Just a Minute

I was rummaging through my purse for a donation in exchange for my bowl of grapes and half bagel at my Baptist church's breakfast bar.  They let us (encourage us even) eat during the service.

I looked up and saw a little brown-haired boy on the other side of the table helping himself to the donut holes.

When I called his name, he looked up. He lit up.

Then he hesitated, embarrassed by the sparkle in his eye as he tried to restrain himself from leaping over the table and attaching himself to me.

Instead I invited him to come hug me. (I would have begged, but I knew it wasn't necessary). We both abandoned our breakfasts; I knelt as he rocketed around the table. He wrapped his arms around my neck, and I scooped him into my arms. Neither of us said a word. Neither of us wanted to let go. I was pretty sure I was going to have a seven-year-old-sized growth on my side for the rest of the service.

Life is made up of moments just like this. Compassion's president Wess Stafford wrote a book about how it takes just a minute to change the life of a child.

How often do we turn to children begging for our attention and say, "Just a minute" as we try to finish up whatever project is, in that moment, more important than the child?

What if you tried something different.  Instead of "just a minute"-ing, you took just a minute to invest in a child. It makes a difference in his or her life, and I'd be willing to bet it makes a difference in yours, too.

Just a minute. It matters.

I don't get to spend a lot of time with children. I cherish the minutes I get to be trampled by fifty children trying to hug me simultaneously, be the human jungle gym, or be a galloping horsey.

What a precious gift for both parties involved. (The bruises are definitely worth it).

As adults, we have so much to give children. At the same time, we have so much to learn. It takes just a minute. But it makes a difference that last long beyond a sixty-second hug.

Learning to embrace the little moments with little people,
<>< Katie

Our Adoption

Adoption is costly. Unfortunately, rescuing a child from poverty is not an easy task. It's costly financially and costly emotionally. But it's a price parents are willing to pay for their child(ren).

Likewise, our adoption was costly. In Ephesians Paul says, "God decided in advance to adopt us into His own family by bringing us to Himself through Jesus Christ. This is what He wanted to do, and it gave Him great pleasure." (Ephesians 1:6 NLT)

The price for our adoptions? Christ's death on the cross.  Yet our Heavenly Father (and His Son) were willing to pay that price. More than willing.

For us.

<>< Katie

(Journal entry dated 10-10-11. Posted in honor of National Adoption Month)

Who are the Poor?

For the last week I have been dog-sitting in a very nice neighborhood.  Day after day, I walk the dog down the freshy-swept street looking at the fancy homes, the manicured lawns, and expensive cars.  Part of me wonders if I could ever afford to live here.

Financially, it's a lofty goal for this unemployed recent grad. That's not what I meant.

I mean, could I afford to live here

when some live here?

Can I live here

having been here?

The Bible doesn't say "Don't live in a nice house"... but it does say "give everything you have to the poor."

But who are the poor?

Are the poor the children in a hogar in Guatemala who play with one-armed Barbies but have the joy of the Lord in their hearts and it shows on their faces?

Are the poor the people paying taxes on their 4,000 square-foot homes who are on the brink of divorce, have disrespectful children, and hire someone else to pick up their dog poop?

Part of me says, no way, I will never live in a classy neighborhood. (Especially based on those stereotypes). I've seen too much poverty to be comfortable in a large, neat home.

Perhaps that is true. For just me and the dog, this four-bedroom, three-bath home is way too big. But what if I had a husband and children?

Through trial and error, I have learned some aspects of third-world ministry. I have been to places where hand sanitizer and toilet paper are luxuries. The girls in the photo above aren't just children worlds away with stories that would break your heart. We know each others' names, they are my sisters, and they almost knocked me fifteen feet off that ledge ten seconds after that photo was taken when they tried to all see it simultaneously.

Yet, as I walk through this nice neighborhood and wonder about the people inside of the homes, I wonder about them and their lives. Do they know their neighbors? Do they realize there's more to life than fnancial success? Most importantly, do they know that God loves them?

How can I walk my dog down this street

knowing stray dogs roam down this street?

Easy. On both streets there are people that have never heard the name of Jesus.

How can I limit ministry to the without-money poor without including the without-Jesus poor?

Third world ministry may be teaching people how to brush their teeth, handing out bracelets, and fitting them with eye glasses. It can be loving them, making a fool of yourself, and living the gospel.

Is that not also what is the first world also needs? Love, humor, and (most importantly) Jesus.

First world ministry is greeting neighbors as you pass them on the street, hand-delivering a warm breakfast to the neighbor's housesitter and inviting her over for dinner, or cutting someone else's grass because they're having a busy week. It can be releasing a child from poverty through child sponsorship and telling others about your Fridge Kid. It's loving the way Christ commands us and living the gospel.

He is the God of this city

just as He is of this one.

Can I afford it?

How can I NOT?

The Great Commission commands us to GO and make disciples of ALL nations (Matthew 28:19, emphasis mine). I like to GO to another nation; it has become comfortable to me. But GO can also mean GO to the other side of the shurbery.

No matter where you live, GO and be the missionary you were called to be (Acts 1:8).

It starts with me.

<>< Katie

Love like a Child

Author's Note: the following is a revised repost from the days before I had faithful readers.  It was Summer 2008 when I worked part time at a day camp.

 This afternoon I was playing "kickball" with some kids.  We just kicked the soccer ball to each other, and the group changed every few minutes.  A few five year olds, a six year old, a seven year old, and an eight year old.  Eventually the bigger kids left and the five year olds had grown bored with "kickball."  They moved on to "Let's make the teacher into a jungle gym."

When will that new playground be completed?  The word "headache" means nothing to some five year olds.

An eight year old and I sat in the grass while the two five year olds ran back and forth between us leaping into our arms with the goal of knocking us over.

Ultimately, I was lying flat on my back with both of them in my lap giggling hysterically.

"I love you, Miss Katie," one of them said to me.

"I love you more!" the other countered.

"I love you both the most!" I responded.

Why do they love me? Five minutes ago they had to ask my name. They love me because I stick up for them (ten year olds tend to wreak havoc on "kickball" games), I get the ball when it rolls in the street (when will that new playground be done?), and I let them climb all over me (does it have monkey bars?).

God does a whole lot more for us than that, yet we still hesitate to tell Him we love Him. I might step out in front of a car to protect these girls, but I probably wouldn't willingly died a painful death for them.  Yet Christ did, but sometimes I'm more willing to tell the girls of my love than I am Christ.

Tell Someone you love Him. Tell Him thanks.

Then spread the love tell someone else you love them. (And don't let it be me). Then tell them He loves them. (I already know that, so you still can't tell me).

Love,
<>< Katie

"Jesus said, 'Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.'" Matthew 19:14

God: Interpreter, Provider

I didn't realize how much time Neal and I spent together in Nicaragua until I got home and started telling these stories.  I think this is the last one (for now).

On Thursday morning we drove to another middle-of-nowhere church where we were going to do a service at 10am.  The Nicaraguan pastors suggested we walk around town and invite people, especially children, to the service.  So we did exactly that.

We strategically split into two groups with our best Spanish-speaking students split up and our bilingual Nicaraguan pastors split up.  Manolo, the bilingual Nicaragua pastor in our group, told me he wasn't going to translate our invitations.  That was all my job.  Huh what?  Not fair!

I would have much preferred to hide in the back and not do any of the talking.  Manolo was going to make sure that didn't happen.

So towards the first house we walked.  Our team stayed in a crowd in the street, and Neal and I approached the front door.

"Buenas," he said.  "We're going to have a church service over there at ten o'clock if you'd be interested in joining us.  Especially children, we're going to have activities and games for them."

Yeah, I don't know those words.  But I translated the best I could.  Then Neal and I walked on to the next house, and Manolo talked to the people, probably clarifying what I said.

Neal tried to get the other people in our group to introduce the neighbors, but only a few did and still I did all of the translating.  Honestly, I didn't really think it fair that they got to hang out and talk while I did all of the work.

That's because it was awkward and very uncomfortable to walk up to a house and talk to strangers about church... in Spanish never the less!  Neal and I confessed to each other that it was out of our comfort zones.  But with every house, we admitted, it got easier.  Neal became comfortable with his spiel and thus I began to anticipate what he was going to say.  Of course, he threw me a curve ball now and again but the more houses we talked to, the less clarification Manolo gave afterwards.

 Of course, by now it was 10:05 and we were still inviting people to the service at 10:00... Nicaraguan time.

As we walked back to the church to prepare for the service, we talked about how the Holy Spirit interprets for us.  It communicates what we cannot.  That brought me so much peace.  Even with my befuddled Spanish, the Holy Spirit allowed to be heard what needed to be heard.

When we got back to the church, we were able to see the fruits of our labor.  Not at first, mind you, but slowly the church filled up.  Eventually, they dismissed the kids to go out back.

One... two... three... four... I stopped counting at 50.  Our final estimate was about 80.  All squished into an area the size of a dorm room. 

And again we had no plan.

We did a skit to stall for time.  Then Sara told the story of Jonah (and Annalisa, our best Spanish-speaker, interpreted).  Then we handed out Jonah coloring pages... until we ran out.

Then we handed out home safety coloring pages... until we ran out.

Then we handed out blank pieces of paper... until we ran out.  That time we ran out of kids asking for paper.

I manned the paper and crayons while our other team members scattered themselves among the masses.

Some of our girls set up in the corner of the backyard area and made Salvation Bracelets. 

We kept worrying about running out of beads, so we signaled for those incharge of the service to wrap it up.  They saw, "Keep going."

Five loaves, two fish, and a half-a-bag of beads we did not run out.  God is such a provider!  It's was awesome!

It was great to be on the bus leaving and see the children wave, each boasting a Salvation Bracelet on the wrist that matches mine.

I came home with some very important lessons learned:
1. Sometimes God asks us to do things that are uncomfortable.  But the more you do them, the more comfortable they become.
2. The Holy Spirit interprets and speaks when we cannot.  What needs to be said is said through no doing of our own.
3. The Lord provides.  It's as simple as that.

Thankful for Grace,
<>< Katie