Tag Archives: hope

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Sylvia’s Hope

We made the 15-minute walk through the busy, dusty streets of Joyabaj, Guatemala, to visit Sylvia and her family in their home.

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The walk to Sylvia’s home.

The sidewalks were narrow, and the bumpy, brick-paved streets were noisy with traffic, the smell of car exhaust in the air. We often had to pause our conversation during the walk as the noise drowned out our words. It was the same walk that Sylvia makes each week when she attends her Compassion project, GU-892.

When we arrived, Sylvia and her younger sister and brothers were waiting for us. Giggling, they led us through a narrow passageway between gray brick walls, turning right down another narrow path before coming to their home at the end.

Sylvia’s stepmother welcomed us into their one-room, dirt-floor home, where we found seats on the two beds, where this family with five children lives.

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The narrow walkway to Sylvia’s home.

There in the dark room, we learned some of Sylvia’s story, while the shy 10-year-old stood in the doorway, listening, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, one piece constantly falling forward and needing to be tucked behind her ear, in the same manner as my own 10-year-old daughter.

We learned that Sylvia enjoys attending her Compassion project, that her favorite activity there is making crafts, and that although she is 10 years old, she is behind in school, only attending first grade.

We also learned that Sylvia’s mother is an alcoholic, who neglected Sylvia and her younger sister, Julessa, 7, often letting them roam the streets, dirty and hungry. Her father and stepmother gained custody of the children earlier this year, and her stepmother recounted how difficult it had been to tame the wild girl.

She said at first, Sylvia only wanted to run in the streets, but over time, she learned to stay closer to her new home, where she was being taught how to care for herself, to do chores, to be a little girl who is part of a family who loves her.

This love was evident in the eyes of Sylvia’s stepmother, who told us she used to see the girls on the streets when they still lived with their mother, and she would clean them up and feed them. We commended her for her obvious love for the girls, and she explained that she herself had been an orphan; that she loved children, and had always been drawn to the children in her village, who loved to hear her stories.

In front of us stood a woman, prepared by God through her own difficult childhood, for this time in Sylvia’s life. Who better to care for and love this motherless girl than this woman, who also had been motherless?

Sylvia’s stepmother’s name is Esperanza: hope.

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Sylvia with her stepmother, Esperanza, her sister and two brothers.

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Sylvia’s stepmother, Esperanza, shows us her kitchen, where she cooks to feed her own family with five children, as well as her husband’s mother.

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Syliva and her family say goodbye to us, along with her grandmother, who lives nearby.

If you are interested in sponsoring a child in Guatemala like Sylvia through Compassion, or in any of the 27 countries around the world in which Compassion works, please click here.

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A Bible and its Journey

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Image courtesy of Compassion.

I am the Bible.

I am also known as the Holy Bible, the Holy Scriptures, the Good Book, the Book of Books, the Word of God.

I live in Bolivia with Jose, and we’ve been together for quite a while.

Jose first grasped me in his tiny hands at the Compassion project, where he went weekdays after school. He watched with great interest as his teacher placed a cardboard box on a table. She used scissors to cut the tape securing the box, then began to pull out a stack of beautiful new books with black leather covers, setting them on the table next to the box one by one.

Next, Jose’s teacher called the children in his class up to the table one at a time, and finally it was his turn. She picked me up, Jose reverently pulled me close to his chest, and I’ve been his ever since.

I remember that first trip home from the project. Jose’s teen brother was waiting outside, leaning against a brick wall across a dirt road, when Jose came out of the building with his classmates. Seeing his brother, Jose sped up, carrying me under one arm. He held me up high with two hands when he got to his brother, showing off his new prize proudly.

His brother, hands in his pockets, gave a grudging acknowledgement, in the sullen way of teens, and hurried Jose home.

It was a long walk. Jose’s tiny palms were sweating all over my shiny new cover before long, as he half-ran to keep up with his brother’s long legs. Upon arriving home, I was placed under Jose’s pillow, while his older sister prepared beans and rice for dinner.

Jose’s parents arrived much later, on their shoes and pants and hands dust from the field where they had worked sunup to sundown. They clearly were too tired to read Jose’s new book that night.

Even when Jose couldn’t read, he often took me out from under his pillow and carefully flipped through my pages before returning me to my special place. Those days were fine, but when Jose learned to read, the pace picked up a bit.

Soon my pages were pored over slowly, carefully. I was brought to the project, and carried home again, over and over. Jose stored letters from his sponsor just inside my back cover, often finding verses in the letters, then underlining those verses on my pages. It was good to be used so often.

I recall the day Jose scratched out the words “GOD IS GOOD” in red ink on my pages’ edges. He was 13 years old and had spent the day at the project, praying and worshipping with his friends. He had felt down lately because there was trouble at home. His mother was having a very difficult time providing for the family. His dad had left the country years earlier to find work, and although Jose begged God for his return every day, Jose’s prayers went unanswered. It was like his father had disappeared forever.

But that evening, after the long walk home from the project, he was surprised to see a man sitting in front of his small home. It was his father! He couldn’t believe his eyes. After a joyful reunion, Jose went to bed feeling all was right in his world. He found a pen and inscribed me just before rolling over and falling asleep.

That was the last day of calm for Jose in a long while, though. After such a long absence, it was hard for his family to adjust to his father’s presence again. Soon there was fighting, yelling, hitting. Jose’s trips to the project became less frequent. Sometimes there would be four or five letters from his sponsor waiting for him by the time he finally attended the project again. And he rarely opened me to read.

Those were dark times for Jose. His father didn’t stay long, and when he left, Jose made the decision to leave school and join his mother and siblings in the fields. And I was tossed under the bed, dusty and forgotten.

Three years later, a hand pulled me from the dark and dirty space. It was Jose! He seemed tired, and clearly the years in the field had aged him more than I had expected.

The young man slowly flipped through my pages. He pulled out the stack of sponsor letters, and spent the evening reading through each one. Then he even spent some time reading my pages, falling asleep with me open at his side.

The next morning, I was tucked under Jose’s arm, making the familiar trip to the project once again. Jose still worked in the fields, but he worked less days, and spent some days at the project, and some nights at school.

It was an exciting time because I no longer was forgotten. Each night, my pages were turned, marked, read and read again.

And here I sit, years later, on a battered wooden table in Jose’s old project. Worn, tattered, but still showing my proud inscription, “GOD IS GOOD.” And of course, He is good!

In minutes, Jose will return, tuck me under his arm, and head into the project’s chapel, where he will deliver a message to his congregation. Parents and children from the community, just like him, now attending Jose’s old project, will listen to this message, be inspired by his message.

And they will have hope because the man who is preaching to them, the man who runs the project where their children attend, is a testament to what Compassion can do for their children. He is their pastor.

*All characters in this post are fictional, as this is written in response to a writing prompt provided by Compassion’s Bloggers. Please consider helping Compassion reach its goal of 3,160 children sponsored this month. We’re halfway there! You can sponsor a child by clicking here.

 

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Hope

Hope is a powerful gift, and it is a gift you can give by sponsoring a child.

Without hope, a child growing up in poverty faces many challenges. Staying in school is unlikely as day-to-day survival takes priority. Nutritious meals and medical care are rare, and even the ability to dream of a better future may become difficult.

When you sponsor a child through Compassion, that child receives medical and dental check-ups, spiritual and educational training, meals, and best of all, hope.

If you’re wondering how hope can be lumped in with those other life essentials, take a look at recent research, which shows that sponsored children fare much better in life than their non-sponsored peers.

A study published in the April issue of Journal of Political Economy and led by Dr. Bruce Wydick, a professor of economics and international studies at the University of San Francisco, shows stark differences between sponsored and non-sponsored children. 

Former Compassion-sponsored children were found to stay in school 1 to 1.5 years longer than their non-sponsored peers. In Uganda, that average was even longer at 2.4 years. 

They were 13.3 percent more likely to finish primary school, 27 to 40 percent more likely to finish secondary school, and 50 to 80 percent more likely to complete a university education than non-sponsored children. 

Those are just the study’s findings regarding education. Employment and leadership also were affected greatly by sponsorship. 

As adults, former Compassion-sponsored children were 14 to 18 percent more likely to have salaried employment and 35 percent more likely to work a white-collar job than their non-sponsored peers. They also were found more likely to become community leaders, church leaders and teachers. 

This is all statistical proof that the hope child sponsorship provides is changing lives. But how about some personal proof? I receive letters from my precious sponsored children sharing goals for their future, career aspirations, and sometimes, just simple requests of prayer to pass to the next grade in school. 

Here are just a few examples: 

“I want to go to university to graduate as a telecommunications engineer.” – recent secondary school graduate Favian, 19, Guatemala

“I want to finish elementary and high school and become a professional.” – Luis, 7 Colombia 

“When I grow up, I would like to be a cop.” – Winston, 11, Guatemala

“My dream for the future is to be a doctor.” – Esteban, 7, Nicaragua

“I would like to become a lawyer.” – Wagner, 16, Guatemala 

Imagine how these children’s lives have been changed by sponsorship that they are dreaming of careers. 

Please consider giving hope to a child in need. You can sponsor a child today by clicking here.

 

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The Queen of Katwe

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“The Queen of Katwe,” by Tim Crothers, is the story of an incredible young girl, who against many odds, surprises many by learning and mastering the game of chess.

Phiona and her peers are growing up in the Ugandan slums of Katwe, an area in the country’s capital city, Kampala, where children don’t know their birth dates or even how to spell their own names. It is a place where children struggle to eat each day, where parents die of AIDS regularly, and where families move from shack to shack, living wherever they can afford.

In this life of day-to-day survival, one young man, Robert Katende, working for Sports Outreach Institute, begins a ministry first focused on soccer, then on chess, and the game captivates the children of the area. Katende relates well to these children, as he, too, grew up in the severe poverty of Katwe. In fact, Katende’s story of survival and pulling himself out of the slum is quite as impressive as Phiona’s.

Considering these circumstances, it’s no wonder that a bowl of porridge is what first attracted the children to Katende’s group.

Phiona is a bit of a late-comer to the group, but after following her brother there one day, she becomes a fixture. She learns the game first from a much younger girl, but soon surpasses many in playing ability. She later practices using bottle caps and a chessboard drawn on scraps of cardboard.

As Phiona travels out of the country and experiences other cultures, her eyes are opened to the fact that there is more out there, more to reach for, than Katwe. On these trips to chess tournaments, she sleeps in hotel rooms on real beds and eats from buffets with endless amounts of foods offered. But after each tournament, she must return to the reality of her home.

It won’t be an easy road for her to reach her goal of becoming a Grandmaster, as many young women much more privileged than Phiona can attest. But where she had nothing to strive for before, she now has a goal and, more importantly, hope.