Life-Changing Valentines

My wife, Susan, recently wrote about Hope's Valentine project at her blog, My Place to Yours. With her permission, her words are reprinted here.

  My word for 2013 is shelter. Simply hearing the word brings to mind thoughts of safety ... stability ... home.  I suppose it's because I'm one of the fortunate ones.  Many (most?) of you are, too.  While I've had my share of challenges in life ... some I pray none of you will ever experience ... there's never been a time when I wondered if I was loved or a time I questioned my long-term safety or whether I would have a roof over my head.  In the grand scheme of things, I suppose I've been "sheltered" in more ways than one.  I'll be forever grateful.

I realize not everyone is so fortunate.

I once shared a tablescape with you that I said was the Very BEST Tablescape Ever.  Many of you agreed with me.  Two years later, I still say it is.  If you missed the story, I hope you'll click on the link and read it ... and then come back here so you can read the story of a young girl-turned young woman who once sat around that table.

(Reprinted with permission)

In her own words, this is Joyce's story ...

When I was born, my mother gave me to my grandfather - because he was my biological father. The idea of raising me was too painful for her.

I didn't know this until I was seven years old. I lived with my grandparents, and, as I got older, my grandmother didn't want to keep me either. She was afraid my grandfather would start abusing me. My grandfather also didn't want me around. I felt alone. I became very rebellious and didn't obey anyone. I left home and went to a short-term holding house. The authorities knew it was dangerous for me there, so they called Hope Unlimited right away to come take care of me. I was just 11 years old.

When I first arrived at the City of Youth, it was not easy. I didn't know what it meant to love or to be loved. The staff nurtured me and taught me about God's love, though. Over my first few months at Hope Unlimited, I felt valued. My behavior changed, as I eventually understood the power of God's love for me.

I remember receiving Valentine's Day cards at our summer Day of Love party from people in the United States. The first time I opened one of these cards, I was overwhelmed. Someone who didn't even know me, but who wanted to encourage me and pray for me, sent it with love. My friends and I were so excited to receive the cards. They made me feel like I was part of something bigger than myself. There were people rooting for me and loving me from afar. I would put the cards in my locker and remember when times were hard that friends in the United States were praying for me and thinking of me.

I was at the City of Youth for seven years. There were highs and lows, but the staff here became my family. They taught me how to behave, how to slowly open my heart, how to love, and how to have healthy relationships. I would not be where I am today without Hope Unlimited.

Today I am a happy wife and mother to two sons. My husband and I live and work here at the City of Youth. By God's grace, I am an example to the kids that transformation is possible. With God's help, no matter what your past is like, you can learn to love and write your own family story. And it's not just me. Our church is full of examples of others who have graduated from the City of Youth and had similar experiences of healing and transformation!

I would like to thank all the people who helped me grow - both here in Brazil and in the United States. So many individuals who I will never meet have encouraged me through Valentine's cards, donated with their hearts open, and taught me that I could love and was loved. May God bless all of you, and thank you for everything. 

The Valentine project Joyce talks about is one we do every year at Hope Unlimited for Children.  In my last post, I invited you to join me in making Valentines for the girls who now live at Hope's City of Youth.  Perhaps you thought your card wouldn't make any difference to anyone. Perhaps, after reading Joyce's story, you realize that it will ...

If you're willing to take just a few minutes to Celebrate Love, provide encouragement, and offer a sense of shelter to a young girl, just click on the heart to learn how.

 Brazil's Day of Love isn't until early Summer.

You can send your Valentines any time from now until April 1.

   

Humor and the Man Born Blind

There's not a lot of humor in the Bible. I’m not talking about the fifth-grade boys’ Sunday School kind of humor. (You remember: Who was the shortest man in the Bible? Bildad the Shuhite. Please don’t send me your best example.) No, I'm talking about real humor. I guess people were too busy in the serious business of living, avoiding the marauding hordes, and finding ways not to render unto Caesar to have much time for laughter.

But there is one story that gets me. It’s not roll-in-the-floor, slap-your-knee kind of humor, but it does have more than its share of irony, and it gets pretty close to outright sarcasm.

It’s a story you probably know from the 9th chapter of John. Jesus’ disciples see a man born blind and want to affix the blame for his blindness: “The man or his parents?” they ask, not realizing the absurdity of blaming a man blind since birth for his condition—a prenatal sin nature I guess. Jesus waves off their foolishness and heals the man.

But the healing is really not the most interesting part of the story (try telling the blind man that!). After he is out and about, seeing just fine, he runs into the Pharisees—the religious hierarchy of the day. They’re not buying the, “Jesus healed me” thing. They question the blind man, then they go to his parents, then they come back to him saying, “Give glory to God by telling us the truth; we know this man [Jesus] is a sinner.”

This is where it gets good. An impoverished, uneducated, formerly blind beggar is about to take the Pharisees to school. Hear the irony: “Whether he is a sinner, I don’t know. One thing I do know, I was blind; now I see.”

So they make another run at him, and he responds again, “I have told you already, and you did not listen. Do you want to hear it again? Do you want to become his disciples too?"

Now they are enraged; they blast the blind man, blast Jesus and invoke Moses.

But this guy has been made to see, and he's not going to let the Pharisees get under his skin. So finally, he decides to give them as good as they are giving; the poor beggar versus the religious hierarchy becomes a mismatch. Read with sarcasm: “Now that is remarkable. You don’t know where he comes from, yet he opened my eyes.”

These Pharisees are too interested in preserving their places in society, in the temple. They want nothing to do with this outsider, this Jesus, who has not been properly vetted.

And now to the moral of the story: making sure that we have crossed every doctrinal T and dotted every dogmatic I does not mean much to a world that is blind, hurting, lost. What they need from us is not proclamation from the pulpit nearly so much as they need to find us healing their blindness, feeding their hunger, and introducing them to the Good News of Jesus Christ.

Respite

I’m back. About November, I completely ran out of gas. Perhaps my muse died. I would sit down in front of the keyboard, expecting the words to flow out of fingertips. Ten, fifteen, thirty minutes later I would find myself looking for that right word to get started.

The

There, I found it. But then another ten minutes would pass as I looked for the second word. And the same for the third, fourth -- you get the picture. Multiply it out by the three hundred or so words in a typical post, and you can see why I had to park it for a while. But at least I spent the down time stockpiling a few writing ideas so the tank won't go empty in the too-near future.

Bottom line, I needed a rest. Even so, I got to thinking about the folks who care for our kids at Hope. They don’t have an eight-hour workday. They can’t leave it at the office at six o’clock. And they certainly can’t say, “I'm tired of this, so I think I'll take an extended break.”

They are the only parents many of our kids have ever known. Those of us who have two, three, or possibly a few more children are well aware that we don’t get to go off the clock. Houseparents at Hope have sixteen teenagers in their care. Kids whose backgrounds often make it hard for them to easily mesh into a family; kids who have been exploited, hurt, abused by their biological parents.

And yet, our houseparents teach the children what it means to be family, to be loved.

A few months ago, I was in Brazil for some work at the City of Youth. A young American was there, engaged to a staff member, and volunteering just to help out any way he could. He was to pick me up on Saturday morning and take me to the campus. He was late, significantly so, which was out of character for him. When he did arrive, he apologized and said, “I was at the City of Youth last night, and some of the social parents (aka houseparents) were really feeling concern for their kids. So all the parents got together at the chapel after the kids were in bed and prayed for them. We didn’t finish until almost two.”

Not enough to spend long days being parents; they give up their sleep to spend time together praying for the children in their care.

When houseparents come to us, after an initial trial period, they are asked to make ten-year commitments to stay with our kids. We want to make sure that our kids don’t feel abandoned (again!) by a revolving door for those who care for them. What a difference the stability makes in the kids' lives. During their time at Hope, they learn the lessons of family well. The cycle of poverty, abuse, and despair are completely broken. And the best part? When our graduates become parents, their children see family modeled for them -- every day.

Only then do we claim success. Thanks be to God.

Stepping over the problem

It’s hard to believe it was over a quarter of a century ago. Probably harder still to believe that the memory is as clear as yesterday. I was a graduate student in theology and my friend was a senior in college. We were on one of those “summer abroad” trips that are now ubiquitous but were just then becoming popular. Making our way back from London’s West End, I literally stepped over a drunk or addict or mentally-ill (take your pick) man lying in the subway passage. My friend stopped, “We’ve got to help.”
“No.”
“But, we’ve got to.”
“No.”
“But . . . “
“No, your intervention would not help him anyway. He can go to a shelter; this is not our problem.”
And so we walked away, a bit of anger in her eyes, self-certainty in mine.

Compassion.

Interesting word, that. Literally, “to suffer alongside.” I don’t know how many times someone has said to me, “Your work must be very rewarding,” or “This must make you feel really good.” It’s not, and it doesn’t. I remember our first trip to Brazil, hearing the kids’ stories, holding the dirty child of the 16-year-old prostitute, seeing the boys living under the overpass. We returned home to the question, “Did you have a good time?”

No.

Taking seriously our Lord’s command to care for the least of these is not about self-fulfillment or conscience-salving, and certainly not about having a good time. At its essence, it is about suffering alongside those who are hurting. As Paul says in Philippians, “But have this mind among yourselves which was in Christ Jesus, who did not count equality with God something to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant.” Suffering alongside those he came to redeem.

Compassion. It means we don’t get to step over those lying in our path.

Unwrap Hope

I'll admit it. I don't understand the rush from Summer to Christmas. I prefer to enjoy my days without wishing them away. But I do understand anticipation. I like watching the eager anticipation of little ones as they prepare to celebrate the birth of our Savior. I like teaching them about gift giving, about how it commemorates the bringing of gifts by the Magi. And especially the looks on their faces as they tear through wrapping paper to open their presents on Christmas morning.

As our thoughts begin to turn to the gifts we want to give (and receive) this Christmas, I invite you to help a child unwrap a very special gift ... the gift of HOPE. When you purchase gifts from our Hope Unlimited Gift Guide, you help provide Hope to a child who desperately needs it.

Check out the gifts. Pick one -- or several -- to give in honor of friends and family. Pick another one and ask them to make a purchase in your honor. It's the perfect gift-giving solution: One-stop shopping AND gifts that someone actually needs and will appreciate. Help us be sure there are lots of presents under the tree for Hope's kids this year. I can't wait to watch them Unwrap Hope!