There was hardly a dry eye in the auditorium of the Global Ministry Center (GMC) after the Tanzanian Children’s Choir sang on Friday afternoon.

“I’m here for singing and telling people the love of Jesus through gospel songs,” says Compassion-sponsored Hawa, 14, whose joy for life, talent for singing, and love for Jesus was translated through her tears. “I want people to know that the Lord is present.”

The choir had been invited to celebrate the 2008 Global Leadership Forum and to welcome Compassion’s newest field country, Togo.

Hailing from the Anglican Mlimwa Student Center in Tanzania, 12 children from the 40-person choir boarded a plane for their first trip outside their country.

“None of these kids had ever been out of Tanzania, let alone on an airplane,” says Gary Clark, a Compassion choir host. “So it was a big deal, a big deal.”

Fourteen-year-old Danessa wasn’t intimidated by her first flight. “I don’t fear because I know Jesus is with you, with me, everywhere, even on the airplane,” she says with a smile.

More than 150 different children’s choirs in Tanzania are assisted by Compassion. Much like this group, they spread the gospel to various churches in their country, using their songs of praise, rich in rhythm and movement, to reach out to the community.

Hawa says, “I try the best of my level, even in Swahili, to tell [people] God is good through everything.”

This choir trip was the first time Compassion has brought a group of sponsored children to the GMC. The idea came from East Africa Area Director, Ephraim Gensi. Ephraim challenged us to use the Tanzanian children’s choirs to promote Compassion when he spoke at a chapel service earlier this year.

Tanzania’s Country Director, Emmanuel Mbennah says, “Personally, I have always had a desire that children’s choirs from field countries could come and minister, which would be a developmental experience for them and true ministry to people at GMC as well as sponsors and potential sponsors.”

Mary Lou Elliot, David Dahlin’s assistant, heard Ephraim’s words and decided to act. She says, “The Lord put that in my heart somehow, I don’t know why.”

Mary Lou’s idea was embraced by our leadership. They created guidelines to protect the children while in the U.S., and these guidelines will serve to govern similar visits in the future.

After the decision was made to bring the children to the U.S. and guidelines established to protect the children while here, Mary Lou had six weeks to select which children would come, obtain their visas and plane tickets, and find places for them to stay.

Hosting and featuring the choir was a dream come true, she says: “It brings me to tears; just the thought of bringing children from the centers who are full of the joy of the Lord.”

The children return to Tanzania today, after an eight-day visit. Their time here was packed with a visit to the zoo, a natural wonder called the Cave of the Winds, and an amusement center – in addition to inspiring performances at Southeast Christian Church in Parker, Colo.

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And what I thought was powerful and moving at lunch barely compared to what I experienced on Friday. In fact, it didn’t compare at all.

As the kids took the stage, the lighting was almost dimmed by the luminosity of their smiles; they began singing, much like they did Monday at lunch, and despite the different setting, their energy and enthusiasm was unchanged.

The intensity of their voices and the authenticity of their faith, joy, and gratitude were unchanged. Impervious. And that wasn’t even the inspiring part.

The last song they performed was a ballad, a deeply captivating song about children in poverty. The words alone moved me to tears, but hearing it sung by children in poverty was almost unbearable.

The lyrics were written from an outsider’s perspective, but they were sung by those inside the circumstance. As the children sang, I pictured them securely resting in the arms of our Lord as He looked down on family and friends and asked the same question we all ask: Why?

The performance caused goose-bumps to erupt up and down my arms. As they sang the chorus one last time, instead of singing about “other children,” they sang about themselves. And in addition to thanking God for His love, they thanked us, the audience, for our support and provision.

As moving and inspiring as it all was, nothing compared with how it ended.

As they stood, singing, several girls started crying. Not just one glistening tear. They began to sob. Shoulders heaving and little bodies convulsing. It was like a domino effect.

I think I went into spiritual shock. I couldn’t move, couldn’t blink. I could only absorb . . . and it was overwhelming.

I have always considered myself to be a somewhat mature Christian, having gone through my valley and mountain top spiritual seasons and coming out stronger and wiser for it. I thought I understood the grace and love of God. I thought I had some idea of the desperate dependence that the Lord calls us to live in daily, carrying our crosses and following His lead. I thought I had tasted His sovereignty and His provision. And for all of it, I have considered myself grateful and thankful for all those things.

But I discovered that my gratitude was about as deep as a kiddy pool compared to the spiritual depth and experience that I saw emerge from the hearts of those children.

I am going to go out on a limb and say that very few of us (if any) have ever been in a position in which meals were not guaranteed on a daily basis or our friend’s livelihood was not guaranteed when the sun came up. That a parent’s ability to provide was a prayer and not a promise. As much as I wanted to identify with these kids, I could not.

The reason we had nothing in common was because their gratitude poured forth from hearts that were grateful for spiritual life and the salvation of their souls.

They were grateful that they didn’t feel sick that day, that their families were being helped by Compassion. They were grateful because their sponsors loved them and cared enough to send $32 a month. They were grateful because gratitude was all they had to give.

How many of us want to be that grateful? Harder still, how many of us are willing to learn how to be that grateful?

If you want to know and have the gratitude that those children had, be prepared to understand why they have it. It is all that they have. The lives they lead are not radical; they are Biblical.

Where does your devotion lie?

Who or what holds the keys to your heart? Your joy? Your peace?

The only thing I truly know is this: when we have been brought to our knees at the foot of the cross, every hindrance aside, not only is our gratitude more pure and undefiled, but we are in the perfect place to receive His grace.

I want to rest there. Will you come with me?

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When I walked into the New Delhi Café (get it?), I was startled to see most of our tables occupied by little boys and girls . . . FROM AFRICA! A group of about ten kids, roughly eight to twelve years old, from Tanzania were all sitting down having lunch and drinking Cokes. They were bright-eyed, big smiled, beautiful kids.

As I filed in with many others for what we thought would be a normal lunch, I overheard someone say that they were all Compassion sponsored children.

“What an awesome reminder,” I thought to myself. “I’m working for them, their friends, and families.” Despite the fact that they were all well and healthy, I still found myself pitying them because they had to be “sponsored.”

But then, all of the sudden, they stood up, gathered together, started swaying in unison . . . and started singing.

I have never heard anything like it. Besides being on perfect key, they sang in harmony with one another. I can’t begin to tell you just how moving it was to listen to them to sing praises to the Lord. More powerful than their voices, though, were their hearts behind it.

As they sang and swayed, they all either had their eyes closed or their eyes wide open and hands raised to heaven. I never knew the power of a child’s faith until that moment.

And yet these are not just any children.

They are from parts of the world and circumstances that, from my perspective, would hardly move me to recognize and respond to God. The beauty and conviction for me lay in the fact their faith was not based upon their homeland or family circumstance.

Their faith and reason for worship was based on the condition and circumstance of their heart. I then realized it was not them who were in need or pity, but me.

While I appear healthy, I am actually quite diseased. I have the disease of greed, materialism, and — worst of all — selfishness. Things that have manifested themselves and festered not from need but overabundance. At some point, I don’t recall when, those thingsthat which were provisional blessings from the Lord stopped being blessings and became entitlements, in my mind.

As I sat listening to the kids singing “We worship you Lord, for you are good,” my heart broke. They sing those words because they know His goodness and faithfulness in another way: the provision they receive is unknown day to day, but still it comes.

Their gratitude stems from hearts that do not expect what they receive; rather, they are grateful because they know they can not provide for themselves, and so in the midst of their dependence, they are humbled. But they are not ashamed.

On the other side of the world lies another mindset completely.

In stark contrast, I find myself thinking and feeling as though I deserve all that I have. And the magnitude of my gratitude is dependent on how productive I am at work or how good my service was at the restaurant of my choice.

The bigger issue is the state of our hearts (I’m taking the liberty of speaking for all us, hope you don’t mind). Instead of rejoicing in our inability to provide for ourselves in the way that our souls need, we are afraid to be dependent on anyone, so we choose to be dependent on things. We are afraid to ask for help and receive assistance. In our culture, the only glory is in being self-sustaining.

Isn’t it ironic that even when we are successful in this, we still feel like failures?

As the kids continued singing, I found myself wishing I was more like them. Free from the world but enslaved to Christ.

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