Balloons: A tale of Morals and Passion

A couple years ago, I was volunteering at Vacation Bible School. I was scanning through journals recently, and came across this entertaining story that occurred during that time.

During this particular summer, for VBS, I ran the 1st-3rd learning station, which is where emphasis on learning the verse and how the verse applies in life.  

Every day, we unscrambled the words verse (I had two sets of the verse in different colors that I scattered-every word in the verse on individual flash cards-all over the floor. The two teams would have to try to find the correct colored cards and put it completely together before the other team). After both teams had assembled their verses, we would discuss the hard words in the verse(1st-3rd graders do not know what the word "among" means), why some words are there, and overall, make sure everybody understands the meaning of the verse. 
 

Courtesy of Google's free to use images.

After this, I also tried to incorporate an extra game that reinforced some key idea from the verse in it, in hopes that it will help the meaning of the verse to stick in mind.  On Tuesday, the verse was Psalm 56:3, "When I am afraid, I will trust in you."  The emphasis was on trusting God. It is a very simple concept, but sometimes, children-who tend to trust everyone-have a difficult time understanding the real meaning of trust.

So, I did an awful thing to them. I broke their trust a little. I told the kids that the team that got the most whole balloons in their bags by relaying the balloons to the 2 leaders per team that held the bag would win. Every unpopped balloon counted as a point. The thing I did not tell the kids was that back when the group entered the room, I pulled one leader aside, handed that leader a thumb tack, and told her it was her job to pop any balloon that came to her.

And with great excitement, the game began. The children raced fervently, performing their tasks as they toted a balloon to their team's bag, and as each game progressed, the kids slowly caught on that the popping was not accidental. 

Courtesy of Google's free to use images

There was anguish, shock and betrayal in their eyes before they gathered their wits about themselves and began shouting to each other, "Don't take the balloon to him! Not to him! He'll pop it!" At the end of the game, we went into the classroom and counted the balloons and had a discussion that often had to include forgiveness of the poor "bad guy" leader. Most of the discussions went a lot like this one, but only one kid finished the discussion the way this one finished:

"So... one of the leaders kept popping your balloons, and one of the leaders did not pop any.  Which leader are you more likely to give balloons to?" 

THAT ONE! 

"Why?" 

Cuz she didn't pop the balloons! 

"So she proved herself trustworthy?" 

Yes! 

"Because his popping of the balloons wasn't good for you, was it? People earn our trust by doing things that are good for us. What are some things that God has done for us that lets us know we can trust him?" 

And one boy piped up adamantly, casting a glare to the supposedly forgiven leader,

"God didn't pop my balloons, either!"

 And so ended the moral of the day, 

Courtesy of Google's free to use images

Cast all your cares upon God, for he is not a balloon popper... 

 

Again.

Things happen too fast. I can already feel I've made a mistake. Try to recover. Move faster. I see the bar flying towards me. I latch on to it a split second too late. The loop is badly timed. Off rhythm, wrong momentum. The dismount is doomed, however there is nothing to do but follow through. Try to save it. Throw more power to my toes. I can't save it. THUD, slap! My entire body meets the floor in one solid contact. I can always hear the sound of my disastrous landing just slightly before the vibrations rattle through my teeth. In that split second, I wait as all of the air retreats from me.

Time always slows down and speeds up at the same time right after a mistake. The shouts of my coach start catching up from my ears to my brain, as if to make up for lost time, they swirl repeatedly, overlapping her current shouts, as I wait for my chest cavity to expand again. To allow air to return.

"....More power... ....faster.... ankles together... snap feet... ... straight legs!" She glances me over for obvious injury and then barks: "Again!"

For most of my childhood, I was in gymnastics. Looking back, I gained a great amount of life training through the years of gymnastics training.

Recently, what remains loudest in my mind is the constant memory of failing as I crashed against the mat, having to get up and do some sort of penitence in the form of conditioning, and then attempting the same task again. It may sound awful for this to be a vivid childhood memory, but it really isn't. It is actually an empowering memory.
 

The uneven bars terrified me. And thrilled me. I was afraid of heights even at the beginning. I remember crying in terror the first time my coach told me to jump from one bar to the other. I remember crying the second time, too. And then, I remember overcoming that insurmountable objective. Breaking past a mental barrier with physical achievement. Shortly after the first terrifying success, the uneven bars became my favorite event, even though it still often terrified me. The more terrifying the risk, the more satisfying the success. With the right skills, I could fly. The flying is not what resonates most with me right now, though.

This month, what resonates loudest with me is smacking down against that thick, blue gym mat. The endless hours of blistered hands, and exhausted breathing, tingling fingers, flying, flailing, falling, waiting for the air to enter the lungs again, and the shout, "Again!" Ripped blisters, limbs scuffed red, chalked hands, deep breaths, pensive stares at the blasted uneven bars, recitation of errors and corrections, repeat task, crash! Again!...and Again! And again.

True, in gymnastics, I learned how to fly, but what turned out to be more useful than learning a "long hang kip" was learning how to fail. What I learned was that I could withstand pain I had never previously imagined, I could overcome exhaustion that seemed overwhelming, I could eventually rise up from every painful landing.The best lesson I carried away with me was: Again. Even after I so badly wanted to quit and go home, I could not accept defeat.

There, as a 9 year old, I developed an intuitive understanding about grown-up life. Sometimes when you miss your grasp, move too slowly, lack the strength, sometimes even though you tremble with exhaustion, your blisters have ripped out, when things are continually crashing to the ground, and when feel you can no longer breathe, you have to listen to the insistent shout, "Again!"  You have to get up. You have to do it again and do it better. The only other alternative is to quit, exhausted, injured, frustrated, and sore with nothing to show for it all.

And so, during those times in adult life, while I sit with my head in my hands, sore, exhausted, feeling as if the air is being knocked out of me, my mind drifts back to sinking into that blue gym mat again and again, ripped up, waiting for the air to come back, because it will come back, mustering strength to get up and hearing the distant shout, "Again!" Except, now I'm the only one in the room.

The shout comes from within, "Again!"And so up I get, to try it again, and try it better, because defeat is not an option in life.

And once I've learned these acrobatics, I'll move onto harder ones, because, like gymnastics, that's kind of the point of life. It wouldn't be any fun without something challenging you to expand the brink of your ability.

And so with a huff and a limp, I draw a slow breath, pull myself up, eye the task that keeps knocking me down and mutter: Again.

The Letter: We.

I had a rough day today. I've had worse. But, my goodness, I have had so many better days, too.

This made picking up the mail and finding this envelope that much sweeter.

I have received correspondence from a combination of 5 Compassion students since 2008. That's a lot of letters! Off the top of my head, I can think of 3-4 letters that have truly threatened to make me cry for one reason or another. And it has been a while since those times.

So it surprised me, when I read through 9 year old Alex's brief letter-penned for him by his older brother-when my lower lip trembled a little at the end of it.

 

You see, Alex lives with his Grandmother and his 6 siblings in Haiti. He is the youngest, and every letter, one of his older siblings does the writing for him. 

So, for the first time in my Compassion experience, sponsorship has been an extremely strong family affair.

The rest of his letter is phrased, "He greets you"  "He thanks you" "He..."  He.

And then...

We love you so much.

We. 

All 8 of them.

 

That's a lot of love to feel rain down on a soul, especially at the end of a rough day.

 Especially from people I have never met. I don't even know what his family looks like.

I could tell you about all the good I can do for someone living in poverty, how easy and inexpensive  it is to help someone who needs it. I could tell you that you should consider reaching into someone else's life to help make it better.

But not today. 

Today, I am going to be selfish.

 Today, I am telling you about a little boy and his family, who wrote a letter to someone who needed it. About a little boy who reached into someone's else's life and helped make it better without even realizing it. A little boy whose Christmas money was spent on a pair of shoes, but could still afford to to improve my life.

Sponsorship shouldn't be about what I get out of it, 

but today I am going to share a little truth: 

sometimes they're the ones sponsoring me.

Today's smile was brought to you by "The Letter: We."

 

Fortunate

"So, are you out the door at the clock today, or are you hanging around to get work done?"

My coworker asks at lunch the Friday before the school break finally arrives.

 

"Out the door!" I respond, "I have stuff to do!"

"Errands?"

"No, I'm headed to the coast."

"Niiice, the beach!"

"Meh, the beach may happen, but I'm not much for the beach. I told my Grandad I'd visit, and they just happen to live near the beach."

A pause happens. 

I expect to hear something about how cute or quaint it is that I would use vacation time to visit grandparents.

 The pause extends long enough to become thoughtful.

"You're fortunate, you know."

The normally jocular tone has turned completely pensive, 

"Not too many adults still get to visit their grandparents."

 And now it's my turn to take a pensive pause.

It doesn't feel right to go into great detail for my coworker about how fortunate is too brief of a statement.

 Sometimes I get busy, and distracted from this fortune. Even during the times I am careless though, I am still greatly blessed.

But it's nice to be reminded of what I am.

So I nod.

"Yes, very fortunate."

Fallen Short

"for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God"

(Romans 3:23)

Almost everyone recognizes this verse. We teach it to our toddlers. Those of us who have grown up in the church, AWANAs, Sunday School, VBS... we know it by heart.

The teacher in me needs to step out of this indoctrination for a moment and ask a question. Does anyone see anything wrong with this quotation? Yes, Jimmy? That's right: it's not a complete sentence! There is no capital letter, which means there is something that comes before it, and there is no punctuation, which means that there is something that comes after it.

I challenge you, quick, before you grab your Bibles or skip on over to Biblegateway.com, what is the whole idea that this excerpt has been chopped out of the middle of? Don't know off of the top of your head? I didn't either. However, when I was assigned to look up 3:23 and read it, just 23, seeing it in the middle of a paragraph bothered me... so I read the whole thing.

Ladies and gentleman, a paragraph from Romans 3:

¹⁹ Now we know that whatever the law says, it says to those who are under the law, that every mouth may be stopped, and all the world may become guilty before God. ²⁰ Therefore by the deeds of the law no flesh will be justified in His sight, for by the law is the knowledge of sin.

²¹ But now the righteousness of God apart from the law is revealed, being witnessed by the Law and the Prophets, ²² even the righteousness of God, through faith in Jesus Christ, to all and on all who believe. For there is no difference; ²³ for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, ²⁴ being justified freely by His grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, ²⁵ whom God set forth as a propitiation by His blood, through faith, to demonstrate His righteousness, because in His forbearance God had passed over the sins that were previously committed, ²⁶   to demonstrate at the present time His righteousness, that He might be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus.²⁷ Where is boasting then? It is excluded. By what law? Of works? No, but by the law of faith. ²⁸ Therefore we conclude that a man is justified by faith apart from the deeds of the law.

Now, I understand that the whole paragraph is awfully big for a toddler to memorize, but isn't "All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" awfully heavy? Especially without the good part of the story? We don't let our kids go to movies with scary scenes, but they can memorize "All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." and then follow it up with, "For the wages of sin is death;" (Romans 6:23a) (Yet another verse with suspicious punctuation warning all that we shortened because it was too big, and in turn made it too heavy by cutting out the wordy redemption part. In this one, we didn't just clip a verse out of a paragraph, we clipped a phrase out of a verse!) 

I remember not liking those verses for as long as I have memorized them. I still sigh and roll my eyes as I hear them being taught to the new generation of guilt ridden followers. They only made me feel dirty, shameful. What a horrible use of the Bible. In their entirety, they were supposed to make me feel blessed and treasured.

As adults, we mentally clip scriptures regularly as often as our subconscious feels the need to beat us down. We bask in our failures and forget the parts that glorify God's overcoming them. We need to be focusing on the whole story to be able to battle when our subconscious starts clipping the good parts out. After all, since when did any story lover stop in the middle of the chaos and trial portion of the book, and decide to move on to something else? Never. We cling to the story until the redemption, the rescue, the victory comes through.

We need the whole story.

Romans 6: 21-23 

 What benefit did you reap at that time from the things you are now ashamed of? Those things result in death!  But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God, the benefit you reap leads to holiness, and the result is eternal life.  For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 3:22-23

This righteousness is given through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference between Jew and Gentile, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.  

Because we are all too aware of our sins and falling short. We know without needing to be told that we carry death within us. What we really need to memorize, carry with us, be reminded of regularly is the rest of the story.

"but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord."

"all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus. "

As for toddlers memorizing things, if they are not mature enough to handle the size of: "For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord." or all of Romans 3:22-23, then maybe we ought to reconsider whether they are mature enough to handle the weight of, "for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" and "For the wages of sin is death"

It scares us, because rule followers are easier to raise and control, but I truly believe that in a room of adults, we'd rather be locked in with the grace believers than the rule followers. Maybe grace is what needs to be drilled in from toddlerhood, rather than fear and insufficiency.

Because what is the point of learning about death and failure, if we do not learn about life, grace, and the glory of God?

If we do not learn both parts, then by clipping verses and redemption ideas apart, this is an area in which we have truly fallen short for both ourselves and our toddlers.

Follow the shadows

I exist when the shadows lean to the West.

And depart when they yearn for the East.

I remain when the sun leaves our hemisphere.

And wander off when it comes too close.

I'm the storm that overcomes senseless chaos.

And the stillness that listens to rain.

I embark on a path among wild saplings.

But leave the forest when trees are found.

I start alone but travel among many.

I end alone, then begin again.

I follow the shadows and find the saplings.

I heed the sun, and search for the trees.

Is That Supposed to Be a Picket Fence?

(This is not my picture, but when I thought about going to take a picture of a lovely house and picket fence, I realized the neighbors might get creeped out...thanks Google Images)

    Growing up, everyone has a basic idea of what life will be like when they are "grown up." We hear even little children talk about, "When I grow up, I'm gonna marry so-and-so..." and "My house will look like..." It's a natural process for children, and honestly, it's just plain cute. It's interesting how this process starts in everyone so young, this drive to achieve the American middle class dream. I started calling these the "Picket fence" dreams, because a house, a spouse, a dog, some kids, a yard, and a picket fence to keep it all in seems to be the most common picture of middle class success and happiness. It may not be everyone's personal dream picture, but we all know and recognize those picket fence dreams of how we thought our lives were supposed to go, or the pattern we think others expect our lives to follow, way back when  we were solidifying our versions of "right" and "wrong" "good" and "bad" in our childhood psyches. They all lend to the pattern and timeline people feel their lives should follow, if they are doing it right.
     As a whole, picket fence dreams are not necessarily wrong. They can be sweet and positive things. The problem comes when picket fences don't  mesh with someone's personal dreams. Sometimes those two ideals conflict uncompromisingly. Then there is the other, very real issue: Picket fence dreams cannot always be happily accomplished by sheer effort and force of will. Sometimes life does not land that way. Sometimes we are left feeling insufficient.

     The truth of the matter is, I have no picket fence around my yard. I didn't follow a path that led to a yard with a picket fence. I might never live that picket fence life. The hardest truth I had to learn about this is that I like my fence free life. I like the adventure that a less than typical path has allowed me. For the longest time, I felt that I needed to explain, justify, or just feel insufficient and shuffle off to a corner over the fact that I did not marry right out of school, I have no children, I have no house, I did not settle into a career straight out of school, I have no dog in my yard, I have no prospective leads that may lead to that life, and (here's the zinger) I do not have those things because I did not choose those things. I did not choose those things because my priorities were and are different. That last part was the hardest part for me to understand fully.

       I am in the life I am in now not because I am insufficient at life in general, but because it is the life I am best suited to live right now.

      It's like this: In the beginning, we are all given this box of materials with no directions inside.

We grow up, looking around, observing others, listening to other people's descriptions of what they did with their own box of materials. What we see is that everybody used their materials to build picket fences and beautiful lives. Some of us decide those lives and picket fences are so great, that we decide to build similar ones of our own, and this thrills us. Another set of us decide that because that is what everyone did with their box of materials, this must be what that box of materials is for, and so we dutifully decide to build picket fences just like them. As we try to do so, we develop resentment towards our awkward, lopsided, ugly fences and also the people who built beautiful fences.

     For the latter half of us, the main error is assuming that this is what everyone did with their box of materials. The reason we do this is because cute homes and picket fences are the most visible, recognizable constructions from similar boxes of materials. We fail to realize that the people who built zoos, airplanes, boats, bridges, restaurants, hang gliders, museums, and bike paths also started with similar boxes of materials. They just looked into their box, looked at the houses and picket fences around them, and said, "That's cool, but I can't sail to Iceland on a picket fence...and I think I'd rather go sailing."  or, "This would make a fantastic elephant cage! Let's go find an elephant!!!"

     I personally failed to see those things, because first, I didn't realize they started with boxes too, and second, people who decide to build airplanes with their boxes typically do not park their airplanes in the neighborhood for little kids who are trying to decide what to do with this seemingly random box of materials to notice. Third, while the boxes of materials may be similar,  I made the mistake of assuming that everybody's box is identical. They are not. Not at all. It can be very frustrating for a person to try to work a propeller into the creation of a picket fence, but sometimes, they try anyway.
 




   In the end, we all build something. We all get splinters, smash our thumbs, and run into problems, no matter what we end up building. The difference is, the people who really looked at their boxes to see what the materials actually inspire and then look themselves to see what their souls are built for, end up building quality products that they love, and the splinters, smashed thumbs, and broken pieces are just minor details in their stories of success, because they loved building it. The people who take their boxes and try to force them into what they think everyone else thinks they must create, end up with half-hearted excuses for picket fences or airplanes, splinters that fester enough to cause gangrene, an unexplainable sense of shame, and an unshakeable aura of bitterness.

It's not wrong to build a cute home and a picket fence, if that's what your box and your soul agree on.

It's also not wrong, quirky, or absurd to end up building an airplane, zoo, tree house, boat, or whatever, instead, if that's what makes your particular soul dance. What matters is this: Whatever you end up building, will you be happy or bitter about the splinters you suffered while building it?

Quaint, I know, but it has taken a long time for me to reach and fully accept this weird little epiphany of mine.

(Thanks, Google)

Now, I'm off to find a hang-gliding okapi to add to my flying treehouse zoo-restaurant thing, but I'll leave you with this sticky note:

What's in your box? What's in your soul? What are you building? Are your splinters worth it?

Is your picket fence an airplane?

Dear Me,

Dear 2 year old Me, accepting that cookie from Granny may have been one of the better judgment calls of your entire life, both before and after the cookie incident.

Dear Toddler I used to be, way to go with the earring campaign, I still appreciate you for that.

Dear 3 year old Me, there are somethings you will never understand. There are somethings that you will, eventually.

Dear 4 year old, the brothers never tame down.

Dear 5 year old Self, good move at the fair. As the years go by, you will dig, and search, and study, and strain to understand what it means to be to be a good Christian. You will try to be really great, really deep, really intellectual. You will dabble in legalism, you will try to buy your salvation with works. You will struggle to understand what the most important goal is as a Christian for years only to come to the conclusion that the simple theology you had when you made the decision originally was the best one all along. Also, eventually, you do learn that "Disciple" is not just another word for "Leveled-Up Christian." It doesn't really work like a video game. Maybe you didn't need to hold a big tent revival for your 3 year old brother on his bunk bed that night, though. He's still got some time to mature a little.

Dear 6 year old Self, you don't end up becoming a trash truck driver, but it's okay, because in the long run, you don't really regret it. You do, however, do your fair share of dealing with garbage-both figuratively and literally- and you learn not to be so squeamish about it.

Dear 7 year old, braces are more than just teeth jewelry. As much as you think you might like them, you really won't find them as pleasant as they look.

Dear 8 year old Me, someday, you are going to have a portable, wireless phone that can send and receive messages like a pager, plays music, has a calculator, clock, and a build in digital camera that can transmit pictures to other people's phones, has games on it, has a digital address book. AND, it will be yours and yours alone, and here's the real mind blowing thing: it will be small enough to fit in your pocket, and almost everyone will have one (even some 8 year olds). Seriously.

Dear 9 year old with an "all day headgear," it's only for a short span of time. There are far more painful, longer lasting, humiliating experiences that will make this one almost forgettable. On a side note, you're not going to be an Olympic Gymnast. You're too tall, and while you've got determination, it's just not going to be enough. The good news is, in a few years, you'll get your weekends back, and sleepovers are so much fun. Plus, all that time in gymnastics really gives you the mental training you'll need later, and your left ankle will click for years to come.

Dear 10 year old Me, I know you really want it, but you will never be mainstream normal. I mean it. You will always be slightly off, easy to pick out as a little odd. Let's face it, you started off as a redhead, and that was just the beginning. Before you do anything drastic though, I should tell you that this is okay. It takes you a while to come around to this conclusion, but eventually, you will realize how much you enjoy your abnormal self, how many people value your abnormalities, how very few people are normal, and how weird those normal people are. Raising those goats is really going to do a lot of character building for you. Tamagotchis really are a quickly passing phase, and though Digimon are off brand knock offs, Digimon actually end up being more fun as well as cheaper. Jonathon Taylor Thomas doesn't get many acting gigs after the Lion King. The Hansen Brothers disappear quickly, and do not manage to make "homeschooled" a cool thing to be before they go.

Dear 11 year old I used to be, moving is not the end of the world, some of your current friendships won't even be worth the trip across town to maintain. Friendships change. Some aren't meant to be forever. Things are going to get rocky, but you'll come out strong. God will never abandon you. Be nicer to your sister. You'll regret not being nicer to her once your common sense comes back.

Dear 12 year old Self, you will never get your braces off! Just kidding. You will, but it's going to be a while, and it won't be before they take your picture for your driver's license. Sorry. In general, I'd tell you to tone it down a little in the exuberance department, but since you're in junior high, I doubt you'll listen. The TV show "Martial Law" isn't going to last very long, nobody is going to remember it, and it will be pretty much impossible to find on DVDs later(media which you have yet to learn about). By the way, in a very short time, Video Tapes will be replaced with DVDs. Cassettes and VHS will be obsolete very soon. That's just the beginning, after a while TVs will only be 3-5" deep, and TV antennas will be pretty much useless.

Dear 14 year old Me: you emotionally survive the Algebra class at the junior college by the skin of your teeth, but gradewise, with an A. Not bad, hot shot! Sure, it scares the crud out of you, but completing this class is the reason you will know you can make it through much harder classes later on. Later on, you will no longer have your mommy there marching you back into class while you want to run away; you'll have to march yourself in.

Dear 15 year old Me, if you ever become that interpreter missionary with the beautifully adventurous, international life, it is not in the next decade. You also do not become a dentist or veterinarian. Because you swore you'd never be something boring, I know this may shock you, but eventually you become a teacher. I know this disappoints you right now, because you cannot think of any occupation more boring than a teacher. It's probably of little consolation right now, but it really isn't boring. If it helps, you do at some point drive an ambulance before this happens.

Dear 16 year old, when all those people and professionals tell you the acne will go away around the time you are 25, they are idiots. It gets worse. You learn to deal with it, and that your personal value doesn't rest on your complexion.

Dear scared 17 year old, nothing turns out as disastrous as you worry it will.

Dear 18 year old me, adult life is great. It's not any easier, but it's at least a different kind of difficult.

Dear polite 19 year old, when everything in your gut says, "Rooming with that girl is a horrible idea, don't agree to it." just be rude right up front about it and tell her you don't want to room with her.  It will save you a whole year of energy in rudeness. You learn a lot from it, but it's a high price to pay. Also, guys who mock you in front of your friends aren't worth the heartbreak, no matter how cool and dreamy they are.

Dear college graduate, your degree means very little to employers, you don't end up pursuing the career you thought you would, and your life training wheels just fell off on the downhill slope. Throw your feet up, hold your handle bars straight and steady, shout, "Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!" so that everyone thinks you're brave instead of just shrieking, and then be ready to tuck and roll. You will discover, however, that you've got quality friends.

Dear 22 year old Me, go visit Granny every weekend. Cancel other plans, stay longer, eat more nasty food, ask more questions, sit in a room and enjoy the silence of reading and potato chips together a few extra times, rent more foreign movies, drink more tea, stay up late with her, and get up early, complete more crossword puzzles, memorize the way she smells, the way she smiles, and the way she laughs, and the way her eyes look when she's thinking deep thoughts, actually try to answer the deep questions she challenges you with, go to her favorite restaurant more often.

Dear 23 year old Self, you are not invincible. No amount of planning, rule following, sheer force of will, or strategic steps can outwit freak accidents. There are some crashes you don't bounce back from as easily as previous ones. This next part is really going to suck. I wish I could tell you how to avoid it, but I'm not sure I've figured out how you can. I'm not sure I really would tell you, anyway. Right now you will not believe that the good things you gain out of this will be worth it, but looking back, you will.

Dear 24 year old Self, you will get better, maybe not in the way you expect, but your life is not ruined. You only think so, because you think you know what it is supposed to look like. Life does not have to look like the "Happily ever after" you planned in order for it to be good. You cannot "work harder" at healing and speed things up, that only happens in the movies.

Dear 26 year old Me, don't chicken out.

Dear Me, I don't know what advice I will have for me right now in a few years. I do know that I survived all those other years making those mistakes, and growing from them. As much as I wish I could go back and set myself straight, or encourage myself with knowledge from the future, I was unable to, and yet somehow you still made it through. I'm going to attribute that to God's love and protection, and the love, support and understanding of family and friends. I wrote this for you right now, because sometimes you need the pieces strung together to see how it all worked out. Sometimes you forget too easily, and maybe someday, when you feel less positive about life, you'll need a reminder and I want to leave this here for you just in case. God is the same God, whether you are 3, 5, 17, 22, or 63 and you are fortunate to have family and friends who love, support, and forgive you.
Enjoy the life you have currently whatever it is, because looking back, it was never all bad.
Don't forget.

Out of reach

He's gone.
Well, not really.
He's still out there. He still exists.

Alok circa age 5-6

I'm just not his sponsor any more. Alok's project was closed, due to issues that did not align with Compassion's policies. He is out of my reach. The little reach that I had.

During the waiting period after finding out that it was likely to happen, I wrote Alok many "last letters" saying things that I wanted to make sure someone would tell him at least one more time in his life.

He may stay a little boy forever in my mind, but it would make me happiest to believe he grew up, that those few years he had were enough to direct him into a lifetime of growing up.


His pictures are still displayed on my wall. It makes me sad to think that there will be no more infrequent letters to update me on his life, no new picture in a year, showing his awkward growth spurt, and his determined face, and he will no longer receive letters telling him how much I love his determination, how handsome he is, or Christmas or birthday presents. Losing Alok is something I have been preparing myself to handle for a while now, but there are those pangs of sadness, those moments when I find the perfect little gift for him, or start mentally writing him a letter.

But he is not dead. It is weird, mourning the loss of someone who is still alive. Probably, to many minds, weirder still to mourn the loss of someone who has never been mine to lose. It's not something I really could explain anyway. I have no rights to him, no ability to protect him, but from the first day his picture appeared on my account, he has always been "my boy" complete with scuffed knees, and brief letters.

He was the first child to ever call me Auntie. He did so on a video that a fellow sponsor took of him when she was in India and took him to a science museum.

He was so thrilled by the museum. Alok was entranced by the aquarium. Every time I visit a museum, I wish he was there with me.

He once told me that his favorite thing about being at the Compassion project was the food, the games, and that no one beat him there. It relieved and broke my heart all at once.

The first real smile I got from him in a picture was with the second soccer ball he got as a gift from me. Ever since then, I've had this mental picture of him tearing up the dirt after his soccer ball full speed and determination, getting coated in dirt, earning those knee scuffs.

I'll miss my boy. I miss him already. I keep praying for him. I pray that God will wrap around him tightly, and protect him. I pray that Alok will passionately love and serve God. I pray that he will treat women with kindness and respect. I pray that he will not be taken in by the alcohol addictions so rampant in his area. I pray that God will protect him and comfort him beyond any beatings he may still endure.

He is out of my reach, but never out of God's. That is one of the hardest things to remember about life in general. It's easier to remember when it is the only option to accept.






Alok, never forget that you are valuable. God values you. I value you. You are loved and so very loveable. I pray that there are so many more in your life who feel the same way.











 Play hard, my boy. Grow up strong, Alok.

Grow up kind and godly. Grow up wise and filled with integrity. Grow up compassionate and inspired.

Most of all, keep growing up.