As my wife and I have begun the journey of family building — getting married, nesting into our home, walking through the baby section at department stores — I have been remarkably struck by the seemingly loose definition Jesus uses to describe His family.

“For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.”   — Matthew 12:50, NIV

Trying to wrap my head around this, I thought about how I would respond if I were James (Jesus’ brother), hearing Jesus say,

“Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?” — Matthew 12:48, NIV

My first thought is, I’d be a little insulted. I mean, at this point Jesus was getting some serious attention from some pretty important people … and He virtually disowned me. I thought for sure I would get a little recognition. I’m His brother, after all.

A Far Better, Eternal Family

Then I backed up and looked at this with a wide-angle lens.

Jesus is the Son of God before he was James’ brother. He is part of an eternal family — Father, Son and Holy Spirit — the family of God.

Not only that, but Scripture says God the Father adopts new people into His family through Jesus (see Ephesians 1:5).

When we receive the Holy Spirit, Jesus says we are reborn (see John 3:6-7).

It began to click. Jesus was building an eternal family — one that James would eventually be part of once he had the eyes to see it.

Opening the Family Fortress to the Least

If Jesus, the perfect, holy, eternal Son of God, could tell meager fishermen and conniving tax collectors, “I’m not ashamed to call you brothers” (see Hebrews 2:11), then why am I so protective of my family fortress?

Consider the orphan. Or maybe just the kid whose parents work all the time and still can’t send him to school. He rummages around the streets during the day, looking for scraps of food behind restaurants. Or she hurries behind the building when she sees that strange man who has taken some of her friends and hasn’t brought them back.

These kids are stressed out, fearful and lonely. They need the family of God to love, protect and provide for them.

What if they could say,

“Whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother”?

The Family of God, Extended

These kids are my family through the gospel. That is why Jesus is so disgusted with those who turn their eyes from their hungry, thirsty, naked and sick brothers and sisters in Matthew 26:7:

“As you did not do it to one of the least of these [my brothers], you did not do it to me.”

When we, adopted members of the family of God, sponsor, visit, love, write, protect, speak up for, adopt and foster these children in our own families, we are living out the gospel.

We are doing the will of our Father in heaven, and Jesus calls us brothers and sisters.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jordan Mogck writes for the blog familia Dei | Missional Family in the Life of the Trinity. He and his wife live in Minneapolis, Minn., where they lead a Community Group and the Community Service Team at Antioch Community Church.

If you’re interested in writing a guest blog post, we are happy to consider publishing it. Read our guest blog post guidelines.

My Account l Sponsor a Child l Help Babies and Moms l Crisis Updates

We’ve seen them before – the commercials.

“For less than a cup of coffee, YOU can change an orphan’s life today!”

But instead of picking up the phone to sponsor a child, we probably picked up the remote and changed the channel.

And yet, the next channel is a televangelist preaching about the kingdom and asking you to buy a copy of his autobiography.

But did you ever hear the story of the day the orphans entered the kingdom? It was shortly after the King Himself shouted “It is finished!” on the cross.

King Jesus loves the orphans so much that He has made them royalty through His death and resurrection.

We are all orphans without the Lord.

The paralytic in Luke 5:17-26 was an orphan. He couldn’t stand, just like we aren’t able to stand without the strength and healing power of Christ.

Yet as the faithful brought the paralytic to Jesus, believing that He could perform a miracle and allow the man to stand, we need to follow this example and bring the orphans to Jesus.

During the last three years I’ve been able to bring three innocent children to the feet of Jesus, through Compassion, so that they could stand. I have also encouraged family members to sponsor multiple children and create blessings out of sorrows.

Receiving letters from my sponsored children is more special than celebrating any special day. I see their crayon drawings, their favorite Bible verses, and the joy in their lives that only Jesus can provide.

“It is with lots of love in my heart that I send you this message. I learned that God loves me and that He is always with me. When I grow up, I would like to be a doctor so that when you are sick, I will be able to heal you. I would like you to know you’re my best friend. I say good-bye with affection. I love you very much.”

Only Jesus can rescue a child from an orphanage and give the child a heavenly mansion. But we need to bring them to His feet.

This is not a commercial. This is also not a script. This is a calling.

Will you stand for the orphans and bring them before the King?

They will stand before Jesus, but first, we need to stand for them. And when we do this, we prove that we stand for Christ.

“The King will reply, “Truly, I tell you, whatever you did for the one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’” — Matthew 25:40, NIV

We are cold no more. We are hungry no more. We are orphans no more. We are His children — lovingly, royally and eternally.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Terry Ghali became a sponsor in 2008 and now sponsors three children. He is a Technical Account Supervisor at an IT support company and resides north of Philadelphia, Pa.

My Account l Sponsor a Child l Help Babies and Moms l Crisis Updates

We sampled the post selectively. There’s emotional stuff in between the samples. Promise.

I met an orphan today.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget her face.

. . .

I sat down on a bench and she scooted towards me. “What is your name?”

In perfect English, “My name is Susan. I am 12.”

She looked at me. I mean, really, looked into my eyes with a question in hers and then she blurted out, “Can I touch your hair?”

. . .

She tried braiding my hair and after a few minutes she gave up saying, “I think something is wrong with your hair. I can’t braid it.” Oh Susan, you are a wise one.

. . .

Again, her eyes found mine and she questioned, “Can I touch your skin? It is so white.”

This time I could only nod as she gently touched my arms and then my legs peeking out from my cropped pants.

“You are the first white woman I have touched,” she said in an almost hushed voice.

Read all of Kristen Welch’s post at We Are THAT Family.

My Account l Sponsor a Child l Help Babies and Moms l Crisis Updates

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.

My Account l Sponsor a Child l Help Babies and Moms l Crisis Updates

My husband just celebrated his birthday. He’s 41.

Or maybe 39.

Or did he just turn the big 4-0?

I’m not being coy. We really don’t know his age. Like millions of children around the world, my husband was born into a life of poverty.

There are no records of his birth. He never knew his parents, although he understood from an early age that he was a G.I. baby. His size marked him a hapa, a Euro-Asian mixed-race child, a particularly negative thing in Asian countries where purity of race is a matter of pride and worth.

From his earliest memories, he was an orphan. He lived primarily on the streets, except for times he was taken in by “foster families,” where he was little more than an outcast mongrel and slave.

He was often hungry, usually cold, sometimes abused, always alone.

Sounds pretty hopeless, doesn’t it?

But something happened to change the story. A small thing, really.

Someone noticed him.

That someone was a Korean woman. Shunned by her Buddhist family because she had become a Christian, she noticed Corey one day outside her parent’s home.

Recognizing him as a child of an American soldier, she alerted an orphanage in the area that was run by an American organization. He was taken to the orphanage — more correctly, two men lured him with a bag of candy and threw him into the back seat of a car, which might explain his lifelong abhorrence of sweets — where he was given clothes and food and eventually adopted by an American family.

At the age of 8. Or maybe 7. It’s not really important, as long as he’s older than I am.

Today, my husband is an executive at a company that works with nonprofits. He teaches Bible study classes, studies Greek and has a wicked sense of humor. He is both one of the smartest people I’ve ever met as well as one of the most talented.

Most important to me, he is the father of our three children and my lifelong companion and love.

And, as you might imagine, he has quite the passion for orphans and the poor.

I sometimes wonder about that Korean woman. I doubt she knows the impact she’s had on me, my children and the hundreds of other people Corey has touched.

If she hadn’t reported his existence to that American orphanage, Corey would most likely have died of disease or malnutrition before he was a teenager.

Even if he had lived, there was no future for him in Korea. As a half-breed without paternal bloodlines, he was considered a gutter rat, without worth or identity.

But because she saw him, the story turned. Such a simple act, but it changed everything.

Sometimes, when we look at the ocean of poverty and need, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed.

“What can I do in the face of such hugeness?” we wonder. “What good would my pebble do in such a vast sea of suffering?”

But here’s the amazing thing about pebbles dropped in the water — they create ripples.
All you have to do is notice. See one child. Just one. Then act. Sponsor that child. Throw your pebble into the ocean.

God will take care of the ripples. You never know how far they might reach.

Kelly @ Love Well is a writer, mother, wife and pebble thrower. She’s passionate about the ripples created by child sponsorship and delights to introduce people to Compassion. She also loves her coffee. Her life ambition is to laugh often, live purposefully and love well. When she has a few free seconds, she blogs at www.lovewell.blogspot.com.

My Account l Sponsor a Child l Help Babies and Moms l Crisis Updates