We’ve been home eight months with Sage and my life spins dizzy with love for this child who rocked my world. I want to go back, I need to go back. There are more children and more stories and I have more room.
Not right now, my husband speaks firm words from a usually soft heart, so I know he means them.
My reply is all sass from a usually feisty heart: Then what? Because I look and see everyday the faces of children who were born in a different latitude and longitude than I and it just so happens they don’t print US dollars in their satellite location. Those dollars are here–in my pocket–in my bank, along with the tax-dollar-schools and the paved roads and the shoes that cover the toes so rocks can’t slip between the sole and rubber.
The food is here, lining the aisles of my half-dozen chains within driving distance. And the medicines? I have a clinic’s worth on the top shelf of my linen closet.
So what can I do, dear husband, when you speak wise words my ears find bitter?
Pray you change your mind. I do that daily while I also thank God that he gave me a man whose feet are rooted on earth because I swear my head flies high in the clouds looking for a glimpse of glory.
But I also can contribute here. From the post of my birth-coordinates, in my aisles of plenty, I don’t have to hold tight the dollars safely sitting in the bank–they can fly where I can’t. They can touch the lives of those I won’t. They can be Jesus to the ones I don’t yet know by name.
Please consider sponsoring a Compassion Child. We are. And the dizzy compassion stills as His smile guides my pen on paper…
If you already sponsor a child, please post below one sliver of blessing you’ve had through this partnership across continents.
Or I know the name of a mighty fine adoption agency…