Our first full day in Peru was Thursday, October 27. I was awakened at 6:45 a.m. by my early bird roommates. Anyone who knows me in the slightest is fully aware that I am not a morning person. And in my books, 6:45 is early. And then we realized that Lima’s a different time zone… it was actually 5:45. So my day began with learning to go back to sleep while my roomies got ready for the day.

Fast forward a few hours and our group was on a bus with representatives from Compassion International. Compassion is a Christian child development ministry. They are best known for their child sponsorship program. Each child sponsored receives an education, healthcare, nourishing food and a relationship (through letters) with his or her sponsor. Compassion’s work is all carried out through the local church so they’re not only meeting physical needs, they’re meeting spiritual ones too.

I’m certainly no stranger to Compassion’s work, I have seven Compassion children of my own. But despite my passion for their ministry, I wasn’t sure how excited to be about the coming day. I was thrilled for many of my teammates who would be meeting their sponsor children. Unfortunately, even with seven kiddos, I don’t have a Peruvian child. So I’d be living the day vicariously through the others. Or so I thought.

After a bumpy, dusty ride through Lima, we arrived in the first village. We walked up the dirt roads and past dozens of little shacks that people call home. Before long, we arrived at the church and were given a tour of the Compassion facilities. We saw the nursery where the littlest members of this town can come to play. We saw the care packs given to all new moms and met the dedicated women committed to helping new parents learn how to care for and feed their babies for optimum health. And everywhere we went in the building, we could hear the happy voices of children at play. School here is done in shifts – half of the children go in the morning, half in the afternoon. So these kids were still awaiting their day at school.

After the tour of the church and Compassion facilities, we divided into groups to visit some of the Compassion kids’ homes. I had the pleasure of accompanying my friend Ruth to see the home of her little girl. When we arrived, we met her mother, grandmother and baby sister – Ruth’s child was in school. We were warmly greeted and made ourselves comfortable in the home. I tried to guard my facial expressions – this certainly wasn’t like any home I had been to before. The one bed (used by the entire family), living room and kitchen was in a tiny room smaller than my bachelor apartment. But as I sat on the couch, I noticed familiar makings of a home – hand-drawn crayon pictures, warm blankets for chilly nights and family photos. And one of those photos had people in it who are so very familiar to me. It was a photo of Ruth and her family.

That’s when it hit me what an impact child sponsorship can have. It’s not just providing a bit of money for a child. It’s intertwining lives. It’s relationship. And just then, we heard some excited footsteps. Ruth’s sponsor child had run home from school, beyond excited to meet this woman she knew through letters and photos.

As part of our visit, we had brought along a gift basket for the family. The basket was filled with groceries and everyday items. There were also a few luxuries – including a package of cookies. Proving that kids are the same everywhere, there was an excited squeal when the cookies were spotted. She dove right in and tore open the package. I smiled, excited for this girl to enjoy such a rare treat. But what she did next surprised and humbled me. She walked around the room, making sure that each of her guests took a cookie. This meant that half of the precious package was already gone. But she seemed even more excited to share her treat, rather that saving it all for herself. I was awestruck by the graciousness of this little girl.

All too soon, our visit drew to a close and we walked her back to school. We savoured that we didn’t have to say goodbye – the next day, we would all be going to the zoo together. So we hugged this sweet girl and sent her back to class. We returned to the Compassion project, where they were preparing a delicious lunch for us. Many of the younger children, back from school, were there to excitedly say hello to us. One little one brushed against my leg so I knelt down to say hello to her. Without any hesitation, she climbed on to my lap, all smiles and hugs. One of my teammates shot this photo:

I flipped back to this photo many times during my trip to Peru, reassuring myself that the moment did actually happen and I hadn’t dreamed it. Photos like these appear all the time in Compassion’s and similar organizations’ brochures. But I always assumed that they were posed. I am now testament to the fact that moments like these do happen. These children -  many of whom have known nothing but poverty and in some cases, abandonment and neglect – are the most loving, friendly kids I’ve ever encountered. They have such hope and joy. It certainly doesn’t come through possessions or affluence. They’re some of the richest kids in the world because they’ve found love through Compassion and most importantly, through Jesus Christ. And that makes all the difference.

I was going to save this for the end of the series but I think I should already start to add it in: please consider sponsoring a child through Compassion. Your gift of $41 (CDN) a month will provide for a child and also impact their community with healthcare, support from a church and great education. Compassion also provides opportunities for older students to tutor the younger ones – teaching them responsibility, childcare and strengthening their own educations for a brighter future. Of course, all donations are tax deductible. I would say you’ll change a life but that’s not true. You’ll be changing two – that of your child and your own.

As I wade through the question marks, my practical, safe side weighs in all too often.

• “What if you hadn’t gone to grad school? It’s not paying off anyway.”
• “What if you’d stayed at your old company? Why didn’t you take the chance to do communications there?”
• “Where did all your money go? You could have still had that!”
• “Why’d you take a communications internship at a church? That wasn’t a good up-and-coming career choice!”

And that practical, safe side suddenly has a megaphone and the steering wheel – heading at breakneck speeds towards Negativity. Ever been there? I sure have, this isn’t my maiden voyage. And every time I’m in Negativity, I look around for the tour director, ready to insist on a refund and demand to know why we came to such a horrible place. And without fail, the tour director is always the same person. The trip was booked, planned and paid for by me. Usually under the influence of that practical, safe side. It’s always been kind of bossy anyway.

Just as I’m about to give up and pitch a tent in Negativity, that quiet little side will come out again with a word of clarity. This passenger has been there for every bump in the road but is focused, unfazed by the surroundings.

“Remember when you fell in love with communication? Remember when you realized you could use it to do something that mattered? That journey isn’t about to start – it already has! This is part of it!”

My life won’t start when I get that job. Or meet that special someone. Or lose ten pounds. Or buy a home. Or… or… or… This is my life! And I don’t want this chapter of it – no matter how long or short it is – to be defined by yet another trip to Negativity. I want it to be defined by hope and faith… and maybe even a little risk. That’s what got me here in the first place. And it’s what will keep things interesting, every chapter of the book… every destination on the journey.

During my internship placement at the beginning of this year, I assisted one of the pastors at my church with a PowerPoint presentation about a trip to Peru. I pored over facts about the country, culture and hand-picked photos of Peruvian children. As I worked on the project, I thought about what an amazing opportunity this team would have – getting to see the work of Kids Alive and Compassion first-hand. But the timing just wasn’t right for me. And I certainly couldn’t go as a broke, needing employment masters graduate. So with that mindset, I finished the project and put the trip out of my mind.

Fast forward a few months to this past summer. This same pastor asked me to run some ads about the Peru trip – a few spots had become available on the team. I ran the ads and we had one person respond. That person was me.

Had the timing changed? No. Had my circumstances changed? No. As far as I knew, I would be an unemployed person with a shiny new masters degree at the end of the summer. I should be job hunting, not going to Peru. But I couldn’t get the trip out of my mind. So I filled out an application and the next thing I knew, I had airfare and itineraries with my name on them. No backing out now.

With an exciting adventure ahead of me, I should have been thankful for what I’ve designated the “in between”, that period of time between graduation and employment. I should have been overflowing with praise to the Lord about this opportunity to go to Peru. But I wasn’t. I still wanted the answer to when – when is the job coming, when can I move out again, when can I get on with my life? I even questioned if Peru was a good idea – I could be missing out on great opportunities while out of the country. I kicked myself for jumping at the chance without thinking rationally.

Turns out, it would take a week in Lima, hundreds of happy Peruvian children and one incredible team for me to start to see the reason for the in between. I can be pretty stubborn sometimes.

More to come…

At the beginning of September, I took my mom for her birthday surprise (pedicures!). After our appointments, we were getting back in my car when I noticed something hovering right in front of us. This balloon was just floating there. I looked around – expecting to see a child or flustered party planner running after it. No one.

It was just too perfect – my mom’s birthday and this balloon makes its appearance. So I jumped out of my car and grabbed it.

I love moments like that – the unexpected, tiny little moments that make life beautiful and fun. Sometimes you just have to reach out and grab them – making a memory as you go.

As I walk through my - dare I say it? – late twenties, I realize how quickly opportunities and moments can fade away if we don’t act on them. So I’m trying to grab as many as I can.

With that in mind, I’m off to Peru on Wednesday to serve kids at Compassion and Kids Alive. I’m nervous and scared – but also exhilarated at what the twelve days in Peru will hold. And thankful that God provides these moments as reminders of how good and generous He is. I hope I can reflect that to the kids I encounter in Lima.

Internet-willing, I’ll be posting from Peru – stay tuned!

So why do I stop blogging? What roadblock am I hitting?

I’m only telling part of my story – and it’s hard to constantly edit your own life. My writing is always driven by the fear of “What will people think?”

That’s not to say that I’ve got some skeletons ready to burst out of the closet. Or that I’m throwing all discretion to the wind. It comes down to this:

An effective story is relateable.
Editing a story down to a “safe” version is not.

So here it is: I’m going to tell the story or I’m not. Period. I don’t want to water it down. Stories are for relating and growing together. So I’m going to tell my story and I hope in some small way, it will encourage you. Or at least make you laugh.

Let’s turn the page, shall we?

Two of my most recent reads (and one related movie) clearly illustrate this. Over the summer, I plowed through Bonhoeffer (my review is here) after seeing the book advertised in every possible place a Christian book can be promoted. The reviews were glowing and the ads intriguing. After I was convinced that the early adopters were on to something, I picked up my copy.

My next page-turner was The Help by Kathryn Stockett. With millions of copies sold and a blockbuster movie based on the story, I again assumed it was a safe bet. I was right. I loved the story so much that I even saw the movie – also excellent.

Both books contain captivating stories that I constantly reflect on. Bonhoeffer is a biography but author Eric Metaxas adeptly ties in the political climate in Germany before and during World War II as he tells Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s story. As the reader, you feel helpless as the plot unfolds and thousands of Jews and people who refused to back down on their convictions are tortured and/or killed.

In The Help, the reader is immersed in the lives of black maids who are subjected to poor treatment by the “Christian” housewives they work for. The maids work long hours caring for the house and most importantly, loving on the white children in their care. But the women, like the reader, know well that someday most of these children will grow up to disdain them because of their skin colour, just as their parents did.

It’s easy with stories like these to wonder “How could people adopt those attitudes? How could they possibly be so evil?” And then the conviction comes – many were ordinary people who were swept into the common mindset – their attitudes and actions shaped by propaganda and the overarching popular opinion.

Someday, biographies and novels will be written about our time. And I’m sure future readers will think the same of our society’s opinions and behaviour – “How could the people of 2011 do that? How could they let so much evil reign? Why didn’t they do something?“

The challenge of these books – and others like them – is to not be swept away with public opinion. It’s a call to weigh every conviction, every attitude, every action. I don’t want to be depicted as one in the crowd that enabled injustice. But I also don’t want to be portrayed as an “invisible” – someone who turned her back when it was in my power to make a change – no matter how small.

A shy German preacher’s cries against an evil regime are still being heard today. The fight for civil rights begun years ago is still being waged. It’s time for us too to hop off the bandwagon of public opinion – no matter the cost.

The photo’s bad enough. But it’s the grammar mistake in the headline that’s going to give me nightmares.

Helpful Church Employee: Good morning, Calvary Church, Andrea speaking.

Annoying Telemarketer: Hello madam! I am calling with a great opportunity to participate in an influential accounting survey.

HCE: (Already irritated at being called ‘madam’.) No thank you.

AT: Are you sure? This is a wonderful opportunity!

HCE: No thank you.

AT: Are you in charge of the accounting at your company?

HCE: (Wondering why ‘no thank you’ isn’t as effective as it used to be.) No. And we’re not a company, we’re a church. So this isn’t something we’d like to participate in.

AT: Certainly it is! We would love to hear from you.

HCE: (Wishing she wasn’t a church employee and could use different vocabulary… bad church employee!) No we really don’t wish to…

AT: Is the person in charge of your accounting available?

HCE: No.

AT: When will they be available?

HCE: I’m not sure, this really isn’t something…

AT: Well, I’ll call back another time then.

HCE: (Congratulating herself on burst of inspiration.) Oh actually, you know what? He is available.

AT: How wonderful, may I speak to him?

HCE: Absolutely. Do you pray?

AT: Excuse me?

HCE: Well you just called a church. My boss is God. He would love to talk to you.

AT: …

HCE: Well thanks for calling! Have a nice day!

That all changed when my dad purchased Bonhoeffer for the church library. It’s a 591-page tome detailing Bonhoeffer’s childhood, education, ministry, romance, and time in the anti-Hitler conspiracy. I was captivated from beginning to end.

The reader knows from page one that Bonhoeffer’s life will be extinguished at the age of 39. But as I read the story, what impressed me about Bonhoeffer was that he himself lived as if he knew his life would come to an early end. He poured himself into his studies, ministry and writing.

Bonhoeffer also poured himself into people. He came from a large family that remained very close – even as miles and communication restrictions separated them during World War II. He also mentored countless young men and seminary students. Many pages in this biography are filled with Bonhoeffer’s letters to his family, friends, students and later, his fiancée.

But most of all, Bonhoeffer lived his life for Christ, no matter how great the cost. At the beginning of the Hitler regime, seminaries and theological schools had to comply with the anti-Semitic worldview. Not only did Bonhoeffer refuse, he began his own underground seminary called Finkenwalde. The life in community standards that he adhered to at Finkenwalde formed the basis of his books The Cost of Discipleship and Life Together. Bonhoeffer’s commitment to Christ also was demonstrated at the outbreak of the war. At first, he moved to the United States to become a pastor to new German immigrants. In his safe surroundings, Bonhoeffer couldn’t have been more miserable. His heart longed for Germany and to fight against the evil that had come to rule there. Within weeks, he boarded a ship back to Europe. This decision would cost his comfort, his freedom and eventually his life.

Bonhoeffer’s life ended on April 9, 1945 – but only in the earthly sense. As he was being taken away to be executed, he told one of the fellow prisoners, “This is the end – for me, the beginning of life.”

I can’t recommend this book highly enough. The pages of the book are many but the number of times I was convicted to live my life more fully for Christ were greater still.

“I discovered later, and I’m still discovering right up to this moment, that is it only by living completely in this world that one learns to have faith. By this-worldliness I mean living unreservedly in life’s duties, problems, successes and failures. In so doing we throw ourselves completely into the arms of God, taking seriously, not our own sufferings, but those of God in the world. That, I think, is faith.” – Dietrich Bonhoeffer