It’s 11:30 a.m. and lunch should be almost ready, but this home of seven people has only a small bowl of boiling water on their firewood stove.

The father just came back from a busy morning at the farm, bringing some beans that would be used for lunch, the only ingredient of the first meal of their day.

The global food crisis has hit so many people. Guillermo, father of three Compassion-assisted children and another who isn’t registered, used to have a steady job making bricks. But now he is no longer permanently employed. He lost his job because there wasn’t enough demand for bricks. He found another job at a farm taking care of beans and a corn plantation. Those two partial jobs together make an income of about $37 per month for Guillermo and his family.

Ventura, Guillermo’s wife, in her effort to help the home’s income, baby-sits her granddaughter, making about $75 per month with which they have to find a way to cover all of the family’s expenses such as food, clothes, water service, school supplies, soap, toothpaste, etc.

Since the family cannot buy as much as they used to, what they have in a normal day for breakfast is a cup of coffee with bread or just coffee.

For lunch, beans, a piece of cheese and tortilla that Ventura makes. And for dinner, most of the time is just another cup of coffee.

“The crisis has affected our health. We cannot improve our home or buy new kitchen utensils. My husband is working extra but still getting the same,” says Ventura. (more…)

I’ve discovered that the older I get, the more amazing my mother gets. For a few years, my mother raised me as a single mom. I was too young to remember that time, and she never talked about it much. Whenever I would ask her questions about those years, she would just shrug her shoulders. In her mind, she just did what she had to do. Eventually we moved in with my aunt, and later my mom remarried.

A few months ago, I was visiting with my aunt. We were reminiscing about my childhood when my aunt suddenly became very quiet. She turned to me, her eyes brimming with tears, and took my hands in hers.

“Your mother made so many sacrifices for you,” she said quietly. I nodded, but said nothing. I knew she wasn’t finished. “We knew things were hard for her, but we didn’t know how hard. Brandy — she would not eat so she could buy you food. She would do anything for you.”

I sat on my aunt’s porch, unable to speak. So many of my childhood memories involve food. Of my mother tearing up pieces of chicken on a bright pink plastic plate. Blowing on a bowl of steaming potatoes dotted with butter and pepper. Stirring a bubbling pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove.

I was too young to notice that sometimes her own plate was empty.

I know that my mother’s story is not an isolated experience. I know that too well. I’ve read dozens of stories and reports about families literally starving to death. Of mothers sacrificing for their children day after day. To the point of death.

I’m not a mother yet. I don’t know what it’s like to love a child that completely — that sacrificially. But I do know that my mother had family who stepped in when things were bad. Sadly, mothers in poverty-stricken communities often don’t have that same kind of support.

I will never be able to repay my mother for the sacrifices she made for me. But I can learn from her sacrifice. I can skip eating out and donate to a local food pantry. I can forgo my coffee shop visits and give to mothers desperate to feed their children.

I can give food to those who are hungry. Just like my mother did.