In June, while I was at the She Speaks conference in North Carolina, I saw a video on the work that Compassion is doing on behalf of impoverished children throughout the world. If you keep up with Sophie and Shannon and Melanie, as I do, you probably already know about it.
Now, in case y’all do not know, I am not a cryer. You could cut my arm off and I would not cry. It is very hard to jerk a tear up out of my crusty old cynical heart. I learned not to cry when I was left alone in a hospital when I was three-years-old and since then, it is almost impossible to make me cry, even when it is appropriate for me to do so. I am damaged that way.
Two minutes into this video I was weeping big ugly snotty mascara-runnin’ snorting sobs. Ugly. Another good reason for me to avoid crying.
When they turned up the lights, I walked directly to the Compassion table and handed them my credit card. The sweet gal manning the table, asked me to pick a child. I closed my eyes and shook my head. “No,” I told her, “I could never pick. You pick for me.” And so she did.
Aside: Normally I am very suspicious of these kinds of organizations, but their overhead is as slim as the side of a ruler. Impressive. My money goes to my sponsored kiddo and her family. I like that.
The child chosen for me (aren’t all children chosen for us, really?) is just a month older than Sean. Her name is Monserrat (cómo hermosas!) and she lives in Bolivia. I keep her picture on my desk and send up tiny prayers for her when I glance at her little face off and on throughout the day.
When I got home from She Speaks I showed Sean her picture and tried to explain to him that we were going to sponsor her and pray for her and generally just try to keep up with her for as long as she needs us. Then I pulled out the globe and showed him where Bolivia was and then I had him find Texas.
As he drove his finger from Boliva to Texas he exclaimed, “Oh hey! BoWivia is pink and Texas is pink! We’ve got a lot in common!”
Indeed, we humans have a lot in common.