Please Help SHIP!

We love these kids. We love every single one of them. We’ve seen them grow up over the years, start school, graduate, go to college. We’ve seen them fall in love with those of you who’ve gone to El Salvador. We’ve seen their faces light up when they get their Christmas gifts from those who’ve sent them. We’ve seen the love they show each other and us, and we’ve known that in them we see Christ.

They are a family. They are our family. But, our family is in trouble.

Today we visited the orphanage and learned that the orphanage is in danger of being shut down. The government agency in charge of child welfare (CONNA) thinks there are too many problems with the orphanage. The building needs to be bigger; repairs need to be made; they need more people on staff. We have until October 15 to make that happen.

Even if all repairs are made and staff added, CONNA still believes that the building is only big enough for 15 children. There are 34 children in our family.This means that 19 of our kids will be taken from the only loving home they’ve known and placed in an impersonal, government-run orphanage.

These are children who have known physical and sexual abuse, abandonment, neglect. Many of our children have been through the government system before; some of them still carry the scars of it. We can’t let our children go back to that. We can’t look at the faces in that picture and choose who we could part with.

We need the new orphanage now—sooner than now if possible. We need $130,000 to complete construction. We need your prayers. We need to keep our family together.

http://shipinternational.org/

Late Night Blogging...

Oh my...

Last night I posted a little entry on this blog. But, it was meant to go on the other blog...

I decided to leave it here and also post it there as a reminder of my absent-mindedness. You know, it's little things like these that keep us, uh, humble.

:)

Sara

Mullet: Revisited, Sort Of

Well, it's sure been a little while since I last posted. Unfortunately, today's picture requires a little bit of context, and I'm afraid that by now you might have forgotten that around the age of eleven I had a mullet.

Oh, wait. You hadn't forgotten that? Yeah, me neither. There's still a mullet-shaped scar on my heart. Or, um, something like that.

Anyways, back to our regularly scheduled post. So, I had a mullet. I knew it was bad; you've all seen that it was bad; the world in general knew that I was walking around with the worst haircut ever invented. I wanted and needed to do something about it.

That's when I hatched my brilliant plan. I would have the party-in-back removed. That is, I would get the back of my hair (the very essence of its mullet-ness) removed. I came up with this plan while at Methodist summer camp and shared it with my cabin mate, Barbie. You might remember her from the camp photo. She's the girl wearing blue shorts, folding her arms across her chest, and looking like she wouldn't think twice about ripping your fingers off one by one if you so much as thought about taking the last serving of fruit crumble in the camp cafeteria.

In truth, Barbie was a real peach of a girl. When I told her about the plan for mullet removal, she gave me a pained look and told me that, really, cutting it off would just make it worse.

Despite Barbie's wise yet somehow dubious-sounding advice, I'd made up my mind that I was due for a haircut as soon as I made it back from Methodist summer camp. So I did it. Here it is:



Now, at about this moment, you might be thinking that Barbie had a point. Let's be honest, most girls look to the moms for fashion advice, and, if they could choose to look like one parent, most girls would probably want to look like their moms. You'd think I'd be the same way. After all, I've got a super cute mom. That is, I've got a super cute mom, if every guy I've ever dated is to be believed. If every therapist I've ever seen is to be believed, knowing that might have had a negative impact on my psyche. Only joking, folks. I'm just fine. :)

But, the thing is, I think trying to look like my mom might have been aiming just a little too high for me at that moment. After all, I was an eleven year old sporting a mullet and occasionally wearing white plastic shorts with light yellow LL Bean sweaters. Maybe it was healthiest for me to just look at my dad and think, "Hey. He's got decent hair. That's the kind of thing I could actually do."

So that's what I did. The haircut was followed by months of being asked whether I was a boy or a girl, but those are the kind of childhood memories that build characters. And, more importantly, they're the kind of childhood memories that have allowed several therapists to take extended Caribbean cruises. In the end, everyone wins.

Hope, when it doesn't make sense

I went to El Salvador over the break. I love it there, and there are so many things that I want to tell you, so many things and stories to write. I miss the kids; I want to be there right this second; sometimes I wish I never had to leave.

But there's another side of visiting El Salvador, and that's a tougher side to think about. At some point, along with feeling such joy at seeing all the kids, I feel an immense sadness. It's the kind of sadness that comes from knowing that there is such cruelty in the world. Knowing that parents really do abandon their children. Knowing that children really are kidnapped, that young women are sold into slavery. Knowing that, for someone, other people are simply a product to be bought, sold, profited from.

There are those moments when it seems like you are confronted with all the sadness, sickness, sinfulness of the whole world. That you might be trapped beneath the weight of it all, crushed and hurt and crying for a world that is hurting so much.

It's hard to feel hopeful. It's hard to see the good. It's hard to believe that there is anything but cruelty.

But, in each of the children at the orphanage, I see some sense of hope. I see the immensity of goodness, and I feel a wealth of kindness and love that cannot be described.

Perhaps I feel those things because we are in that season for seeking hope; we are, in some sense, awaiting the Resurrection. We know it has already come, and yet each of us looks forward to celebrating that thing which speaks to each of our souls, which lets us know that there is some greater good, that there is some greater love which allows us to live each day in the hope that this world, torn and broken as it is, was conceived in love.

God bless us in those days when it seems difficult to find hope. God bless those who show us Christ, who give us reason to believe.

Love,

Sara

To everything, a season

Lately I've been reading a lot of autobiographies and memoirs. I'm not quite sure what started this kick, but there's something I love about the stories people tell about their own lives, especially the stories of their families.

In keeping with this reading theme, I picked up a book the other day--The Invisible Wall by Harry Bernstein. Bernstein tells the story of growing up in the time just before, during, and just after the first World War. But, this isn't a story of battles or even of what occurred in the larger cities during that time. Bernstein's family lived in a small village, no place really remarkable. Except that it was remarkable.

Or, maybe that is to say that the village was remarkable in the same ways that each of our towns are remarkable, that each small town or village has a life all its own that sets it apart from every other place. The life of Bernstein's village was distinct not for what brought it together, but for what separated it, the invisible wall of the title. This invisible wall was what separated the Jewish villagers from the Christian villagers; it was that thing which reminded them that they were not alike, that there was no way for them to be joined.

But, the war, which claimed the lives of several villagers, was one thing that briefly unified this divided place. Bernstein, then just a small boy, remembers the reactions of the women as they learned of the deaths of their sons,

"The women cried with one another, put arms around one another, and it didn't seem to matter whether you were Jewish or Christian, you just mourned" (160).

It didn't seem to matter. That's an interesting phrase. So often we say something similar to connote that something isn't important, but what is happening when these women are crying together, embracing each other, mourning each others losses, is something very important because, in their coming together, the invisible wall is briefly brought down.

When I read that part of the book, I thought of the first verses of Ecclesiastes 3:

1For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

2 a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
3 a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4 a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
5 a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
6 a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
7 a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
8 a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.

And, I guess what stands out to me is that everyone experiences these things. There is nothing to say that one religion or race or gender will experiences pain and loss, joy and laughter. We all experience these things. We all hurt. We all smile. We all need help when we hurt. We all hope to see other smiling faces when we are glad.

It is in these moments we all share that there is a real possibility of showing Christ's love and compassion, maybe even more so than when someone sets out with the intention of sharing the Gospel. St. Francis of Assisi once said, "Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words." Perhaps it is in our shared moments of hurt, joy, pain, and love that we are ablest to preach the Gospel. If nothing else, perhaps we can try it, and hopefully we will begin to feel our invisible walls start to fall.

Love,

Sara

Hey, I have another blog!

Well, just like the title of this post says, I've got another blog. You should check it out. It will make you a better person. Or, at least it will give you a chance to laugh at my complete awkwardness.

diaryofanonlychild.blogspot.com

That's the address. I hope you go there. I hope you like it. I hope it makes all your dreams come true.

Love you, people!

Sara

Good Sundays

Some Sundays, church just feels even better than others. Today was one of those days. As I got ready for church, I kept feeling so excited to be going there, so ready to be sitting in the pew surrounded by everyone.

I guess there are just times when you feel so much more aware of God's presence. Times when you just know that what you are doing there in church is worshiping Him, giving Him thanks. And, then you're singing "Redeemed," and you just know that it's true. The pastor prays, and, as always, his prayers sound like hug and feel like love.

It was one of those Sundays. In from the cold and snow, into the warmth.

Love,

Sara