I was driving to work the other day and was blessed to hear one of my favorite songs, “He Reigns” sung by the Newsboys. I’m not sure how old the song is but every time I hear it I actually see in my mind the African plains.

For some reason the song just reaches all the sensory parts of my brain. I can smell the Amazon rain and hear the song rising over the noise. It makes me want to sing louder and love deeper in a way that I don’t always connect with on a daily basis.

Why? I don’t exactly know, but there is something extremely powerful to me in this song and the thought of coming together with other believers around the world in a grateful choir singing “Glory, Glory, Halleluiah, He reigns, He reigns.” It gives me chills.

It’s the song of the redeemed rising from the African plain.
It’s the song of the forgiven drowning out the Amazon rain.
The song of Asian believers filled with Gods holy fire.
It’s every tribe, every tongue, every nation, the love song born of a grateful choir.

(chorus)
And all Gods children singing glory, glory, halleluiah, He reigns He reigns. (2x)

Let it rise above the four winds, caught up in the heavenly sounds.
Let praises echo from the towers of cathedrals to the faithful gathered underground.
With all the bells rung from the dawn of creation some were meant to persist.
With all the bells rung from a thousand steeples, none rings truer then this.

And this is my favorite part.

and all the powers of darkness tremble at what they’ve just heard, cause all the powers of darkness can’t drown out a single word.

On that particular morning, the lyrics choked me. I kept picturing myself singing “glory, glory, halleluiah, He Reigns . . .” as a part of the grateful choir around the world like I normally do. Only this time I was holding my 16-pound little boy, Edison who is four and a half months old and standing next to a woman from West Timor holding her 15-month-old little girl, Maria, who weighs 10 pounds and hardly has the strength to eat. I couldn’t even sing with this thought in my mind.

I probably should have pulled over and parked so I had the time to sob before Jesus about this powerful picture and ask what He would have me do about it today, in this moment. Sadly, I didn’t take the time to do that as I was in a hurry, of course . . . but I suspect it won’t be long that I can outrun that time with Jesus. I know it’s coming.

For now I’m ever more grateful that Compassion allows me to do something for the women standing beside me (figuratively speaking) around the world with their babies . . . other women who don’t even know Jesus yet, women who can’t write their name and have to beg for food to feed their babies or worse than that have to watch their babies die from starvation, malnutrition, diarrhea, or whatever other illness claims their lives.

I know that I can love these women in a tangible way through Compassion’s Child Survival Program. I know that I can help churches in their area reach out to them and offer not only needed health resources and nutrition but a different life, an opportunity — and not just one but multiple opportunities. Opportunity and success helps women become more confident and confident women can raise more confident children.

Thank you Newsboys, and whoever wrote that song, for staying open to the Spirit of Jesus. I think somehow it is a picture of heaven to me. I know that I want more people in the grateful choir with me holding cute babies.

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There’s a journal sitting on the table next to my bed. There’s also one sitting on the table next to the rocking chair in Edison’s room. I have one to write my thoughts and feelings through my pregnancy and the other to journal through the first few months and years of Edison’s life.

Would you be surprised if I told you they were both empty?

Maybe someday I’ll regret not writing more during my pregnancy and this time as a new mom, but right now all the inspiring thoughts I can get out of my pen go in Edison’s baby book . . . and most of the rest of my thoughts, before he was born, weren’t that inspiring.

For some reason I just can’t write about how awful I felt trying to sleep every night in my bed with my every craving available in my refrigerator downstairs, or at the very least, at the neighborhood grocery store. I seriously don’t even want to try to remember the number of nights I tried to sleep in a sitting-up position in a soft comfy chair because my nose was so stuffed up I couldn’t breathe — and I didn’t even have a cold. As much as I want to complain, and probably did at the time, I know I really had it easy.

And the stuff I want to remember . . . like how cool it was to feel him kicking around inside me and how it is just a little freaky and amazing that God can even do such a miracle in me . . . would be really hard to “get” from words on a page. Right now, I remember these things every time I look at my son’s face and see that he is growing right before my eyes.

So, who am I to regret not doing something so indulgent as writing all this stuff down when most of the new mothers around the world can’t even read, let alone write their own name? Many of these women wouldn’t even believe that their words counted or their thoughts mattered. And I wonder, is it possible to raise a child with self esteem if you don’t have it yourself?

And really, how am I so different from them anyway? Don’t all mothers everywhere want the same things for their children? I still remember the first time Edison smiled at me on purpose. Now I even get to hear him laugh. Can you imagine not hearing your child laugh?

Child Survival Program multiplies the amazing sound of laugher around the world. It is the sound of health, it is the sound of life, it is the sound of Love . . . the kind Jesus was known for.

Popularity: 42% [?]

You know all those precious email forwards you get from your great aunt brimming with puppies and kittens and babies? The ones with soft music playing in the background and inspirational phrases slowly fading in and out of the screen, which you quickly delete from your inbox?

Well, I delete those too, but I think there must be something in the water here at Compassion, because I think I might be becoming one of them! Each time I receive a cute baby picture from one of our field countries, I call my cube mates over to my desk so we can ooh and ahh over their chubby cheeks. And these babies each have an incredible story behind them — babies whose lives have been changed and even saved through Compassion’s Child Survival Program.

So I couldn’t help making my very own cute baby montage for your viewing pleasure. (And I won’t make you listen to any soft elevator music … but I can’t promise that there won’t be puppies.)

Popularity: 52% [?]