Beautiful

Typically, I steer away from using the word, "beautiful." I think it's severely over-used in our society. We've gotten to the point where anything we find pleasing is "beautiful." I don't think so. To me, the word should be powerful. It should only be used in those instances where words like "pretty" and "pleasing" fall way short.

I know I'm opening up a can of worms here, because beauty is a relative thing. I'm well aware that beauty is "in the eyes of the beholder." This beholder, however, has rarely seen it. But I would like to share some of those instances with you. These are some of the things that I find beautiful:

This is a grandmother in Bolivia...raising her three grandchildren by herself. Their father left them years ago and the mother passed away. A grandmother, struggling in poverty, working hard to feed, clothe, shelter and provide an education for three children that are not her own. That's beautiful.

This is Rosicela. I took this picture moments after she met the man who sponsors her through Compassion International. A few weeks before his visit, he sent Rosicela some money for her birthday. She decided she wanted to use some of the money to buy a new dress. She wanted to wear that dress when her sponsor arrived weeks later. Here she is, proudly wearing her new dress...and holding on to the stuffed moose her sponsor bought her. It was an absolutely beautiful moment to see the two of them meet face to face for the first time.

This little boy attends a Compassion project in Kenya. What I find beautiful about this boy is that he lives in extreme poverty on the outskirts of Nairobi...where HIV is rampant. Despite the deplorable conditions, look at the hope in his eyes. Look at the smile on his face. It is sheer beauty when a child can find a reason to smile amidst those circumstances.

Lest you think I can only find beauty in people, here's a flower I saw in Guatemala. I don't know much about flowers. I'm sure someone can tell me what kind of flower it is. But regardless, I find its intricacies and delicate design beautiful.

This is a brother and sister at play on the outskirts of Lima, Peru. Look at the debris in the foreground. Look at the slums in the background. Two kids...just being kids...and playing in the dirt, in the midst of so much despair...well, to me, that is beautiful.

This is Yasmin. I have traveled to seven countries now with Compassion and I have never seen a more heartbreaking home than Yasmin's. Her entire house was the size of my laundry room...and it was made of scraps of wood, tin and even some old billboards. The floor was dirt. The stove was a pot. No running water. No electricity. Her favorite toy was this headless doll. My heart broke when I saw her. But then I saw her mother interacting with her. There was so much love in that tiny little house of scraps. It was, without a doubt, beautiful.

The Privilege

I have had the privilege of traveling to some of the poorest places in the world. I say privilege because I consider it just that. Walking with the poor is what Jesus did. Holding their hands is what He would do today. Ministering to them, He said, is ministering to Him. That’s a privilege. But all privileges come with a cost. In many cases, that cost is a broken heart. Sometimes, we need broken hearts.
I have been in a jungle in Thailand, where families live in shacks made of rotting wood, each built 3 feet above ground because every rainy season the entire village floods —taking lives and possessions away in the frantic current. I have seen how the families there endure the stifling heat, with little food to eat. Children, lethargic from lack of energy, don’t run or climb the massive trees that would provide perfect perches. Many of them work in the rice paddies to provide for their families.


I have been to Kenya, and sat with a family of five in their tiny 12x 14 home made of mud. I watched as the mother doled out one piece of bread to each family member for dinner. I saw her hungry children playing beneath the clothes-line with the only toys they had — clothespins. I saw where they sleep…mom, dad and three children, on one moldy mattress on the dirt floor.

In Bolivia, I met a four-year-old named Lalady. For some reason, I was drawn to her. I saw her across the playground at a Compassion project. I smiled. Within seconds, she was in my lap, touching my face with her sticky fingers…marveling at the color of my hair. We played together for nearly an hour. There was no language barrier. We just enjoyed each other's company. Then, her father came to pick her up at the project.

“She likes you.” He said in Spanish. (I know this only because there was an interpreter.)

“And I like her very much too!” I said.

“Maybe you could take her home with you.”

“Ha! Yeah! I wish I could!” I joked. Only daddy wasn’t joking. His face was serious.

“I have four other children. You could give her a much better life than I can.”

Whoa. What desperation leads a man to be willing to let his child go away with a stranger? How much love does he have for his daughter, that he’s willing to give her up, just so she can have a chance at a better life? I sat there, with little Lalady on my knee, my lip and chin quivering and my eyes filling with tears. My forehead sweating in the brutal Peruvian heat. My heart breaking.
And Lalady was one of the lucky ones. She has both parents who love her very much. She also has a sponsor that pays $32 a month to make sure she’s taken care of at the Compassion project. There, she gets a hot meal, a safe place to play. She learns about health and hygiene. More importantly, she hears about Jesus.

There are literally millions of children who need just those basic things: a hot meal, clothing, a safe haven, after-school mentoring…to hear the Gospel. You could do that for one of them. For a price that’s less than taking a family to the movies for two hours of entertainment, you can provide all of those basic life-giving necessities for a child in poverty for an entire month.

I urge you to go to Compassion's website and sponsor a child. It really is the least you can do. And I’ll be more than happy to share with you just how strategic it is. How much it changes a life. But you won’t have to take my word for it. You’ll get letters from your sponsored child, thanking you…little hand-drawn pictures telling you about his/her life. And you’ll be able to write too…and share your life with that little boy or girl on the other side of the world.

It’s a relationship.

It’s a privilege. And yes…this privilege will break your heart. Isn't it time your heart was broken?

If you've had the privilege of witnessing Compassion International's ministry in action, go to this post on Shaun Groves' blog...and tell your story. Add to the growing list of bloggers sharing their stories of ministering to the poor through Compassion.

Will You Remember Me?

This weekend I'll be in the studio again. We've been making a lot of progress on the album. In fact, three songs are completely mixed. (I put one of them on my music player on my MySpace page, it's called Forgive and Forget. Check it out when you get a chance.) We still have background vocals to cut on four songs...and a bass track to finish on another. But this weekend, I'll be focusing on something else. This weekend, I'm going to be recording a song I wrote for Compassion International. I wrote it after my trip to Kenya last August. While we were there, I met a single mother, named Anrietta, who was HIV positive. During my conversation with her, she asked me twice: "Will you remember me?" I thought it was an odd question. I told her, "Of course I will!" Later, as other members of our group were talking to this same lady, she asked them the same question: "Will you remember me?" And it dawned on me. She was afraid. She was afraid that she'd be dying soon, leaving her young daughter to fend for herself. She was afraid she'd die...and be forgotten. Then I started thinking about the 1-billion plus children who live in extreme poverty in our world. They struggle just to survive. 30,000 children die everyday, from things that could easily be prevented. Who will remember them? I suppose we all want a legacy, right? We all want to leave this world a better place than the way we found it. We all want to be remembered. So, I'm going into the studio this weekend to start recording on this song...and to remember Anrietta. I'll upload an mp3 file of it once it's done. In the meantime, here are the lyrics: Will You Remember Me? VERSE: I am naked and I am poor I’m an orphan but so much more Won’t you look beyond your own front door to save? I’m just looking for some food to eat A pair of shoes for my two bare feet And I was hoping you could meet those needs today. CHORUS: When you hear my cries, will you rescue me? Will you just walk by through the moment? When you see my tears, will you comfort me? If I disappear, will you notice? I want a legacy…but will you remember me at all? BRIDGE: What’s it matter, how I got here? What’s it matter, where I’ve been? All that matters, is I should matter… Yes, I should matter to you. CHORUS: When you hear my cries, will you rescue me? Will you just walk by through the moment? When you see my tears, will you comfort me? If I disappear, will you notice? Yes, Anrietta, I will remember you.

The Transition

"Freedom!" they cried..."freedom from tyranny!" Those were the shouts of those who founded this great country we now live in. They stood against oppression and said, "We will not tolerate it any longer." Now, over 200 years later...this great country has turned a blind eye to the tyrants of the world...and has closed its ears to the sounds of the oppressed. I was supposed to be traveling to Kenya next week, to work with Compassion International on a radio special about malaria. However, the trip has been cancelled due to the recent outbreak of violence there. I've been following the crisis for the past week, learning about the political unrest, the battles between different tribes...the riots, gunfire, church burnings, killings. It breaks my heart to think about the children who have to hear all this taking place in their neighborhoods...running for shelter as their homes are destroyed. For several days, families have been cut off from food supplies...water...the basic necessities. So, I watch the news to get the latest updates...and it's almost impossible to find any information. The Kenya crisis made headlines for a day or two...then disappeared. Not the crisis...just the news coverage. Still, there are over 100,000 people displaced from their homes. Over 300 dead. Tension still in the streets. And we've moved on. By "we", I mean the American public. We've moved on to "more pressing matters" like Britney Spears and how she's losing custody of her children. Or how the writer's strike in Hollywood means we're not going to get a new season of 24 this Spring. And that has me wondering: When did this transition take place? When did we become a country that cares more about a celebrity's personal life than the fate of children living in extreme poverty? When did we become a country that cares more about entertaining ourselves than clothing the naked and feeding the hungry? Protecting those in harm's way? This country was founded by those who were all about fighting oppression. Of all countries, we should be the ones who care most about tyranny in other parts of the world. "Freedom!" they cry. "Freedom from tyranny!" But hey...Britney looks fat, don't you think?