when he turned to one of her with me.

When we went back to his room to take a few more photos, I asked if he had anything else he wanted to show me. He picked a Bible that was laying by his bed.

“My Bible”, he said.

“Wonderful!” I said. “Do you have a favorite chapter you like to read?

He turned to Psalm 25. “This one.” He answered, and read, “In you, LORD my God, I put my trust. I trust in you…” He carefully read the entire chapter. I can’t yet find the right words for what the day meant to me. To witness the incredible person that he is; courageous through many photos and questions, shy as he was, earnestly dedicated to his education, respectful and generous to his family and friends. To see that even without any prior notice or preparation, he knew me, knew my family, was succeeding in school, had received a christmas gift made possible by sponsorship funds, and even over the years and through moves, had kept the photos we sent.

Though his is most personal to me, John’s is not the only impacting story in the three days on the ground here. I watched Yawah’s delight as i read a letter to her from her sponsor. I saw Rugi sit in front of her village and weep as she told her story and spoke of the difference sponsorship and her relationship with Angie has made in her life.

Since John read it to me in his little room, these are the words, the prayer in my heart for John and Rugi and Yawah and the thousands of children like them who have seemingly insurmountable obstacles in their path, yet a light of hope in their eyes.

Guard their life and rescue them; do not let them be put to shame, for they take refuge in you. May integrity and uprightness protect them, because their hope, OUR hope, LORD, is in you. Deliver your children, O God, from all their troubles!

You guys, I came with my doubts and plenty of hard questions. I don’t have them all answered. But I can say this. World Hope International often says “Child sponsorship works”, and I’ve seen it to be true. This month, WHI has a goal of choosing love every day for the month of love. 29 new sponsors choosing to change the story for a child, one for every day of February. I would love for you to join. To be one. Choose one. Choose love. If you’re ready to jump in, or just want to see more of what World Hope is about, visit here.

Good night from the hot and lovely Sierra Leone, ~C

To Sierra Leone

Here’s a riddle: what do hand sanitizer, GoGo SqueeZ applesauce, and Lorazapam all have in common?Answer: A jet engine.

  In the crazy adventure that is life, I’ve been graciously invited to visit Sierra Leone and meet John, the boy we’ve sponsored for many years.

I’ll be traveling on February 8th with my friend Angie, the Education Program Manager for World Hope International. In addition to meeting John and visiting his community and other kids in his school, I’ll get an up-close look at child sponsorship from the receiving side. And I’ll be sharing the stories with you.

  I am all kinds of feelings about this opportunity.

Eager to meet John. I still picture kneeling to say hello to the shy, 3rd grader grin we first saw in a photo of him. In reality, I’ll probably be looking up to a high schooler, and trying to decide if a hug will embarrass him. (I’m guessing I’ll go for it anyway.)

Honored to be trusted with the stories of John and his community.

  Prayerful that I will be able to share their stories authentically, with dignity and respect.

  Teary at the thought of missing my girls and them missing me.

  Thankful for an opportunity to model taking action on the many prayers and conversations we have in our home about joining together with our global neighbors, learning from their stories, and using the gifts God has given us to support, empower, seek justice, and spread hope.

  Loved and full of love for my husband, who has listened to my ideas and dreams for more than a decade, and when a big opportunity arises says, “You should!” without hesitation, even when it means he has to carry extra weight at home for a week.

  Enthused to learn the details and absorb the testimonies of how child sponsorship is working, and to pass stories on to you so we can all be more informed and inspired to take action, to partner with these communities and kids.

  Full of anticipation to walk the streets and experience the sights and sounds and flavors of Seirra Leone.

  And fill in the blank with any antonym of “eager” for my feelings about the plane ride. (Oh, NOW you get the riddle?? Hey, riddle-writing isn’t as easy as it looks, folks.)

I’m really looking forward to sharing this whole experience with you; to give you a virtual tour of Seirra Leone, introduce you to some incredible people, and present you with real stories and real opportunities to be involved. There is a place for you in this story! For now, you can follow me on Instagram to see live posts of the trip, keep an eye on the blog for updates, and check out World Hope International to see more of the great work they’re doing (and follow them on the Insta too!).

Learning to Savor-From the Hospital Room

Last night I got to hug my oldest friend. Not old in age, but old in friendship. She’s in my first memories, my earliest recollections of her being when I was around 3 years old. She taught me how to dress up kitties, and play church with them as our deviant, sulking children, she taught me the game Dead Possum (which I now suspect may have been an original with her), how to suck the pimento out of a green olive, and how to ride double on a banana seat bike. We went on vacations together, spent many summer nights camping with our sleeping bags side by side in a tiny tent, shared (and fell out of) a twin-sized top bunk bed, loved animals together, answered each other's phone calls of “Houston, we have a problem” so many times Houston became a nickname, went on double dates, sobbed on each other’s shoulders through break ups, were bridesmaids in each other's weddings, got ourselves into countless conundrums and embarrassing moments, laughed ourselves into paralysis, and scared each other stiff in the dark nights of many a sleep over.  

  Time rolled on as it has a habit of doing, and we started families and our lives took different paths and we saw less of each other. She is so often the one I think of when I get myself into an absurd situation, or the laughter I hear ringing in my ears when I reminisce about days gone by. But I don’t do a very good job of letting her know how often she is present in my thoughts and her absence is felt in my heart. The past few years have held some dark days for both of us. We’ve sat at each other’s kitchen tables a few times while the kids played, and spoke quietly of fear and depression and longing and loss. She has endured throbbing pain in her body and heart that I can’t imagine, shouldered heavy responsibilities that it still seems like we should be too young to be presented with, and seen too many hospital rooms in the last 2 years.

  Last night she was in one again. This time she sat in a chair beside the bed of her man, smiling softly while he slept the heavy, distant sleep of a body trying to recover from a brain injury. She told me of her last few longer-than- life days, of going from the needs of her tiny infant, to the needs of her Kindergartner sick with a stomach bug, to the bedside of her husband suffering in the ICU. I tried to keep my eyes from spilling over when she said it was as if all the hardest things were happening at once, and we both acknowledged having had words with God because it was all too much. And yet there she was; her baby softly sleeping on a waiting room sofa, oblivious to his family’s crisis, her smile ready and her words clear as she spoke of good reports and better days. Though I saw anxiety in her eyes for the future with all the unknowns a recovery like his holds, she was present, showing up each day for her scariest season yet.

I wish that prayers and a hug felt like enough. I wish that faith in God’s goodness overpowered the fear of suffering and loss and life as we know it being upended in a flash. I wish the cliché “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle” was actually true, that we could be spared from seasons that are too much. I wish it wouldn’t take seeing one of our goofiest, favorite friends silent and still on a hospital bed to make me stop and take notice of the callouses on Dave’s thumb resting against mine, or the strength in his steps when he chases the girls up to bed.

  In reality, friendship is a lot easier when the struggle is over who should sit in front and steer the banana seat bike. Friendship in motion is so much more natural than friendship in stillness. Banter feels more friendly than silence. Comfortable friendship is more a vase of fresh flowers, low maintenance and easy, lovely to look at, but unable to endure seasons. Friendships that endure the seasons are more like a deep, rooted perennial. A tulip blooming and vibrant in the spring seasons, but in other seasons simply present and green, nothing flashy or fancy, and in the winters, silent and still in the dark and the cold. Believing together that the sun will warm the earth again, bringing forth laughter and hope and brighter days.

  I don’t know much about being a good friend in the winter seasons. I want to string up an artificial light and avoid the dark days. I feel frustrated that I can’t fix the broken things. I can’t prevent the pain. I can’t pretend my faith is unfaltering.

  I do know this. I saw my friend smile by her husband’s hospital bed, and it looked like courage. I saw her there, in her hardest days yet, and it looked like faith. Not because she wasn’t scared, but because she was given the strength to show up. I saw her parents there, sitting with her through the difficult days and nights, and it looked like tender love. I saw a life spared, a breath of relief and a light of hope. It all looked like grace, and I a thankful witness. I saw the way Dave’s eyes lingered on the girls and I last night, the way we held each other’s hand a little longer when the lights were turned out, and it looked like savoring.

  If you have an oldest friend, one who’s stories and fears you know by heart even if time has altered the landscape of your friendship, make a call or meet for dinner. Savor the smiles and the sound of her voice.

**The best news of the day is, no hospital room tonight. he's coming home!

GIVEAWAY! On Reading and Listening and WINNING A Free Book!

If you think books are dumb, click the red X and carry on, because this post is basically a love letter from me, to the books. There was a while where college and then adoption and then parenting dictated and formalized my book list, and reading lost its wonder. In 2014 I decided it was time to rekindle the romance. I sat aside parenting and educational books for the most part, and choose books that captured my fancy. I kept a list of what I read all year. It’s a satisfying sense of accomplishment to see all the different stories and ideas and places your mind has explored. And it’s insightful to look back and remember where you were when you were reading a certain book, how you’ve grown and changed even in a year’s time. 2015 was the year of the audio book for me. I mean, where has this invention been all my life? Forget Netflix during nap time, I’ll take a lawn chair in the sun, a cold drink and a pleasant voice reading aloud to me, please. Seriously, it’s my favorite thing. Bored while curling your hair? An audio book will make it riveting. Weary of dwelling on death by asphyxiation while running? I offer you the marvelous distraction of an audio book. Tired of flipping radio stations on a long drive? I humbly suggest turning up the volume on an audio book. Dreading the thought of chopping the potatoes or ironing the drapes or sorting the catalogs or scouring the cellar or sweeping the sow barn or shampooing the motorhome carpet? Insert earbuds, start Audible app, and be blessed. How much does this out-loud reading service cost, you ask? I’m no financial guru, I have no idea. I simply know when it says I have credits, I pick a new book, and then it kindly reads to me for hours. Let’s not make things too complicated.

Here’s my 2015 list: 1. The Great Divorce-C.S. Lewis 2. Bittersweet-Shauna Niequist 3. Cold Tangerines-Shauna Niequist 4. Bringing up Bebé-Pamela Druckerman 5. Scary Close (2 x)-Donald Miller 6. The Hospital By the River-Catherine Hamlin 7. Daring Greatly-Brené Brown 8. The Incomparable Christ (4th time through)-J. Oswald Sanders 9. The Fringe Hours-Jessica N. Turner 10. Bird by Bird-Anne Lamott 11. Bossypants (audio)-Tina Fey 12. What Happens When Women Walk in Faith-Lysa TurKeurst 13. Unoffendable-Brant Hansen 14. Breaking Free-Beth Moore 15. Surprised by Motherhood-Lisa-Jo Baker 16. Through Painted Desserts (audio)-Donald Miller 17. For the Love-Jen Hatmaker 18. Yes Please (audio)-Amy Poehler 19. If You Feel Too Much (audio)-Jamie Tworkowski 20. Antelope in the Living Room (audio)-Melanie Shankle 21. Wild in the Hollow (audio)-Amber Haines 22. Traveling Mercies-Anne Lamott 23. Sparkly Green Earrings (audio)-Melanie Shankle 24. Packing Light (audio)-Allison Vesterfelt 25. A Moveable Feast-Ernest Hemmingway 26. The Writing Life (audio)-Annie Dillard 27. To Kill A Mockingbird (audio)-Harper Lee

This post has taken me forever because I can’t narrow down which ones to talk about. I want to tell you about them all; the ones that made me laugh too loud, the ones I listened to or read with ferocity, the ones that were too long, the ones that were too salty for me to stomach, the ones that were brilliantly narrated. On the other hand, I don’t want to tell you about them at all, I don’t want to risk my words taking away from their greatness. What was that you said? Oh, you want me to try anyway? I mean Ok, I guess if you insist.

Here are some favorites: Bittersweet: It’s hard to choose between Bittersweet and Cold Tangerines. Bittersweet is written as a series of essays; short chapters with stories about daily life written in simple but profound and lyrical language. If you enjoy stories of family traditions and vacations on the lake and friendships and loss that make you feel a little less alone and a little more appreciative of the everyday wonder, Bittersweet (and all of Shauna’s books) will deliver just that.

Bringing up Bebé Are you weary of child-centric, American parenting, and tired of traditional parenting books, but would still like some fresh ideas along with a delicious sampling of French culture? Bringing up Bebé is your next read.

Scary Close Scary Close Brings insight into why we so often pretend to be someone we’re not, and why so many relationships are tainted with dysfunction. Its vulnerable stories of finding true intimacy in relationships are insightful and inspiring and laced with a sense of humor that only Donald Miller can bring.

The Hospital By the River The Hospital By the River is an incredible autobiography of a couple who moved to Ethiopia, started a hospital, and dedicated their lives to finding a cure and bringing healing to women who suffered a fistula from problematic child birth. The condition ostracizes women from their communities and even families. It is full of amazing stories of suffering and courage and sacrifice. If you have an interest in the medical field or child birth or learning about the Ethiopian culture, this is a moving read.

The Antelope in the Living Room Melanie Shankle was my new author discovery of the year. I’ve now listened to all three of her books on audio, and her narration is so good! If you want to try an audio book I recommend starting with her. Her Texan accent and tremendous sense of humor will keep you laughing and attentive as she shares difficult and touching and downright absurd stories of getting married and living life with her Mr. Hunter.

Traveling Mercies Anne Lamott is a breed of her own, it’s hard to sum her writing up in a few sentences. While she is not one I would look to as a guide in things of faith and theology, she has a way of looking at life, the smallest, tiniest parts of life, that I find riveting. If you are one that enjoys reading for the art without needing to agree with all points, and you enjoy laughing so hard you have to put the book down and then repeatedly say “wait, listen to this part” and re-read a paragraph or page to whoever is close enough to listen, check out Traveling Mercies.

AND NOW, FOR THE THREE FINALISTS, I PRESENT TO YOU: Unoffendable There are probably less than a dozen pages in my copy that aren’t underlined, dog-eared, filled with margin notes and giant exclamation points, or otherwise heavily lead covered by my pencil. In terms of a human-originated book that is a guide in matters of faith and theology, this one is at the top of my list. It is simple and witty (aka ridiculously funny) and yet so powerful. It’s a writing on why being offended and angered and indignant (righteous as we might try to claim it is) doesn’t fit in the message of forgiveness and grace. Here’s a quote from the chapter called Beautiful Exceptions: “When we recognize our unsurprising fallenness and keep our eyes joyfully open for the glorious exceptions, we’re much less offendable. Why? Because that’s the thing about gratitude and anger: they can’t coexist. It’s one or the other. One drains the very life from you. The other fills your life with wonder. Choose wisely.” I hope you’ll choose wisely and read this book. I know I’ll be reading it again.

For the Love Jen Hatmaker is my favorite author. I have the hardest time committing to a statement like that because there are several others that I so dearly love, but if I had to choose one final book before I lost the ability to read, I would choose hers. I think it’s because she speaks to all my vital things; marriage, motherhood, church, local and global community engagement, and of course, humor. For the Love is her most recent creation. It is also written in essay format, each short chapter its own topic. Here’s a quote I love from the chapter called Dear Kids: “When people fail you-and they will-Jesus is ever faithful. When circumstances tank-and they will-Jesus will hold you fast. He is the most trustworthy, dependable Savior, and you will never be alone. This gives me such comfort, because as imperfect parents who failed often, we are terrified to send you out knowing we didn’t do enough. But Jesus is enough for all of us. He is enough for you. No one is safer. No one loves you more. No one will lead you better.”

To Kill A Mockingbird I am the most speechless about this book. I realize most of you read this in high school. I missed the memo. I gave myself a rule that I would read at least one fiction book a year in an effort to keep myself at least slightly well-rounded. I went from consuming nothing but copious amounts of novels as a teen, to suddenly wanting nothing to do with them. I’m not sure why exactly; I just began to have a hunger for authentic stories of real life, and to view fiction as imaginary tales than anyone could cook up out of a good daydream. This may have something to do with the fact that the quality of fiction I was consuming was somewhat subpar. Anyway, I started approaching the end of the year, and, forgetting that The Great Divorce was fiction I’d read earlier, got a little frantic . I decided to check out To Kill A Mockingbird. I had almost 0 knowledge of the book, other than it somehow would show up in conversations about racism. Because I knew the quickest way I could get started and probably get through it was if I listened to it, I got it on audible. It was over 12 hours long. The longest I’d listened to up to that point was around 5, and I had serious reservations about it keeping my attention for so long. As it turned out, I was so engrossed I literally startled when I suddenly heard the automated voice come on saying “Audible hopes you have enjoyed this program”. I usually don’t want to listen to a book that isn’t narrated by the author, but Sissy Spacek is a pro. A few chapters in I could differentiate between Atticus, Jem, Jean Louise, and Calpurnia within a string of dialogue, she had given such character to each voice. If you haven’t read it, the story tackles topics of poverty, classism, sexism, and most vividly, racism, from the unique perspective of a child. It is set in the 1930’s, but time after time, dialogue and issues present that sound disturbingly familiar to injustices still occurring in our communities and court rooms today. It is heartwarming and humorous and heart-wrenching. A favorite line from chapter 31: “Atticus, he was real nice.” “Most people are, Scout, when you finally see them.”

And now for fun part!! Because I love books so much, and I love you all so much, I’m going to GIVE AWAY a book from my top 3 list to a lucky winner! All you need to do is comment here or on Facebook or Instagram, share one of your favorite reads from last year, your email address, and tag a book-loving friend who will want to join the fun. If you want to mention which of the top 3 you’re most interested in, go ahead! So to recap: comment with your favorite book title, tag a friend who loves to read, and leave an email address I can reach you at if you win! I can’t wait to read the suggestions you share. (If it’s good fiction, bonus points! [Figuratively, that is. I don’t know how to literally incorporate them into this equation.]) I’m so excited to share a fabulous book with one of you!

***Giveaway closed.