Not Everyone Has a Good Job

The kids and I went to eat lunch with Vance at work today. His employer has a company cafeteria and Noah thinks it is just about the best thing in the world. He loves to go to eat lunch with his Daddy at work. He's just fascinated by the whole concept of "having a job" and "having an office".

(As an aside... he told me the other day that he got fired from his job and he now wants to get a new job working at the Golf Warehouse!)

As we were sitting in the cafeteria today, surrounded by hard working men and women, I couldn't help but think about the fact that another local company had laid off 1,200 employees yesterday. There are 1,200 people in Wichita today who don't have a "job" to go to or a Daddy to visit at "work".

And I was overcome with gratitude for my husband's good job. As I thought about it, I told Noah that we really needed to thank Jesus for Daddy's good job. I then went on to attempt to explain to him that not everyone is able to have a good job right now (I even used the word "economy" which was a mistake. Have you ever tried to explain what the economy is... in four year old terminology?!).

My explanation didn't exactly induce the response I was hoping for... Noah proceeded to point out different individuals in the cafeteria saying "I think that man in the red shirt has a good job." "Mommy, I really think that man has a good job, right?" And so on... all around the cafeteria.

His response led me to realize that he was doing exactly what I often do. On a very basic level, he was just taking for granted that everyone around him did, in fact, have a good job.

I do it too. I take for granted that all of my basic needs will be met on a day to day basis. I dare to say that I think most of us, even in the seemingly dire state of our economy, take for granted that, at a minimum, our most basic needs will be met.

While I admittedly worry about our local and national economy and what that might mean for our family, I never question whether or not I will have food to eat. I never question whether or not I will have a warm place to sleep. I never question whether or not I will have clean clothes to wear. Never.

Not even for a moment.

The news reminds me on a daily basis of the overwhelming "needs" that many, many Americans have right now. There is need all around me and it's hitting closer and closer to home. My personal friends are now being affected by the failing economy. It's very real. I realize that it is very real. There are people in "need" everywhere.

But despite the desperateness that we feel here in our local community and in our country at large, I was reminded today that it pales in comparison to the conditions in other countries.

I was reminded of that today in a way that really impacted me.

You see, I follow Angie Smith's blog, Bring the Rain. I knew that she was planning a trip to Calcutta, India to participate in a "blogging mission" of sorts for an organization called Compassion Ministries.

I didn't think much of it. I've been familiar with Compassion Ministries for over 10 years. It is an organization that provides sponsorship to children in very poor countries. The sponsorship not only provides basic care for the children in terms of food, shelter, and clothing, but also provides them with education and teaches them the Gospel.

Don't stop reading yet. I promise you will be glad you stayed with me on this one. This is not an advertisement, I promise.

I became interested in this organization over 10 years ago when I was newly married and just beginning my career. Being the diligent CPA that I was, I even looked at its annual report to see what percentage of my money actually went to the children as opposed to overhead costs, etc. Of all the child sponsorship organizations out there, I was pleased to find that Compassion had the highest percentage of its donations actually going directly to the mission.

So I jumped on board. Vance and I sponsored a Compassion child named Camilla. I delighted in sending her care packages and did so very regularly. I sent her letters filled with stickers, coloring book pages, and hair bows. I loved finding special little things to send to her. She was like the little girl I always knew I wanted to have. I proudly displayed her picture both on my refrigerator at home and also on my office cubicle wall. I wrote her letters, told her about myself, filled her up with words of encouragement and praise. And she wrote me letters too. And drew me pictures. I adoringly hung her drawings on my office cubicle wall as a reminder of the difference I was making in her life. And I sent her pictures of my family, being careful not to send a picture that showed too much in the way of material items. I didn’t want her to SEE how I lived because I was AWARE of the extreme poverty in which she lived. And I didn’t want her to be sad. I wanted her to be filled with joy when she received my packages. I sent extra money at Christmas time to make sure that the un-sponsored children would also receive a Christmas package. I knew when her birthday was and always made sure she received something special for her birthday. I was “into it” for lack of a better term.

Through the years of letters, pictures, and care packages, I don't think I ever really thought much about WHY Camilla needed my help. I didn't really stop to SEE the poverty that was the only way of life she knew.

Time went on. Camilla got older. I got busier. I switched my contribution to an “automatic bank withdrawal” and the whole thing became less “real” to me. My enthusiasm waned. My care packages were sent less frequently and eventually, Camilla’s pictures even came down from my cubicle walls. There is no good reason why. It just happened. And eventually, Compassion had to withdraw their ministry from her country due to security concerns. And Camilla was no longer mine.

I was assigned another child in another country and I have faithfully financially supported that child for at least 6, maybe 7, years. My bank account is debited for $32 each month and has been for many, many years.

I am going to be brutally (embarrassingly so) honest and confess that although I have “sponsored” a child for a long time, I do not know what my current sponsored child’s name is. And to be even more brutally honest with you, I cannot tell you with certainty whether I sponsor a boy or a girl. And I most certainly can not tell you what country my sponsored child lives in.

And I have not given even a fleeting thought to the conditions in which this child might live.

So when Angie started talking about Compassion and asking her readers to consider sponsoring a child, I didn't think much about it. I was already a Compassion sponsor.

Then I read this. (Click it, read it, and then come back to me!)

Wow! And I don't know the name of the child I sponsor. Shame on me.

And then I read this. (Again, click it read it, but come back!)

Again, wow! Did you SEE the change in that little boy's eyes?

I did.

Did you read what he understood? He understood that Angie was not just going to be a "financial donor" to him, but "another mother". And knowing that changed his entire countenance.

Again, shame on me for reducing my sponsorship to a mere financial donation.

It is very easy for me to make a financial contribution without really KNOWING or SEEING what it is that I am giving money to. It’s easy to give financially and not allow myself to SEE the true poverty in which the child I am supporting is living. It’s easy to say I believe that Compassion is a great organization, but not really give myself the opportunity to SEE how dire the living conditions are and how badly Compassion is truly needed. It’s so easy to get caught up in the “out of sight, out of mind” concept.

And to be shamefully honest, I’ve even allowed myself to feel good about the “difference” I am making when I fill out my tax return each year and fill in the “Compassion” line on my charitable contributions form.

Embarrassing and shameful as it is, this is how I have been “supporting” Compassion Ministries for a very long time.

Until today.

Today, I read this and I SAW the faces of real "need". Through Angie's masterful story-telling, I was struck by the faces in her photos. I was struck by the hope I saw in the eyes of the Compassion children. I was struck by the joy their smiles conveyed.

I was struck by the story of the little girl who shared her tiny home with them. She was so joy-filled to meet real sponsors. She was so genuinely excited and proud to share her "home" with them.

Looking at these pictures and reading Angie and Melissa's words (click here for Melissa's take on the day - wow too!), I could SEE that these children cling to the hope that a sponsor brings them. They care very little about the financial aspect of their sponsorship. Like little Mohit, they need and long for "another mother". They want pictures. They want letters. They want to know that someone knows their name. They want words of encouragement and love. That's what they need. They need that more than I can bear to imagine.

They deserve that.

With great embarrassment, I confess that sitting next to my laptop, at this very moment, is an unopened letter from Compassion. Shamefully, it is no different than the hundreds of envelopes I have received from Compassion over the past years. Unopened. And truth be told, the back side of the envelope is covered in scribbled “to do” notes. It has been sitting here for well over a week. It has been nothing more than a scratch piece of paper.

But because I have seen the faces of those children in the slums of Calcutta today, I am moved to open it up.

Right now…

My hands are literally shaking as I type. I just opened up a letter from my sponsored child. Her name is Yasmines. She lives in Columbia. She thanked me for a Christmas gift I didn’t even know I had sent. She is going to turn 15 years old in August and she wants to know when my birthday is. She signed her letter to me, “your Colombian daughter, Yasmines.”

She has a name. Her name is Yasmines.

And she thinks of me as “another mother”. It’s how she signed the one letter I have ever read from her.

I also found something inside of that envelope… something I haven’t seen in a very long time. It is the Compassion form used to send letters to your sponsored child. A long, long time ago, I filled these forms out often… with vigor and delight. I haven’t done it in so many years. Of that, I am ashamed. I have reduced my sponsorship to a mere financial contribution. But that is going to change.

Today.

Today, I am going to fill out the form. I am going to write a letter to Yasmines. I am going to tell her my name is Danielle and that my birthday is August 24th. I am going to pray for her to pass her grade level because that is what she asked me to do in her letter to me. I am going to tell her about my family and my children. I am going to send her a picture of my family. I am going to tell Noah about her and have him draw her a special picture. I am going to buy her some fun things to put in a care package. I am going to ask her to send me a picture of herself so that I can post it on my refrigerator. I am going to give her words of love and encouragement. I am going to give her what she deserves… a sponsor who is not merely a financial donor, but one who is “another mother”.

She has a name. Her name is Yasmines. And Yasmines KNOWS what true poverty is. She lives in it.

I can't comprehend it. I simply can't. But I feel very strongly that I am called to do much more than just send Yasmines money. I'm sorry that I allowed myself to become so comfortable in my own life of privilege that I failed to SEE what my sponsorship really meant to my sponsored child.

Tonight, I told Noah about poverty (yes, I used that word.) I told him that some children do not have enough money to have a bed and have to sleep on the sidewalk. I told him that some children have to take a bath with dirty water on the street.

I showed him the pictures of the children in Calcutta.

I told him about Yasmines and Compassion.

I used four-year old terminology as much as I could. But I told him.

I wanted him to know that not everyone has a good job.

And guess what?

The very first thing he said to his Daddy as he walked through the door this evening wasn't "Hi Daddy" as it usually is.

The very first words out of Noah's mouth were:

"Daddy, not everyone has a good job. There are some children who don't have enough money to sleep on a bed. They have to sleep on the sidewalk. And some of them have to take a bath in the street with dirty water."

That's right. He saw it and he shared it with his Daddy.

And then he did this.

He drew a picture for Yasmines.

And tonight, while grocery shopping, I looked for something to send to Yasmines. It's hard to find much because everything has to be flat, but I settled on some cute hairbands, some stickers fit for a teenager, and some fun note cards.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, I used the Compassion form that was inside my opened envelope to write Yasmines a letter.

And I lovingly gathered a family photo, the picture Noah had made, and the items I had purchased at the grocery store. I put them all in an envelope and addressed it.

It will be sent to Yasmines tomorrow. It will be a long time before she actually receives it. But when she does, I hope it brings a smile to her face. I hope it gives her hope. I want her to know that even though it took some time, I know her name.

And tonight, when I go to bed, I will thank the Lord for my husband's good job because I am humbly aware of how incredibly blessed we are.

And I will pray for my friends who lost their jobs and for those that fear losing their good jobs in the coming months.

And I will pray for Yasmines. Because while we fear the effects of our failing economy, the things we fear pale in comparison to the realities so many fellow human beings live on a day to day basis.

It is true. Our economy is in bad shape. Not everyone has a good job.

But as I sleep in my bed tonight, there are people in this world sleeping on sidewalks and whether or not they have a good job is the farthest thing from their minds. Their fears relate to basic necessities. The ones I take for granted everyday.

No, not everyone has a good job. But some people have nothing.

I'm glad I saw the pictures and I'm glad I read Angie's posts. (I hope you read them too.)

And I'm glad to have the opportunity to make a difference in the life of a child who understands, in a way I never will, what it means to not "have a good job".