“I know there is a God because in Rwanda I shook hands with the devil.” – Major General Romeo Dallaire, Force Commander, United Nations Mission Assistance in Rwanda.

But where evil is strong, hope is stronger.

I’m an employee at Compassion. I work as an assistant for our International Program Communications Director. I love my job and I love working for Compassion.

However, for years my heart has ached to travel to East Africa. I wanted to see firsthand the children that haunted my dreams and now consume my days as I work to help release children from poverty.

Last year, my boss agreed to let me take a two-month leave of absence to work at a Rwandan orphanage. I just got back a couple weeks ago.

While in Kigali, I experienced more hope and more devastation than I thought possible. But it’s because of Compassion that I am able to bring you this story about love, hope and sorrow in Rwanda. About some orphans, some widows and some abandoned children who when they have nothing left, cling to Jesus. In the midst of extreme poverty, they choose hope.

Rwanda. It seeped into every part of me. The only phrase that seems appropriate for this country is “Devastating Beauty.”

In Kigali, I saw more beauty than words can express. However, in some of the same moments, the realities of poverty and sickness overwhelmed and haunted me. All I know is that it profoundly changed me.

Like many 25-year-old girls in America, before I left for Rwanda, I attempted to define some characteristics of young men of integrity. In Kigali, I found examples of those men.

The first: Gilbert. Gilbert is 26 years old and just learning English. During some of our talks I asked him to tell me his story.

He became a man when he was 11. It was 1994, and he watched his parents brutally murdered in the genocide. He then had the responsibility to care for his three sisters.

In broken English and with tears in his eyes he said:

“After the genocide, a man from the village came to me and told me I had to come to a meeting to represent our family. He said, ‘YOU are now the man.’ I remember thinking, ‘What? I am not a man, I am 11 years old! How can I be the man?’”

With no other options, he accepted responsibility, and to this day continues taking care of his family. His story is similar to many of the Compassion children you help sponsor.

But the young man who had the biggest impact on me in Rwanda was a 7-year-old named Innocent.

Besides possessing a divine name, Innocent carries an amazing heart. He is mature and selfless. He picks up the emptied plates at the dinner table and then rushes to help the babies eat, or work on his studies. Never once did I see a poor attitude or an inkling of complaint from this boy.

Innocent works hard in school and plays hard at home (He beat me in soccer every single day!). When I looked into his eyes, I saw hope for Africa. Hope that young boys like Innocent will continue to grow into men of integrity. Hope that in the midst of incredible evil and unbelievable circumstances, the young children of Rwanda will grow up to be leaders who follow hope and pursue Christ.

Hope for Africa. Many moments in Kigali, as I walked down the dusty streets, grief-stricken by the poverty I saw, I wondered if there really was hope. How can there be hope when I see little children begging on the streets in rags?

Despite this, God is evident in Rwanda. In the aftermath of the genocide, His presence is everywhere, especially in the eyes of the children.

While at the orphanage, I developed a special relationship with Deborah. This 2-year-old has unique needs, as she has cerebral palsy.

With shame, I admit my initial discomfort with Deborah. She drooled constantly. She smelled of urine as she wet her diapers frequently. She was always covered in dirt from frequent falls.

However, this could not touch her startling beauty. Of the 29 incredible children I lived with at the orphanage, Deborah had an extra glimmer and shine in her eyes. Oh how I long to see the world through her eyes! When she saw me, she squeaked with joy and ran to me, longing to be picked up and held.

So much hope can be found in a hug and a smile. I found hope from Deborah on my worst of days.

I remember one particularly hard day in Kigali. I felt utterly exhausted and wanted to escape the daunting presence of poverty and evil. I walked back into the home, and Deborah was at the gate, waiting for me. She ran as fast as she could, drooling, wet and dirty.

Yet this time, as I picked her up, I couldn’t let her go. I wouldn’t. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I hugged this little one. In her eyes there is love. In her eyes there is hope. And there is no shame.

Yet again a child taught me a lesson about our Jesus. I am Deborah. I am handicapped, weak, smelly and covered in filth. So many times while in this state, I am too ashamed to come to Jesus, to run to Him. I want to clean myself up and not be seen as I really am. But in that moment, Deborah’s vulnerability deeply impacted my heart.

Only weeks ago, little Deborah was in my arms. Now, in America, thousands of miles away and in a completely different world, my arms ache to hold Deborah again. I pray that someday each of you will get the opportunity to visit the country that stole my heart and see the hope that rose from the ashes of the genocide.

Yes, in April of 1994, the presence of the devil was strong in Rwanda. However, this April of 2009? This April, people will mourn and remember, and look toward the future with glorious hope. Hope best seen in the eyes of our children

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His workmanship becomes ingrained within our being. He weaves stories into our lives. Stories of triumph, of sorrow, of sheer joy. Stories of hope.

Reading your stories of hope captivated me as well as resurrected a story of hope I have seen in my life, in a place before Compassion.

When He gave me this story, my life became enriched. My heart now scarred with such sacred radiance:

It was 5:30 in the morning. The rain fell. It poured. Then subsided. Then it trickled. And finally, poured again. It seemed as if it were trying to find its place. My heart was trying to find its place, too. The concrete floor I sat on came alive with the tapping of little feet entering the open room. I pulled my blanket close, and Patman falls into my lap. She is a 12-year-old Burmese orphan and has escaped into Thailand seeking refuge.

Though I had come to know her story, I still could not believe it. There is some kind of innocence still preserved. Some kind of purity still thriving. She opens her mouth along with the other orphaned children and begin to sing to their Father. The only Father they know.

I love the song, but not as much as I love how it sounds coming out of their mouths. They sing in unison. The sweet harmony lifting from their lips, in-between emerging yawns, finds its way outside of the tin roofed building and into the green field. Their small voices wake up the birds; they wake up the nearby pigs, the stray dogs. They wake up the widowed grandma sleeping nearby. Lastly, without caution, they wake up my heart.

Their song is beautiful but not like pretty, polished, rehearsed beautiful. It is hopeful, passionate, praise beautiful. I sing it too. I close my eyes and push my head against Patman to hear her voice. I forget about the bugs, the concrete floor, the brisk air and the reality that I will soon leave this place, but they will not. I want to sing as they did. I want to believe with such resolve that He truly is all I have. Everything, all of me, resting completely on His love. He is the bottom line. He is the portion.

“I love the mountains
I love the waterfalls
I love the blue skies
I love the flowers
Thank you God for making them
I love you God
I love you God
I love you God”

In this tiny orphanage a pastor had taken in the children whose parents had been killed in Myanmar (Burma) because of the war. Their rooms are crammed. They own nothing, all of it a donation to be shared amongst themselves. All of it with the fingerprint of the Lord’s provision. They have stories I was sure only movie producers could conjure up.

Patman allows her last few words to escape from her mouth to end the song, and then looks at me and smiles. I become weak. When I ask if I can pray, she questions back, “May I pray please? I love Jesus.” This is when I know, this when I see a Love that conquers the enemy. I see a faith that even the lies of poverty cannot defeat.

And this is what is so grand, He is writing stories like these all the time, in everyplace. Like in Guatemala.

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Thank you for giving us a glimpse into how “hope lives” in your lives — how He lives.

And thank you for participating.

Would you please take some time to read what these three ladies wrote about hope in their lives?

Help us make the hard choice of who gets our non-eternal prize — autographed copies of Party Divas and Hope Lives.

• Hope Lives! – by Princess Leia
• Hope lives because everyone makes a difference. – by Trena Irwin
• Six Times – by Juli Jarvis

Thank you for voting.

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It took some time to hoodwink someone into donating a prize, but we finally found Amber.

Well, we knew where Amber was the whole time, so the truth is that we finally thought to ask her to donate autographed copies of her two books, Party Divas and Hope Lives.

What’s the gist of the contest?

• Write a blog post describing how “hope lives” in your life.
• Link back to this post in your post.
• Leave us a comment, including a link to your blog, so we know you’re participating.
• If you don’t have a blog, you can still participate. Just tell us how “hope lives” in your life by commenting on this post.
• We’ll choose three finalists.
• You’ll pick a winner from the three finalists.

Simple. Right?

Oh, one other thing. Write your “hope lives” post by Tuesday, November 11. Voting will be between November 12 and 15, with the winner announced on Monday, November 17.

Hmmm. Guess that was really three things.

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Have you ever experienced something here in the States that really made you get it?

Several months ago here at Compassion, we had a speaker at our weekly chapel. He had a pitcher full of 30,000 bbs. He told us about how 30,000 children under 5 die each day of preventable causes. Now, I’m no stranger to numbers. I could rattle off the numbers of poverty till your eyes cross.

But this speaker slowly poured 30,000 bbs into a metal basin as we sat and listened. Each ping that represented a life was like getting stuck by a pin. And they kept coming and coming and coming. Just as you thought there surely couldn’t be any more, that he must be nearing the end of the bbs, they just kept pouring. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.

And for all my knowledge of numbers, this left me undone. God used the experience to break through my heart’s armor of cold, sterile numbers to soften it to the reality of human suffering.

I wrote Hope Lives with a prayer that God would use it to soften others’ hearts toward what he cares about so deeply. Now I’m writing a follow-up to this book that will help small groups experience and pray for the needs in this world.

So I need your help! Have you experienced something at your church or with your youth group or with your family that really helped you empathize with those in need or understand what poverty means? For example, I know of some families who have tried to eat for one day spending just $1, the amount millions of families around the world live on each day. I know another Compassion employee who used this photo as the artwork over his dining room table.

What great ideas do you have that you would like to share? How did your experience effect you?

Fine print: OK, my publisher said I need to include this here: By sharing your idea, you’re giving me permission to use this idea in publication without any form of compensation, other than my deepest gratitude and eternal friendship.

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• Part I
• Part II
• Part III
• Parts etc.

• What advice would you give to a young director of a small starting ministry? (Gabe)

Make sure the cause of the ministry that you are leading is your absolute passion. Ask yourself deep in your soul

Is this really what I’m all about? Is this absolutely my passion?

The test that I put myself through every few days — and I would tell you to do the same — is this:

When you think about this ministry that you’re launching, test whether or not it can move you to tears in 30 seconds — either tears of great sorrow at the need that you are trying to fill or tears of great joy at the impact and the joy of making a difference in your world? If it cannot move you to tears in 30 second, my advice is … don’t do it.

Don’t start a ministry without huge passion. It’s got to come from deep inside you.

• What is the best thing that people going on a short term missions trip can do to make a lasting impact with the people that they serve? (Sara Benson)

First of all I would say, “Good for you!” for going on a mission trip. I think in this day and age, as small as the world has gotten and how easily we can travel to any corner of the world, anyone who can financially do it ought to get out there and see it. But my caution to you, Sara, is that you’re in for a surprise. Because you are going to be the one who’s impacted.

I know that it takes a wonderful heart to go out there — a heart to bless people and to make a lasting impact on them. But you are the one who’s really going to be changed.

What you should plan to do is to go to love, to serve and to learn, and you should go fully expecting to be blessed. God gave us two ears and one mouth, and I advise you to use them in that proportion. I know that’s especially true when you go overseas into a setting that you are not familiar with. You should do twice as much listening as talking.

Go with a heart to bless, but my experience has been — and I believe your reality will be — that you will come back with a heart far better blessed than you could ever imagine. Your biggest challenge isn’t what you do over there. Your biggest challenge will be determining afterward what you are going to do over here with what you now know and what you now feel. Scripture says “To whom much is given, much is required.” And that isn’t about money … that’s about experience and heart and insight. So I wouldn’t go over there without a realization that when I come back, I’m going to have to do something with what was done to my heart.

And one last thing I have to say is read Hope Lives – Amber Van Schooneveld’s book. I don’t know of a five-week personal journey that better prepares someone for a mission trip than that book.

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I’ve thought and prayed these things many times. When viewing this world with its huge statistics of dread that loom over us (one BILLION people living in poverty), have you ever just felt stuck? Paralyzed? Anaesthetized? Confused? Helpless? Hopeless?

I’ve felt all those things. Usually when I’m looking at two things:

• The enormous earth, jam-packed with dreadful statistics, and
• Me

They both seem like depressing prospects.

Thank God this is not about me or you. Thank God for His grace. When the Lord called out looking for someone to be his messenger, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” (Isaiah 6:8, NIV), He didn’t say “Whom shall I send who has a doctorate degree? Who will go for us who’s a super-swell, smart, sophisticated, experienced guy?”

No, God doesn’t put the same prerequisites on his servants that we put on ourselves. He seems quite eager to use each one of us as his servants, just the way he made us.

I recently wrote a book about responding to poverty, Hope Lives, and between you and me, this is a bit crazy. Don’t tell anyone (especially my marketers), but I’m just a goofball from Colorado who loves donuts and reality television. But I’m a goofball who (quite audaciously) called out to God, “Here am I, send me!”

And you know what? God (quite audaciously, in my opinion), said “OK.” I’m tempted to think He might need a stricter HR department, but those are just the lies of the enemy. God wants to use each one of us (I mean you) to reach out and help His hurting world, no matter how insufficient we think we are.

We might not all be missionaries or nurses or have doctorate degrees in poverty, but God did plant a little seed, a little talent, in each of us that He wants to use and grow. There’s a guy who works here at Compassion whom God gave the talent of rapping. Yes, rapping. And he’s using it to speak out against poverty. There’s a woman who loves to write letters, and she’s using this gift to write letters of encouragement and hope to dozens of children in poverty.

Maybe you can’t write or rap, but what can you do to serve others? Bake? Fix cars? Persuade? Sew? Tap Dance?

No matter how small (or random) our talent seems, God can use it. He can multiply our offering that seems so measly and make it into something incredible, just like the little boy with the two bitty fish that God used to feed 5,000 (John 6). God gave me the gift of writing.

The small step of faith I took in this has now been multiplied by God, through Hope Lives church kits which guide churches through a five-week journey of exploring how God wants us to respond to poverty. Now how crazy is that?

I believe God is waiting for each one of us to look past the looming, seemingly impossible statistics, forget ourselves and our own insufficiencies, and simply say: “Here I am God, send me.” And I bet we’ll be flat-out flabbergasted by what he does.

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