I Pray
As a stay-at-home mom of three girls, ages (almost) 6 and under, my To-Do lists are never ending. Yes, you read right — list(S). When I don’t get them done, which is quite frequently, I feel lazy, discouraged, and just plain ole’ not good enough.
Thankfully, I am aware that Satan is just trying to deceive me again. So I turn to the One who can get me through those feelings — God.
Sometimes those lists gets smaller, my energy goes up, and I’m not so discouraged if everything seems to not get done in time.
And sometimes it doesn’t. Boy does Satan love what happens next — I doubt myself and God. Did He hear me? Am I not good enough in the eyes of my heavenly Father? Maybe I ticked Him off (by snapping at my kids, the dogs, and my husband) and he’s giving me the silent treatment. Hmm … Perhaps I didn’t pray the right way?
Then I really start to wonder: If Satan is trying to deceive me, then you can bet he’s trying to deceive those who are truly suffering: those without food, medical attention, water, clothing, the list goes on and on.
Just a little background as to why I think this.
I have always felt that my sponsored children’s faith was stronger than mine. They have so much hope. They seem to always be positive and thankful. I figure that Satan would try to deceive those who have a stronger faith.
Why?
Because whenever something goes “wrong” for me, I start to complain:
My daughters and I had ear infections awhile back and our doctor is an hour and a half away. I complained.
Or, my husband had to work late and I had made dinner to be ready for him when he got home. I complained.
Or, “Mr. Fast and Furious” speeds past me, but I am the one who gets pulled over by the policeman for going 5 miles over the limit. I complain.
I know I should be giving thanks to God that we have a doctor, my husband has a job, I have food to prepare, I have my own mode of transportation, and that He will hold other people responsible for their actions.
It seems like even though my sponsored children are living without basic necessities, they’re so thankful for what they DO have. They know what it truly means to be without — they see God working in big ways, because they have so little.
Whereas, since I have more and live with so many more opportunities, I don’t see (or it’s harder for me to see) how God is working.
So, I pray for those who know what it is like to suffer. I pray for my sponsored children.
One of my favorite verses is Isaiah 54:17 – “No weapon formed against you shall prosper.” I pray that my sponsored children will be protected from any weapon — sickness, hunger, thirst, violence, loneliness, discouragement, fatigue and deceit. That those weapons would crumble into dust as my Savior protects them.
After praying for THEM, my lists don’t seem all that important. In fact, my focus has, more often than not, turned toward another piece of paper, one that will contain the words to build up my sponsored children’s self-esteem and to help them battle Satan’s lies. I write my sponsored children and assure them of God’s infinite love, of how special they are, and how proud I am of them.
Interestingly enough, I find that as I write those words, God speaks to my heart as well: God loves you, He hears you, and you are His beloved.
Visit the Clarke family website.
Continue Reading ›Sewing Mamas Work for a Better Future
For three months the women met, sitting at their sewing machines, not only learning a skill to help them support their families, but also gaining new hope and faith in God.
This exceptional group of women at Centro de Desarrollo Gracia y Poder student center in Honduras benefited through a workshop carried out through our Complementary Interventions programs.
The seed fund was for $3,000 to teach these women, who didn’t know anything about sewing, a skill that could help them generate an income. The training lasted three months, and the participants learned how to create bed comforters and bed sets, curtains and tablecloths.
This activity was a life-changing experience for Gladis A., who didn’t just learn a new skill, but also opened her heart to Jesus through this workshop. (more…)
Continue Reading ›Rosario Shares Love
Every time Rosario enters a class she is received with an explosion of hugs and kisses from her little ones.
“Since I was young I dreamed to be surrounded by children, because I am the youngest in my family and I used to tell God that I wanted to work with children.”
“God’s mission is being accomplished, and He put us here so we could accomplish His mission and take care of the children. I wanted to have many children, I dreamed all of that and God listens to us, so when the pastor told me to come and help here, I loved the idea.”
Rosario is already three years in this ministry. She started as a tutor, and since last year she is the director of the student center. To work in the center is very special for her; it is a blessing. (more…)
The Sound of Love
There’s a journal sitting on the table next to my bed. There’s also one sitting on the table next to the rocking chair in Edison’s room. I have one to write my thoughts and feelings through my pregnancy and the other to journal through the first few months and years of Edison’s life.
Would you be surprised if I told you they were both empty?
Maybe someday I’ll regret not writing more during my pregnancy and this time as a new mom, but right now all the inspiring thoughts I can get out of my pen go in Edison’s baby book . . . and most of the rest of my thoughts, before he was born, weren’t that inspiring.
For some reason I just can’t write about how awful I felt trying to sleep every night in my bed with my every craving available in my refrigerator downstairs, or at the very least, at the neighborhood grocery store. I seriously don’t even want to try to remember the number of nights I tried to sleep in a sitting-up position in a soft comfy chair because my nose was so stuffed up I couldn’t breathe — and I didn’t even have a cold. As much as I want to complain, and probably did at the time, I know I really had it easy.
And the stuff I want to remember . . . like how cool it was to feel him kicking around inside me and how it is just a little freaky and amazing that God can even do such a miracle in me . . . would be really hard to “get” from words on a page. Right now, I remember these things every time I look at my son’s face and see that he is growing right before my eyes.
So, who am I to regret not doing something so indulgent as writing all this stuff down when most of the new mothers around the world can’t even read, let alone write their own name? Many of these women wouldn’t even believe that their words counted or their thoughts mattered. And I wonder, is it possible to raise a child with self esteem if you don’t have it yourself?
And really, how am I so different from them anyway? Don’t all mothers everywhere want the same things for their children? I still remember the first time Edison smiled at me on purpose. Now I even get to hear him laugh. Can you imagine not hearing your child laugh?
Child Survival Program multiplies the amazing sound of laugher around the world. It is the sound of health, it is the sound of life, it is the sound of Love . . . the kind Jesus was known for.
Just Like My Mom
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.
