In the second episode of Missions in Action we’re in Quezon City, and we meet Maan, a Leadership Development Program student who want to become a director of a child development center.

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Nine-year-old Jessa lives in a tiny, dark hovel situated within a crowded squatter community in metro Manila. Jessa’s home, unlike the typical homes in most squatter communities, is a concrete house.

While this shelter could keep the family safe during typhoons, on other days of the year it is very hot and humid inside their one-room house.

Jessa wakes up at 4 a.m. Monday through Friday. It is still dark at this time of day, but inside the family’s bedroom it is dark at every time of the day. They do not have a window.

During the rainy season, sleeping in their cramped bedroom is cozy, but on most days of the year, it is hot and humid. Jessa, her father, Jesus, her mother, Naty, and sister, Joyce Ann, sleep together on a tattered double-size mattress inside a 6’ x 6’ room.

The family sleeps cross-wise on the mattress with their feet touching the floor.

At 4:30 a.m. Jessa smells the freshly steamed rice “Nanay” (her mother, Naty) is cooking below; not “downstairs” but “below” since they do not have a staircase. The family bedroom is on a sort of mezzanine-type floor.

Jessa gingerly steps down onto the kitchen sink and to a wooden plank before she touches the linoleum- covered concrete floor. She tries not to startle her uncle who is sleeping on a wooden mat in the living room.

Jessa takes a quick breakfast – a plate of steamed white rice and locally canned meatloaf – and a quick morning bath.

It is so humid in the Philippines during both the dry and wet seasons that Filipinos cannot truly start their day without taking a quick shower. Jessa doesn’t have a shower. She scoops water from a pail using a plastic dipper inside their dimly lit bathroom. On cooler days during the winter, Naty heats a kettle of water for her daughters.

The Philippines does not have what many people would consider winter. It never gets that cold. There are only two seasons here – dry, when it can still get really sticky, and wet, when typhoons, cyclones, floods and flood-related diseases arrive.

Jessa’s family doesn’t really have a living room. It is just a dark, tiny living space with her uncle’s wooden bed that doubles as a couch when the family watches TV. Uncle owns the second-hand TV but it does not connect to any of the local channels; they use it only to watch DVD movies. Jessa’s uncle sells cheap, pirated DVDs.

At 5:30 a.m. Jessa is ready to walk to school. The Bayanihan Elementary School is only a few meters away. Jessa’s favorite subject is math, but she doesn’t enjoy science. Today she is competing in a journalism contest in which she already won the first round.

But Jessa doesn’t want to be a journalist or mathematician when she grows up; she hopes to be a nurse. She tells us,

“I want to be a nurse someday so that I can help other people.”

School goes until noon, then Jessa returns home for lunch. The house is better lit at this time of day, but the living room is still mostly in shadows. Jessa’s uncle has left to sell more of his DVDs.

Jessa helps herself to lunch. Her mother and little sister, Joyce Ann, join her. They are having leftover cold rice and canned meatloaf. Jessa’s father, Jesus, is working as a tricycle-taxi driver, riding through the crowded back alleys of Baler community where they live.

The tricycle-taxi, the most common form of transport in back alleys and minor Philippine roads, is a 100-cc motorcycle with a lavishly designed metal sidecar. It normally rides three passengers but can carry six when necessary. Basic fare is P8.00 (US $.19). Jessa’s father earns an average of P150 (US $3.57) a day.

After finishing her school assignments, Jessa spends the rest of the afternoon playing outside. Naty allows her to watch local TV at their neighbors’ house for an hour.

Jessa and her little sister come home at 6:30 p.m. — just before its gets dark outside (and darker inside their home) and before their neighbors start drinking bottles and bottles of beer and getting boisterous and violent.

Nearly all male adults in this crowded community spend their evenings hanging out and getting drunk; Jessa’s father is one of the few exceptions.

Almost all female adults hang out all day gossiping and gambling, except for Jessa’s mother and a few others.

For dinner, the entire family eats cold rice and canned meatloaf – more leftovers. By 9 p.m. the entire family is back in their tiny mezzanine bedroom.

This is Jessa’s typical day. But her routine changes dramatically on Saturdays, when she goes to her nearby Compassion-assisted child development center to play with friends, sing and dance, listen to Bible stories, memorize verses, learn, and eat nutritious meals and snacks.

“I really enjoy going to the student center because I learn many things; I also get school tutorials, and I also enjoy memorizing verses.”

Jessa’s mother shares,

“Jessa loves to study. She is intelligent, respectful, kind and diligent. She does her homework on her own.”

Naty hopes and prays that Jessa will go to college someday and achieve her dreams in life – something Naty and her husband dreamed of as they grew up but never had the chance to fulfill.

Naty grew up in the same community. She saw, felt, smelled, tasted and experienced all that her daughter is going through right now, but there is a big difference — Jessa is a sponsored child through Compassion International.

Jessa receives regular medical and dental checkups, school tutorials, spiritual discipleship, and one-on-one attention and care, as do all of the 160 children registered at the CCWI (Church of Christ Worldwide Inc.) Student Center.

Jessa’s family is also comforted to know that local Compassion staff will help take care of them if their house ever gets struck down by a strong flood or other calamity or if Jessa becomes seriously ill — tragedies that are not uncommon in Philippine squatter communities.

As her mother says,

“Jessa’s sponsorship is a big help to us. We have very little in life. She is learning many things at the student center and church. Our family is very grateful.”

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I can’t get Vilma, the mother of Special Olympian Emilda Soriano, out of my mind. The other day I glimpsed what it is like to be a mother in one of the poorest neighborhoods in Iloilo City — a neighborhood made for the dead.

Vilma’s shanty is cobbled together on top of a row of tombstones in a public cemetery. I made my way up a steep ladder and entered Vilma’s home — two 6- x 8-foot rooms with rotting wood floors barely able to hold my weight. The ceiling is made from rusted tin pieces. Each hole in the tin is stuffed with tinfoil to keep out frequent downpours.

As I spent the day with Vilma and her family and walked around the cemetery where Emilda often runs to train for the Olympics, I learned that they used to live on top of a crypt in the cemetery.

The owner of the crypt is a family friend who allowed them to live there for five years. Then the crypt owner gave the Sorianos enough money to build their shanty.

I weaved my way through the cemetery toward the crypt and was surprised to see so many tombstones for babies and toddlers. Each mother of each entombed baby had hopes and dreams for her baby, just as Vilma has for Emilda. But poverty cruelly cut each little life short.

Around the world, one child in poverty under the age of five dies about every four seconds. This seems unimaginable. And so unfair.

Each beautiful life was capable of great purpose — but how can a child born into an environment like this overcome sicknesses to survive past age five? As I read each tombstone, I felt less and less hopeful:

R.I.P Baby Boy Conte. Died March 10, 1980. Stillbirth.

R.I.P Marjorie T. Patrona. Born Nov 15, 1994. Died Nov 19, 1994. Family Remembrance.

Jerimie J. Bolvio, Born Aug 26, 1990. Died April 16, 1991.

Joshua G. Bolvio. Born Nov 27, 1996. Died July 24, 1997. Family Remembrance.

Each sweet life. Each hope for a future ended.

Then, as Vilma pointed to the crypt where she and her family had lived, she said this was where she brought Emilda’s younger sister, Glory, home from the hospital.

No brightly painted pink walls. No new crib. No stuffed animals, or books, or Winnie the Pooh blankets. Just a stark-white house for the dead.

It would be easy to give up here. I felt hopeless just walking through the cemetery. Not only has Vilma lived in this unimaginably bleak environment, but she has also heard no her whole life.

When Emilda suffered brain damage at the age of 2, doctors told Vilma no.

“No, your daughter will never get better.”

When Vilma enrolled Emilda in school, her teachers said no.

“No, your daughter will never go beyond kindergarten.”

When children teased Emilda, they said,

“No, your daughter will never amount to anything.”

But Vilma chose to hope. This remarkable woman rose above her stifling circumstances to find hope for her daughter.

Vilma chose to hope that her now-18-year-old daughter, even with the mental capacity of a 3-year-old, could live a life filled with dignity and purpose.

Vilma chose to hope that she — a woman whom others look down upon because she lives in a cemetery and dropped out of school to clean houses at age 13 — has a purpose too.

You helped us help Vilma find her purpose.

You have helped us encourage Vilma to continue to hope. You have helped us provide coaches, testing and money for the fees to help Emilda compete and make it into the Special Olympics Summer Games. And we have worked tirelessly to see that Vilma can go with Emilda to Greece.

The Greek Embassy told Vilma and our Philippines staff that it wasn’t possible for her to get a passport or visa. She has no birth certificate, no identity. Many would say she has no dignity or purpose.

But we chose to hope. After months of paperwork and meetings and even a special plane journey to Manila to meet face-to-face with Greek officials, Vilma got her birth certificate, her passport and a visa to see Emilda compete!

Vilma does not own a suitcase, an extra pair of shoes, or more than a few shirts and pants. Mai, the director of Salem Student Center where Emilda attends, has been gathering clothing donations for Vilma so that she will have clothes to wear while she is in Greece.

Tomorrow, Vilma will leave her home among the dead. Filled with dignity, hope and a purpose. This mother who fought to give her daughter a chance will board a plane and fly to Greece to see Emilda compete for the ultimate chance — to go for the gold in Athens!

UPDATE, June 27: I have a sad update. Unfortunately, I just found out that even though we thought all was approved, Vilma’s visa was denied.

Since Vilma has no bank account, no marriage certificate, and only a recent birth certificate (obtained when she applied for her passport), the Greek Embassy decided that she did not have sufficient evidence to prove that she would return to the Philippines if they allowed her to go to Greece, so they denied the visa.

We’ve been waiting to hear about Vilma for three or so days now. Mai, the center director, stayed in Manila several extra days to go with Vilma to the Greek Eembassy, but it was no use. The embassy staff didn’t believe that Vilma would return home. Mai ended up coming to Greece late early yesterday morning.

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I reached into the closet and pulled out a pair of slacks to wear to work. I slipped each leg in, zipped and buttoned up, and then, instinctively, stuck my hands in the pockets. I was surprised when I felt something in the front right pocket. I knew instantly it was cash. And I could tell it was more than one bill.

Was it $20?

$40?

More?

I pulled three folded bills out of my pocket. I filed through each one.

All three of them singles.

Three bucks.

I have to admit, there was a moment of disappointment. I mean, even though I was excited that I found money in my pocket, wouldn’t it have been nice if it was more?

Then I’m reminded that over 1 billion people on this planet will work all day today and not get paid what I just found in my pocket.

Even the father of the girl I sponsor won’t make $3 today, after putting in eight hours of hard, sweaty construction work. That is, if he can find work in Manila today.

I can’t imagine misplacing a full day’s pay and not tearing up the house to find it. I can’t imagine digging into my pocket and finding an entire day’s wages. But that’s exactly what I did, in the eyes of a billion people.

Three bucks. It’s amazing how important that becomes, with a little perspective.

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Metro Manila, or the National Capital Region (NCR), is the Philippines’ premier urban area, the seat of the national government, and the center of economic, social, political and cultural activities.

It is the smallest of the 17 regions in the country in terms of land area (636 square kilometers), but with almost 12 million people living here, it is also the most populous and most densely populated.

The area lies on flat, alluvial plains extending to rugged hills in its eastern portion. Average elevation is 10 meters and temperatures range from 20 to 38 degrees Celsius (68 to 100 degrees Fahrenheit). Climate is tropical marine.

Metro Manila is a melting pot of cultures and people – a dynamic mix of local and international residents. Tagalog is the most common language spoken, but English is widely used and understood.

Current Events/Issues Children Face in This Region

Metro Manila, seen as a “land of opportunities,” has lured many people from different provinces to work and live here. About 35 percent of the families live in informal slum areas that are unfit for settlement, such as in low-lying flood plains, on riverbanks, near highways and railroads, and on dumpsites.

The growing urban population has increased the demand for basic social services and increased competition for limited employment. About one in ten individuals in Metro Manila is unemployed.

While reports of child abuse are declining, about 10 percent of child abuse cases in 2007 occurred in Metro Manila.

Poverty, while continuing to be a largely rural issue, has started to encroach on urban areas like Metro Manila. Here, more than 20 percent of the population lives on less than $1 a day.

If you sponsor a child in the Philippines, that child may live in one of the poorest barangays, or communities, in Metro Manila, where 21 of the Philippines’ 287 implementing church partners (ICPs) minister to about 5,000 Compassion children.

Of the 287 church partners all over the islands, 80 (27.9 percent) are in the urban areas.

Examples of child development centers in urban areas of the Philippines include:

PH-170, 204, 206, 208-212, 214, 216, 222, 224, 226, 227, 229, 233, 238-242, 253, 254, 350, 351, 438, 439, 444, 501, 583, 588, 590, 594-600, 602, 721, 722, 747, 749, 751, 802, 806, 807, 834-836, 840-844, 850, 852, 853, 900, 903, 905-907, 917-926, 928, 951, 952, 954 and 955.

Food Crisis Update

The global food crisis has impacted children and their families in Metro Manila. Due to the rice shortage and soaring prices of food staples, hunger is now at a record-high 23.3 percent – affecting about 3.75 million people in the region. In response, Compassion in the Philippines launched a Hunger and Mitigation Program, which provided rice and food items with high nutritional value to children and their families.

Home Life

Typical houses within Metro Manila are constructed of cement and have corrugated tin roofs. Many Compassion children live in small, congested homes with one or two rooms, in crammed squatter communities. Some families still do not have ready access to a safe and steady supply of water, but most families have access to electricity.

Schools and Education

The typical school year in Metro Manila runs from June through March. Children attend either in the morning or afternoon in mostly overcrowded classrooms. Six years are required for elementary school, and another four years are necessary to graduate from high school. While public primary and secondary education is free, most Compassion-assisted children need support for school uniforms, textbooks, allowance and transportation expenses.

Most families in Metro Manila put a high premium on education. The region has the country’s highest basic literacy rate at 97 percent.

Church and Religion

Evangelicals make up less than 2 percent of the population in Metro Manila. Our church partners in this region come from 14 unique local evangelical denominations. A variety of church worship services are usually held in Tagalog, but English sessions are also common.

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Every year, graduating Leadership Development Program (LDP) students in the Philippines go to work camp where they engage in community service. The yearly work camp usually engages students in missionary work to unreached tribal groups, but this year the students extended a helping hand to typhoon victims.

At the end of October, LDP students from all over the Philippines came together in Manila, Santa Mesa, Novaliches and Bulacan for the annual camp. They were tasked to perform community service for those who had been badly affected by Typhoon Ketsana, which dumped more than a month’s worth of rain in just 12 hours, fueling the worst flooding to hit the Philippines in more than 40 years.

Zechariah, one of the students, was excited to be at this year’s work camp putting the program’s value of Christian servant leadership into practice. As he walked into a community in Marikina City, he recognized the Marikina Bridge that he had seen on TV.

“This was where a family was swept away by strong flood currents and were riding the waves on the remains of floating debris. They passed beneath this bridge.”

Zechariah and his group of 12 others were assigned to clean a church building in the squatter community of Tumana, which was near the bridge. The church is a daughter church of the Marikina Foursquare Gospel Church, a Compassion church partner.

Registered children living in the area come to this church building for their weekly developmental activities. The registered children hadn’t been able to use the building for a month because of the mud and damage from the flooding.

The student workers were surprised that a month after the typhoon the church was still muddied all over up to its ceiling. “It’s as if the flood abated just yesterday,” they observed.

The entire community, too, was still full of traces of the flooding – mud-covered homes, turned-over vehicles, and people ceaselessly talking about how they survived.

Fetching a pail of water a few blocks from the church, Zechariah said, “This is nothing new to us. We are used to this kind of work.”

His teammates agreed, recalling the times when their own hometowns were hit by cyclones.

In the community of Novaliches, the group of LDP work campers was joined by volunteer youths, doctors and nurses to offer free medicine and medical checkups.

Together with volunteers from the Nazarene Student Center and the Novaliches Nazarene Church, they offered medical help to the families of both registered and non-registered children.

One of the volunteer nurses was Dahlia, a former LDP student, who brought along volunteer doctors with free medicine.

Tweela, another student worker, believes that through the work camp she can “project positive attitude against (the people’s) negative experiences.”

She said she has received so much from the Leadership Development Program that it is just right to give to others.

“It feels good to help people knowing that this was for a purpose. There was a sense of accomplishment as we saw the church slowly getting cleaner.”

Marikina City, where the students served, was one of the worst-hit cities in metro Manila. News reports placed the death toll in Marikina alone at 75 out of the total 240 deaths around the metro area.

“I was sure I was going to die that day,” said Pastor Lorenzo as he told the LDP students how he fought to swim to higher ground.

“Here in Marikina people are used to typhoons and floods, but I was shocked to see that the waters kept rising. I knew that this was bad.

“I had to escape when the water rose to my chest. It never stopped rising until it covered the entire church building. Many people from this community died.”

After the water abated the next day, the pastor attempted to clean and fix the place all by himself. Although his members offered help, he refused them because they, too, had to take care of their own lot.

After a few days, the pastor was so exhausted that doctors advised him to rest.

“But I couldn’t rest my mind because I kept thinking about our church. I believe that it was really God who sent you (LDP students) to help me do cleanup this week. Praise God for the LDP.”

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Kenh is one of the young people living in Escopa, and today he has a chance to help solve these problems. Kehn, 16, was recently elected as one of his neighborhood’s youth officers, and already he has initiated the distribution of free bags, pencils and papers to little children, using local government funds.

“I believe that education is the key to helping the youth and straightening their lives,” he says. “If only they will stay in school, then they will be drawn away from youthful evils.”

Kenh’s involvement with the local Youth Council is political in nature, but poverty is not just political rhetoric for Kenh. It is reality.

As a young boy, he scoured garbage piles on an empty stomach to look for a few coins to buy food. He and his buddies used to dive in the dirty creek to wait for passers-by to drop a few coins. He used to push a wooden cart around the neighborhood gathering scrap metal and old newspapers to sell for a few centavos per kilo.

Now a teenager, Kenh works as an errand boy for a car repair shop. He works for long hours after school. His sister lives with relatives in Mindanao, the southernmost part of the country, because their parents just don’t have enough to feed all of them.

His father, Quineres, 43, works as an officer at the Town Hall and gets paid U.S.$71.42 a month, while Kehn’s mother washes clothes to help augment the family income.

Kenh balances work, community service, school and church. As a Compassion-sponsored child at the Lifestream Student Center, he is an active youth member of the Capitol City Foursquare Church.

Kenh says the student center gives him “inspiration to improve myself because I know that God is with me.”

Although Kenh still considers himself too young to make big decisions with social consequences, he in fact has already accomplished significant advances in the community by initiating focus programs for youths.

“It was my father who convinced me to run for the (youth officer) position. I was afraid. I’m not really popular in the neighborhood, and I’m not very keen in talking in front of people.”

To date, Kenh has initiated several youth projects, including a successful Summer Basketball League designed to educate youths about the evils of illegal drugs.

“I know these young people. I mean I know them, they are my friends. Many of them have stopped studying because they got hooked on drugs or have inadvertently begun a family. Some even, sadly, became prostitutes when they were only 13 or 14 years old.”

This, he says, is why he is motiviated to help educate children in the community.

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The winding path to her home is so narrow that only one person at a time can pass through. Children play and run along the narrow maze of alleyways, throwing rocks at houses, cursing at people and threatening other children. They are noisy, dirty and disrespectful.

Patricia had enough of them and one day decided to do something about it. She decided to teach them the Bible so that they can change their ways. She gathered these rowdy children aged 5 to 10 years old so that she can teach them about Jesus.

Patricia is only 12 years old.

“I teach them about Jesus … so that they can become better children. At first, it was just a teacher-student game but soon I realized that I could actually teach these children for real.”

For two years now, she has taught the children every Sunday afternoon at 1 p.m., with an average of 11 students at a time.

“If they won’t come, I fetch them and tell them they should listen to God’s Word since they’re not doing anything important anyway.”

Patricia doesn’t want to be a teacher or missionary but says, “I will keep on doing this so that (these children) won’t grow up to be criminals.”

Patricia is an average grade six student. She enjoys studying math and wants to be an accountant someday. She and her four siblings, grandmother and parents cram inside a tiny windowless, cement hovel. Her parents have no steady jobs.

During the week, Patricia goes to a nearby public school like most of the children in their neighborhood, but on weekends she gets busy preparing for her “class.”

As a Compassion-sponsored child she goes to the Calvary Foursquare Student Center every Saturday to hear Bible stories, learn practical skills in life and develop good Christian values. This is where she gets her inspiration.

“Whatever I learn at the (student) center I teach my students.

“Last week I learned about Gideon. And so on Sunday afternoon I narrated Gideon’s story to my students and taught them to be brave because of Jesus.”

She also explains that she borrows a friend’s illustrated Bible so that she can show colorful pictures to keep them interested.

Vicky, a caseworker at the student center says they learned about Patricia’s neighborhood class from the mothers.

“The mothers told us there’s this young lady in our neighborhood who is calling together little children so that they can listen to Bible stories.”

Patricia may not know it but people in the community appreciate what she does. A neighbor said, “We are very proud that there’s a young girl like her in our neighborhood. How we wish there were more.”

Student center staffers also admire what she does. Vicky reveals,

“She is a quiet girl. I have known her to be a very responsible child but I had no idea that she is a local missionary in her own neighborhood. I find that amazing.”

Little Danica, one of Patricia’s 6-year-old students, points to Patricia and says, “Yes, she is my teacher. She teaches me about Jesus.”

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Based on its studies on poverty, Compassion in the Philippines identified Rio Tuba as one of the neediest towns in the country, and Eric’s family is the neediest of them all.

In this isolated town where only one bus line is willing to travel from the main city, Eric’s family is even cut off from the rest of the residents. They live in an unfinished, tiny bamboo hut in the middle of an open field. Although from time to time their closest neighbor gives food and offers help, he often mocks them for their predicament.

Eric’s father, Benny, is a carpenter. He used to earn a daily income of US$5.60 when there was available work. This was not enough to feed his seven children. Since his wife left them in March 2008, Benny stopped working completely to take care of his children full time.

In April 2008, Compassion partnered with the Full Gospel Assemblies of God Church in Rio Tuba, thereby establishing the Rio Tuba Learning and Development Center. The center was ready to register children in a month’s time.

The first step was to conduct house-to-house interviews in order to identify the neediest of all. Church partner staff scoured nearby slum neighborhoods to interview heads of families.

“We are determined to register the neediest children in Rio Tuba, particularly those who are not members of our church,” says Pastor Gwen, explaining that one of the primary goals of the partnership is evangelism. As pastor for 20 years, she is excited to begin the partnership believing that they “could now truly reach out to the people.”

Average church attendance is 120, but on May 18th the church auditorium was packed with 74 mothers with their children for initial orientation. They were the one’s chosen from the household survey and were scheduled for registration three days after. Eric came with his sister, Jonalyn.

On this orientation prior to registration Isabelita, the director of the child development center, says,

“We explained that Compassion staff from Manila will arrive on Wednesday to register the children. We are excited because we know that the registration process was the first step to giving these children hope and opportunities in life.”

Wednesday came, and Benny was not really excited about his son’s registration at the center. He sat on their bamboo floor, staring blankly at the open field. He had only one focus — to feed and protect his children.

He could not envision the long-term help that sponsorship could provide his son. He just hoped that today, as Eric and Jonalyn go to church, they would be fed. Jonalyn and Eric left early. Baby Erwin cried and wanted to go with them, but big sister shooed him away. The other children were playing outside.

Mothers and children filled up the church as early as 7:30 a.m., an hour and a half earlier than scheduled. Children dressed well. They sensed it was for a special reason that they were at church on a Wednesday morning, and so they were careful not to get themselves dirty as they played inside the church while waiting.

After a 30-minute walk, Eric and Jonalyn arrived, and immediately the caseworker handed Eric a yellow paper with the number “1.” She explained that he was the first child to be registered. Eric wore a white T-shirt, black short pants and leather shoes.

Staff from Compassion’s country office in Manila arrived and explained how the child registration would be done. They gave instructions on how to stand in front of the camera: “Don’t be afraid of the camera. Relax. Place your hands on your sides and give us a big smile.”

They explained that after pictures were taken child case studies would be done. Eric was sitting in front during the orientation. He was motionless. It was his first picture ever taken.

After a few more instructions from the staff, children were made to line up for pictures outside the church where there was enough light from the sun. Eric was first to stand in front of the camera, and by his feet a number was placed to identify him: The number 1, the first registered child in the program.

He did not smile. He stared blankly at the camera.

Back home, Eric slowly climbed the bamboo stairs to take off his leather shoes. He did not have a pair of socks and so his feet hurt from all the walking. His father arrived with a handful of root crops and asked about the registration.

“I had my picture taken,” Eric said as he handed the yellow paper with the number “1” to his father and jumped out to play with Erwin.

Benny and Eric don’t know it yet, but on that day Eric took the first step towards receiving many opportunities in life. For his sake and for the other 74 newly registered children, Compassion in the Philippines will now train and equip the Full Gospel Assemblies of God Church so that the center can provide tutorials, health care, health monitoring, discipleship, life-skills training and fun activities for the children.

They will also be trained on how to build a meaningful relationship between the children and their would-be sponsors, in which the sponsors are able to encourage and support their long-term development.

Eric will be immersed in a safe and loving environment where he will receive opportunities to know Jesus, gain many friends, play, eat balanced meals, be regularly monitored of his health condition, and more importantly begin school next year. He is now a registered child.

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We arrived half an hour earlier than scheduled and did not expect for our sponsored child to be there. “Edwin!” I heard a staff member howl, and from the tone of her voice I knew right away that our child was already there waiting. She came an hour early.

I looked to where the voice came from and there she was, smiling, walking towards me with a card in her hand. I walked to get the card and knelt before her. My wife followed closely behind.

Are you Shan?

She nodded and gave the cutest smile.

My wife approached her and gave her a big hug. We opened her card together and read her carefully written message.

Welcome! I love you Daddy Edwin and Mommy Daisy.

Later we found out, that every day for a week before we came, Shan has been asking her center director when we would arrive.

After she warmed up a bit and began to communicate freely with us, I asked her a few questions not many sponsors can ask.

Shan, is it OK that we are Filipinos?

She gave me three big nods.

Is it OK that we live in the same country and that I won’t be showing you pictures of a home in the snow or of a snowman?

Her dimples on both cheeks and missing front teeth are what make her smile so cute.

“Do you know where we live?” I asked her.

Very quickly she replied, “In Manila.”

Daisy and I were afraid that she would be disappointed to see that her sponsors were not foreigners. We gave her gifts — bags, stickers, dolls, school supplies, shoes and other cuddly stuff, all coming from Manila, Philippines. We were just one hour by plane away from her.

The delight we saw in her eyes and her cute smile that almost got permanently stuck to her lovely face for the entire time we were there proved to us that we were right in deciding to sponsor a child. We were right to decide to commit US $32 a month for Shan.

While US $32 may not be considered big for the average American, it is quite substantial here in the Philippines, even for someone like me whose income is above what the common Filipino worker gets. (In fact, millions of Filipinos earn just around US $32 a month!)

We’re happy to sponsor Shan. We’re happy to see that the way she reacted to us was exactly how other sponsored children react to their foreign sponsors.

As a staff member of Compassion in the Philippines I have witnessed dozens of sponsor visits, and I knew that my own sponsor visit with Shan was running “normally,” until I saw where she lives.

My wife and I grew up here in the Philippines. We have never lived in another country and have never enjoyed the comforts of living in a developed country.

We know poverty. We have lived with it. So we were not expecting anything out of the ordinary on our way to Shan’s house, which is why I told Daisy to just wait inside the taxi as I delivered the groceries to Shan’s hovel. I knew what was coming my way — congested homes along damp and smelly alleyways with half-naked, drunken men littering the dark corners and mothers washing clothes just beside stagnant sewer lines. I’ve seen them before.

I was carrying two bags of groceries as I negotiated my way through the crowded neighborhood. Then I stopped. I literally felt a thud on my heart and tears began to roll.

I imagined Shan walking and playing through these alleyways. I imagined her running scared away from drunken men. I imagined her playfully skipping over canals filled with green-brownish goo, not knowing how dangerous it is if she falls in.

The unpleasantness of the scenario became doubly unpleasant when I realized that this is Shan’s reality. It’s not the safest place for a child to grow up. Shan’s father was murdered here when Shan was only 2 years old. He was shot in the head in broad daylight.

I was crying when I got to Shan’s tiny home. Her grandmother greeted me, invited me in and offered food. But the taxi was waiting.

As I returned to my wife she was surprised that my eyes were swollen red.

I thought it wouldn’t hit me, but it did; and it hit me hard.

What happened back there? Why did I cry?

I think I finally understood what sponsorship means. It means loving a child as your own but not being able to physically protect her all the time. And so you resolve to be the best sponsor you can be.

Before the visit, sponsorship for me and my wife was just a nice thing to do, a very nice thing. But now we know we just got us a daughter whom we will love, pray for, support, communicate with, and watch over as she grows (although from a distance).

As the Field Communications Specialist for Compassion in the Philippines, I talk with sponsored children, visit their homes and write stories about them on a regular basis. And now that I am a sponsor of one, it won’t hurt that as I write about a sponsored child I will be thinking about Shan.

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