Photo of the Week 4/2-4/9

I was walking through The Hole with one of the short-term mission teams and as I passed by a little alleyway, I saw her.  I am rarely taken back by anything in The Hole anymore but for some reason she made me stop.  She hardly noticed me at first but I don't like to take pictures of people without their permission so I quietly greeted her in creole and asked if I could take her picture.  I snapped a shot of her and her son and then asked in Spanish how old he was.  No response.  She didn't speak Spanish.  I pointed to him and then held up a number one, then two, then three.  She shook her head and held up the number one.  One month old.

I am not sure why she struck me so.  I've seen a Haitian woman before.  I've seen a Haitian baby before.  I've even seen a Haitian woman bathing a Haitian baby before.  But she caught me unexpectedly.

One of the biggest commonalities our two cultures share is motherhood.  And I can't even tell you how much my eyes have been opened since I've become a mother myself.  And although I only stood at her doorstep for twenty seconds, I couldn't keep her out of my mind for hours after.

I wondered about her life and the things she did daily.  A simple task like bathing a newborn can be a little more challenging in a washbasin with cold water.  Her son clearly was not enjoying himself.  I thought of my own babies during bath time in a comfortable baby bath shaped like a cradle with warm water and lavender-smelling suds.  Neither of my kids ever made a peep during their baths.  In fact, I would suffice to say it may have been their favorite time of day.

I wondered if she had a husband that cared for her like mine does.  Someone who supports her dreams and encourages her in all aspects of her life.  Do they lie in bed at night talking about the funny things their other kids say or the new noise the baby is making now?  Do they go through the next days' agenda, planning out who is going to do what and where help is going to be needed? Do they even have a bed?  Or an agenda?

Does she have a mother that adores her and who sacrificed everything so that she could go to school, play sports, indulge in creativity and art?  Or a father who taught her how to shoot a perfect free-throw or who played catch in the front yard as the sun was setting on the day?  Or sisters who fought with her, like all sisters do, but when push came to shove would drop everything to be there for her?  Did she even have a mom? or a dad? or sisters?  Were they there when the Earthquake hit?  Did they make it through? Did they only come to Santiago because everything they had in Haiti was destroyed?

I know nothing about her and I have never walked a mile in her shoes -- or an inch, for that matter.  But for all I know she is happy.  Basking in the glow of being the new mom of a healthy baby boy.  Going about her day, checking things off her mental list of things to do, taking one moment at a time.  Something as simple as bathing her baby; him, exercising his voice box -- her calm and peaceful, reminded me of how many bath times I've rushed my kids through.  Sometimes raising my voice at them because they wanted to play longer than I wanted them too.  In no time at all, her little newborn will be walking and talking and in no time at all I will be sending mine off to college.  

I think it's time I stop and smell the lavender suds.

Photo of the Week...3.9-3.16

If you hop in a van and take a short ride from our neighborhood you enter a small community just on the outskirts of town.  Structured buildings and street vendors turn to cow pastures and wooden shacks. The road is chaotic with potholes and loose pieces of concrete -- a reminder of its out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere status.

When arriving at so many barrios on this island I almost always have to take a deep breath in and prepare myself for the heartache that festers in me long after I leave.  Los Perez is not one of those places.  Although the signs of poverty are everywhere, a sense of peace lingers still.  I don't know if it is the humble people that live in the community, the rickety path you have to take to enter it or the laid back personalities of the children...but whatever it is, it is good.

I never feel anxious or worried about what will greet me.  In fact, I know there is one face that I will always look forward to seeing.  I've never met anyone that smiles with their whole self like he does.  He is never short on hand shakes or hugs and he always responds to a simple "how ya doin'" with "todo uva" or our version of "just peachy."

He knows every child in his nutrition center by their first and last names and knows where each of them lives.  He always starts their mealtime ritual by teaching the kids scripture.  I have witnessed first-hand, 70-some children re-sighting bible verses that most adults wouldn't even attempt.  He excitedly points out an 11-year old girl who has memorized 34 scriptures and counting.

Pastor Nico grew up in the church and always felt a real connection to God.  He watched his own father preach from the pulpit every Sunday.  He recalls a woman in his father's church who would always entice him to come to sunday school with the promise of a piece of candy.  It was that candy that kept him coming back.  It was that candy that brought him to a place where he heard God's word.  It's because of that candy that he knew God was calling him to be a pastor.  Nico started his ministry in Los Perez with that very same type of candy.  He knew that all he would have to do was get the kids to the church and God would do the rest.

And the kids came.

Photo of the Week...2.14-2.20

I remember the smell of freshly cut grass.  I remember the feel of the stadium lights shining down on me.  I remember the emotions filling me up as I put my arms around my teammates for the last time.  Taking in each face, each moment on the field, each touch of a soccer ball I felt on my well-worn cleats. I don't remember every game I ever played.  I don't remember how many goals I scored or how many girls I kept from scoring.  I don't remember every field I played on or how many miles I traveled.  What I do remember are the people that poured into me.  The people that shaped me into the person I am today. The relationships and bonds that formed as the result of a game.  

A group of men, living in all parts of the U.S., traveled this week to the Dominican to honor a friend, a mentor and a brother who lost his battle with cancer.  I never met Tommy Carter Barnes but this week I saw his legacy lived out through the lives he poured into.  These men worked from early morning to early evening demonstrating batting stances, proper throwing technique, and teachings on waiting for the right pitch.  They hugged and high-fived and fist-bumped a group of Dominican boys eager to learn, not only to be great baseball players, but also to be Godly men of integrity, discipline and character.  This group of North Americans have committed themselves, not just to the group of young boys in our baseball academy but have also committed to our four, full-time baseball coaches as well.

For families, and especially young men in this country, good, male role models are hard to come by.  That doesn’t mean they don't exist, it’s just not the cultural norm.  But on a baseball field lined with apartment complexes and broken down buildings, four men reminded me of how important investing in others really is.

Gamaliel, Rojas, Franklin and Jose Luis have become fathers, brothers and mentors to 210 young men desperately seeking someone to believe in them.  I have seen their dedication as they walk past my house every morning around 8:30 and don't pass by again until sometime after 5:00.  They always walk by with baseball players in tow who are asking questions, playing practical jokes on each other, laughing and practicing their swing in the middle of the street.  I had the unique opportunity this week to watch these four in action.  They don’t just show up at the field and do their “job” and hurry home.  They sit with the kids, share their lives with the kids and above all, they are building lasting relationships with them that these kids might not have elsewhere.

Each of the four men have their own stories; some growing up in the church, others growing up on the wrong side of the tracks.  But the common denominators between these men are the transformations that Christ did in each of them and a group of men from the United States who have committed to pouring into their lives so that they can pour into the lives of others using baseball as a catalyst.

Photo of the Week...7/17-7/24

we'll just call this week's photo of the week, broken heart: week #2.

although i cannot share all the details of this story, just trust that it's a good thing you don't know them.  and although it would be easy for me to make this entire post about how unfair life is and how awful people are, God showed me very clearly that regardless of what humans do, He is still in control.  He will take what people intend for evil and make it good.

***

as he strolled into the clean, church building you could almost cut the tension with a knife.  people's eyes were already welling up with tears, although we were trying hard to not let him see.  he calmly joined the silent group with a tentative smile on his face.  i tried to smile, wondering how on earth he could even muster one up.

this week was for him.  and although others were there, he was the inspiration.  a deaf teenager, living in a trash dump, never learning an actual language to communicate with others.  on this island, children with deformities or disabilities are often cast aside like the daily trash.  they are not cared for.  they are seen as a hindrance.  most of the time they are taken to a government orphanage so someone else can deal with them, that's if they aren't aborted first.  but Yordy's mom loves him.  maybe not the way some judgmental hearts might want her too, but she loves him the best she can.

as spanish signing cards were waving around and new conversations formed with hands and expressions, his eyes lit up with hope.  he wasn't the only one anymore.  there were people here that wanted to give him language.  that wanted him to know that he is anything but a castaway.  that he has value and that he belongs to a kingdom that reigns above the dirty river his home sits next to.

i watched him closely, looking for the remnants of his recent horrific situation.  instead of angry or hurt eyes, he smiled so often that i was blown away by this young man still so filled with joy.  but there were moments.  when no one was looking, and just i was watching, the smile would slip away.  his eyes would look downward and his mind would wander.  remembering.  but almost as quickly as his smile left it was almost as if his heart reminded him that today was a new day, and his smile reappeared bigger and brighter than before.

i can't really explain all that those few hours taught me in a room full of people, signing a language i barely knew.  but God showed me through a deaf teenager whose future, according to this world, holds nothing but disappointment and ridicule, that joy can be found in every moment.  even amidst our worst nightmares, God has a redemption plan bigger than we could ever imagine.  and His grace extends beyond language, culture or circumstance.

Photo of the Week...7/10-7/17

i could feel it in the pit of my stomach.  the sinking feeling that God was doing something that was going to hurt.  he was going to break my heart all over again.

as our van trampled through the pitted dirt roads i could see the mound of trash burning off in the distance.  a mix of machinery and working men looked like figures in a cartoon because surely real humans wouldn't be in that sort of situation.

i closed my eyes and tried to prepare myself for what i knew was coming.  it was five years earlier that i had come here and had my heart broken for the first time.  i was hoping a repeat story wouldn't unfold.  i was quite naive.

there is something about La Mosca that brings out the worst type of christian in me.  i feel angry and bitter upon entering its fly-infested streets.  it makes me want to slap neglectful parents in the face as i stare at their lonely, unloved children.  it makes me want to curse at the owners of the garbage dump who exploit these people and trap them in a pit of poverty.  it makes me want to have a conversation, not a pretty one, with the evil one who owns these streets and holds its inhabitants captive.

its dark and it feels hopeless.

i could feel my subconscious working over time to harden my heart, to make it numb.  it knows full well that if i let myself feel this place, sink into its grief, i might not be able to pull myself out.

the medical clinic was going great.  nothing too serious to report.  a few scratches and skin infections but mostly female issues dominated the morning.  i felt like i was going to make it.  i had successfully visited La Mosca without mourning over them and curling into a fetal position in the corner of the church.  but i made a simple mistake.  i looked out the window.  i saw plates of food being passed.  i thought i would go take some pictures.

i rounded the corner to fifty kids sitting on the cement floor with plates of food in their laps.  not unusual.  i've seen nutrition centers before.  heck, half of my summer is spent in them.  but i caught her eye.  a little girl who looked like the Dominican version of my little girl.  let the breaking begin.

i scanned her with my eyes from head to toe.  hair disheveled.  scrapes on her face and back.  scabies scars from her neck to her feet.  a pair of shorts, tattered and clearly too big for her.  no shoes.  and suddenly my own blonde-headed beauty flashed before me.  this time with matted hair and calloused feet.

she didn't smile, she didn't react, she didn't play.  she just stared.  her deep brown eyes staring at the big black thing i was holding to my face.  little did she know that it was my protection.  i've shed many tears behind my lens, unknowingly to the world.  and this day was no exception.  they flowed without end, or sound, as i imagined my baby girl sitting on a cement floor, eating rice and beans, wearing her brother's shorts and with itching wounds all over her body.  bugs, literally laying eggs in her flesh and clawing their way out after they've hatched.  this little girl's reality became my reality.  she became my daughter.

pain and suffering used to be something i ran from.  trying so desperately to make "light" of something that so evidently couldn't become just a phrase for an optimistic person.  more and more God is teaching me to meet people in their grief.  hurt with them.  suffer with them.  dive into their pain as deep as they are in it.  its in that place, and only in that place, that we can truly understand what Jesus did for us.  what He asks us to continually do...share in His suffering and the suffering of His beloved.

i don't know if she understands the life that surrounds her at the ripe age of two.  nor do i know the plans He has for her.  but i know something...God keeps allowing me to ache for these little ones and the injustice of their situation.  every bit of suffering i feel for them does more and more to drive me to seek justice for those who can't seek justice for themselves.

and after all, even in what seems like the most hopeless of situations, i still got her to smile.  just maybe hope is on the horizon.

"For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ."  -2 Corinthians 1:5

Photo of the Week - 6/26-7/3

 

you might find it strange that my photo of the week is a photo of one of our staff.  you might find it stranger that it isn't of an adorable kid in one of our ministry communities.  but this moment, this picture impacted me so greatly this week that i couldn't help but make this photo, my photo of the week.

***

you could hear a pin drop.  and in a country as loud as ours, that's saying something.  you know when you can tell something big is coming, whether you know what it is or not, something in you just knows?  all your senses hone in on what is taking place before you.  you are acutely aware of how people are positioned, where they are looking, who is drawing the attention.  you wait in anticipation for "the event" to occur, not yet knowing what exactly it is going to be.   i was waiting, expectedly.

the young men that surrounded me, somewhere around two hundred of them, were fidgety.  some of them knew it was coming too.  others didn't want the words to be spoken.  still others were waiting for the charge.  to be part of something bigger than any of them even knew possible.  because in reality, nobody ever really expected anything of them anyway.

i could hear it in Will's voice.  he wasn't going to shy away from this conversation.  he knew this was the moment.  he knew a week like this was his platform.  God's platform.  Will knew that if he wasn't bold, if he wasn't real, if he didn't hit them where it hurt, then all of this they'd been doing would have been wasted on deaf ears.

he started to talk about fathers.  risky subject.  maybe you or i have a pretty good picture of a dad because we grew up with amazing ones.  but these boys don't have that good fortune.  a majority of the fathers here are the furthest thing from what a father is supposed to be.  and when i say majority, i'm not exaggerating a statistic so you'll be blown away; the cold, hard truth is good examples are few and far between.  they abuse their children, beat their wives, drink incessantly.   and that's if they are around.  most "fathers" are but a vapor in the wind.  you only speak of them when signing official papers or are enlisting in school and the school officials need to know your father's name.  do you know a couple dads like that?  i know twenty; and they all live on the same street.

so when Will brought up their fathers, for most of them it was like opening a wound they would rather just put a bandaid on.  but Will wasn't having it.  he knows that if something doesn't change, 99% of the kids sitting in that room would grow up to be just like their fathers.  abusive.  deadbeats.  criminals.

Will asked them to raise their hands if their fathers drank a lot.  more than half the hands in that place shot to the roof.  the others raised their hands, not physically, but with a disgraceful expression.  "how many of your fathers hit your mom?"  less hands went up this time but their expressions went from disgrace and shame to hurt and angry.  "how many of your fathers hit you?"  only the hands of the younger boys stayed up.  the older ones know you don't let others see that kind of truth.  "do you want to be like your dads?  do you want to follow in his footsteps?  do you want to abuse your kids and beat your wives and get drunk every night?"  i could hear the quiet sound of influence passing over the crowd.  the sound of sniffing and tear-wiping began too.

something incredible happens when a person is empowered.  when they realize they have expectation.  it ignites something in them.  they suddenly feel like who they are now doesn't have to be who they will always be.  change is a powerful thing.

there was this moment when i could barely see through my own tears and i watched as Will's eyes welled up too.   i realized THIS is God's redemption plan for this island.  maybe the young men who are here, listening, will change the course of an entire community.  maybe looking back ten years from now we could track a new generation of husbands and fathers to this very room.  maybe, all it took was one guy from louisville, kentucky to charge these boys to be Men of God.  and almost as if it were rehearsed, when Will asked this room full of broken boys if they wanted to be Men of God they chanted back at him, "Hombres de Dios," with fists raised in the air.  not because they were expected to or they would win a prize if they did it really loud but because the flame was lit and the torch was passed and for a room full of boys, the buck was stopping here.

Photo of the Week 6/5-6/12

it's been harder on me since we have returned from the States.  it's almost like i forgot for a short time just what life is like for the majority of the people living here.  everywhere i look i see hungry kids, hurting families and satan's strongholds.  like my eyes have been opened...again.

even though i know God doesn't want me to stay in this place, it's still a good place to be.  to be reminded that we are on a battlefield.  we are waging war against the most deceptive army known to man.  we are fighting for little souls that don't even know yet why we are fighting.

little souls like hers.

as i watched her in her teenage mom's arms i tried hard not to feel hopeless for her.  wondering what on earth i could possibly do to change her circumstances, to keep her from following the broken path ninety-nine percent of her friends will.  God reminded me that i am armed with the strongest weapon available to anyone.  a weapon that our enemies will never possess.  a weapon that heals the wounded, saves the lost and brings justice to God's people.

i can pray for her.  i can battle satan in a spiritual realm that so many people forget they are able to tap into.  will you join me?  will you pray for this little one to stand apart from the crowd?  will you pray that she will have supernatural abilities to fend of temptation and live a life radically for Christ?

God is calling us to to stand in the gap for His people, especially the ones who are unable to defend themselves.  could you imagine this little one fighting satan on her own?  she needs me.  she needs us.  she needs the body of Christ.

Photo of the Week - 5.29-6.5

hello there, you little dominican beauty...

i know God has a plan for you.  plans to prosper you and not to harm you.  to give you hope and a future.  my prayer for you is that you find your identity in Christ; not in boys, clothes, or the things of this world.

remember this time, your youth, and the things that make you smile.  remember the freedom and the little things that make this time in your life so carefree.

keep putting flowers in your hair, just for the fun of it.  keep dancing with your friends in the street, just because you can.  keep walking through that church door, reminding yourself of a big God who cares so deeply for you.

i don't know your circumstances but i know that you are a child of Him who wants to do immeasurably more than you could dream or imagine.  let Him.  let Him use you for His kingdom.  let Him mold you and shape you.  let Him take control and show you His way...because, after all, it is the best way you can take.

you are the future generation of a culture that is going to radically change this island.  you are God's solution.  He has chosen you to be a part of a revolution.

you are a warrior even at your young age.

Photo of the Week-2/12-2/19

meet linda (pronounced leen-dah; means cute, adorable, beautiful). hey there, pretty girl. she lives in the hole and she's been my photo of the week before. except before, i didn't know her. before, she cried at the sight of me. before, i hadn't stepped into her world.

it's been a strange transition working so closely to the ministry happening in the hole. i figured i would become more emotionally numb to it since i see it at such close proximity. but, quite frankly, the opposite has happened.

i remember when i was explaining life in the hole to a short-term missions team for the first time after i began working there. i said my usual stuff, expressed the need there, shared how tough life can be. and i cried. like, to the point that i just wanted to jump out of the van, find a corner and curl up in it. it no longer was just a story i told. it was her story. linda's story. i know kids now whose parents leave in the morning to go to work, lock their kids out of the house and make them fend for themselves until they get home. i know girls who are basically child prostitutes with no self-esteem or feeling of worth. i know parents who hardly have enough food to feed themselves, let alone their eight children. and it breaks my heart even more knowing their real life stories.

but for me, what keeps me coming back, what keeps me taking the long staircase down into this dump are the smiles i get when i turn the alley to the church. linda, who was so petrified of me two years ago, is now one of my most enthusiastic welcomers. she will stop whatever she is doing, run barefoot and jump over trash and dirty water just to rest comfortably in my arms. talk about redeeming people. god's already working on her little heart, changing it from fear and uncertainty to trust and love.

Photo of the Week-10/15-10/22

we drive through busy streets and bushels of plantains. we pass by a public hospital and a run-down baseball field. we enter the barrio on a dirt road that was made more for a four-wheeler than a fifteen passenger van. the terrain is completely different. what once was a vacant lot now has tin and wood shacks everywhere. naked children chasing homemade kites. goats grazing on small mounds of trash.

Santa Lucia.

i've never liked its unofficial name. la mosca, the fly. i mean, i get it. the name makes sense. its just that the name is almost a stamp of doom for the people living there. it doesn't boast of education and prosperity and hopefulness. it screams of desperation and poverty and despair.

the trash was burning again. the dump must have a new owner. it was so nice when there wasn't a mountain-size pile of trash burning and blowing smoke and stench into the streets. the smoke meant one thing. flies. flies everywhere. i was afraid to breathe with my mouth open and walk too briskly for fear that one might enter in.

the kids weren't healthy because of it. they were being fed by the nutrition center so they were a healthy weight but their skin had sores and infections. those pesky flies. can't they just leave the kids alone?

it caught me. right in the middle of feeling like i was in my groove. like i was right where God wanted me. like i was making a difference. right when i felt like hope was being restored in The Hole and i was doing something tangible. it caught me. there are hundreds, maybe even thousands of places just like The Hole. and a lot of them are worse. places like Santa Lucia.

i wasn't prepared for this flood of emotion. and just when i thought it couldn't get any worse, a little boy about landon's age walked by with a limp. nothing more than a limp. for all i knew, he could have stubbed his toe and didn't want to put his weight on it. but in my mind his twelve year old mother contracted a virus from the flies during her pregnancy and it caused a malformation in his hip joint causing it to develop unnaturally. this four year old boy doomed to life with a limp and ridicule and laughing and unemployment and loneliness. i cried.

when my own despair sank in the Soft Whisper, whispered, "one day at a time. we win in the end." that's all it took. i wiped the now streaming tears from my eyes and remembered He gets the victory. even in places like La Mosca. especially in places like La Mosca.

Photo of the Week-10/11-10/18

i used to think he was too strict with the kids. he needed to love them more and hug them more. he needed to greet them with a smile and a "Jesus loves you," as they entered the nutrition center.

i was naive.

felix loves these kids more than any of us could ever imagine. he loves them better than any of us ever could. yes, these kids need love and hugs and "Jesus loves you's" but more than any of that they need to learn respect and responsibility and discipline from someone who spends day-in and day-out with them. he shows them love, not just by offering them a passing hug or twenty minutes of holding their hand; but being in the trenches with them. going to hospital visits with them and sympathetically patting them on their head when their father was, yet again, dragged out of their home and arrested for drug possession.

the more time that i spend in The Hole the more i realize what kind of "job" Felix has. he told a group this week that out of the 600 or so families that live in The Hole about 90% of them are, in some way, involved in the drug business. whether it be selling or using or storing or guarding money or being the "debt collector." he is not just trying to win souls for christ. strangely, that could be the easy part. but what happens if they do want to accept christ and change their lives? the next step is saying to these already starving families that they need to leave their only source of income as well. do you want to tell them that?

eleven years of working in the trenches. eleven years of offering hope to people who's only hope lies in white powder and their next fix. eleven years of loving children born unjustly into households enslaved by darkness.

i think twice before i say to myself, "come on, felix, it's ok if he doesn't wear his sandals into the nutrition center." because if felix doesn't expect more from these kids, who will?

Photo of the Week-8/2-8/9

My love for The Hole has grown deeper this summer than I ever thought possible. I see it in such a different light. I see it as a place that has hope and redemption. I see it as a place of growth and possibility. But I also know, deep under the surface, that it is Satan's playground. He does not want to lose the battle there.

Because my love for The Hole has deepened, so has my love deepened for those who partner with the ministry in The Hole. To know that these people are backing Felix, bringing him support and encouragement, and edifying his work there...man, its priceless.

Felix's job is not an easy one. I've seen him discouraged and feeling alone. I've seen his eyes look distant. I've seen him worried. But there is something that happens to him, as it happens with all of us, when people are there to love and encourage him and his people. Hope comes. Life comes back. Passion returns.

As we were watching The Ridge's video on their last night here, Felix said something that will stick with me, I hope, forever. He said, "Seeing these photos, the kids in this light, the people loving them, stirs something in me. It reminds me that I am still, after all this time, sensitive toward them."

It reminded me, too, that even though sometimes I look at my job as just taking photos, that it is not just that. That it is my opportunity to stir hearts. To remind people of their passion. To edify those who are working hard for God's kingdom. An opportunity I should never take lightly.

Photo of the Week-7/26-8/2

um, hello beautifuls.

while up through the mountains this past weekend visiting the church and community of pastor gregorio tomas, i had the unique opportunity to do something i have never done before...evangelize.

i went with a group once before but it didn't really count. it was the first summer mike and i lived here, i didn't know a lick of spanish and i was more uncomfortable than any other time in my life. this time, i was more prepared.

as we made our way through the back alleys of this little community there seemed to be treasures around every corner. robin-egg blue houses set between mango trees. old wooden fences with yellow flowers peeking around it. an old woman hand-washing white clothes in an orange basin. then i found these two treasures.

these little girls were sitting on wooden chairs outside of their home. shy, and curious, they reached out for our papers. they didn't speak spanish. i said one of the three phrases i know in creole, "bondje beni ou," "god bless you." they giggled, seemingly surprised that this american girl attempted their language.

i snapped the shot.

treasure, i tell you, pure treasure.

Photo of the Week-7/19-7/26

in G.O.'s vision statement we speak on transformational partnerships. in my mind, partnership means a lot of things. financial partnership with a national, a missionary or a child in our school or nutrition centers. prayerful partnership and encouraging one another through communication with our Father. christian partnership and being the body of Christ, being like-minded in our cause and mission while here on earth. there are so many facets to the word partnership.

and maybe, partnership doesn't mean the same thing to everyone but transformation is something we can all grasp.

when i look at the picture above, i am initially drawn to the little girls' amazing smile. there is no doubt about the fact that she is having a blast. and maybe that's what we may all see initially when looking at the photo. but shortly there after, i am drawn to the transformed face behind hers. his smile is genuine. his happiness is real. he is being transformed by her just as much as she is being transformed by him. so often when we do missions, whether short-term or long-term, we come to the conclusion that we are going to help. we are going to make a difference. we are going to change the world. and as real and and true as that may be, how many of us know where the actual transformation occurs? it happens within ourselves. when we serve others, when we give our whole selves to other people, we are transformed in ways that we can only feel, and not explain.

we were never meant to be alone. we were designed to live in partnership, serving others, whether it be next door or half-way across the world.

Photo of the Week-7/12-7/19

Imagine for a moment being a Mama the day your baby is going to be born. All the excitement and anticipation of nine months of waiting. Wondering what your little one will be like. Who's personality she will take on. What she will look like. Now, imagine your child being born and seeing a concerned look on the doctor's face. And when you hold your baby you see that she was born with a cleft lip and palette. In the States, its not a problem. Your child has many opportunities available to have the deformity fixed. In most other places in the world, that is not the case.

The first picture was of Daadli in March of 2009. Just a little baby then. Today, Daadli can smile, eat and drink normally...thanks to Cross Point Church in Nashville, TN. Their partnership with Moise and the church and nutrition center in Brisas de Ocampo, resulted in meeting Daadli. Feeling compassion for her and the circumstances she was living in, Cross Point wanted to act. They found a way to change a little girl's life.

Many of the people that were on that trip where they first met Daadli, were here this week. What an awesome testimony to partnership. Who knows? If Daadli hadn't been born in Brisas and if Pastor Moise didn't have a church there and if Cross Point didn't partner with that community, maybe none of this would have ever happened.

God has set bigger plans in motion before.

Photo of the Week-7/5-7/12

Girl in the Red Dress

I saw you and you saw me
Quiet and reserved you didn't say a thing
Even though the other kids were playing
To none of the gringos' arms did you cling

Do you know who you are in the kingdom of God
Do you know there is a crown waiting for you
Do you know that a grand house is ready
That a king is there to carry you through

Your tattered clothes will melt away
Replaced by a gown made of white
Your mismatched shoes will fall from your feet
And you will be lifted to a place beaming with light

You may be unknown in this foreign land
It's inhabitants less than friendly
But in your Father's kingdom there awaits
Love that is never-ending

And maybe you're hungry most of the time
And your plate is almost bare
At your Father's table you will see
A magnificent banquet for you, he's prepared

Although there is strife now and times when you're scared
Your reward isn't here on Earth
For when you invite the King in your heart
In your spirit there is rebirth

Though your little eyes have seen more than they should
And your life has been hard-pressed
Remember your royalty in the Kingdom of Heaven
My little girl in the red dress

EXTRA Photo of the Week-6/28-7/5

do you remember my little godson, marvin? if you don't, you can see his story here. well, this adorable little thing is ten months old now. i can't believe how time has flown.

in the past few weeks i've had a lot of time down in the hole. and i've cherished every second. i've been spending a lot of time with marvin's mom and a new mom that I have met this summer. it's been more than rewarding walking into joanna's house and seeing little marvin smile at me. i even got to give him his bottle the other day and within minutes of his bottle he fell asleep in my arms.

as his mom was hustling around the house cleaning dishes and preparing some food for his sisters, i was just reveling in holding his naked little body close to me. many nights i've been up praying for this family. god never ceases to amaze me at his timing. as i've gotten to spend more time with his mama, around this time his daddy left the family. joanna has been with him since she was 12 and he decided it was enough, apparently. now, this 20 year old mom is left to figure out how to pay rent, feed her children and survive with no income.

the day she told me that he left her, i could see the defeat in her eyes. i wanted to sit there and cry with her, but she wasn't crying, so i decided to do my best and be tough. but god did give me the opportunity to do something i've never done. talk to her about jesus. tell her that he is all we need. tell her that he is the only man that will never let us down. tell her that, if she trusts him, he will provide in ways beyond her comprehension. tell her that he will carry her through this, and that she is not alone.

i can't help but look at little marvin and feel hopeful. hopeful that there will be a man in his life to teach him about being a good husband and father. that will tell him to be committed to his wife and children and to never abandon them. a man; someone; anyone; that will teach him about jesus so he can be different than the other men he is surrounded by.

Photo of the Week-6/28-7/5

i love this picture. this boy, during basketball week, was so amazing. it was like he belonged in the dominican republic. he belonged with all the other boys he was there to play alongside and serve. he cheered and high-fived when their team won and consoled and back-patted when someone missed a shot. at one point, his team won a game of knock-out and he led them on an all-court victory lap, hootin' and hollerin' with arms in the air.

he rarely sat in a group with other americans. i always found him huddled with his dominican teammates. he used what little spanish he knew and hand gestures to have in depth conversations with them. and they were always laughing.

what an awesome testament to this camp that has been running for over ten years. older generations that were part of it more than ten years ago have come and gone, some have remained. but a new generation is being introduced to this legendary basketball trip. and man, they've come to play.

Photo of the Week-6/21-6/28

believe me, i had more adorable kid photos to use as the photo of the week this week but i don't want you to think that is all our ministry is about. absolutely, a good portion of my ministry is to children. they are my heart and soul. they are where most of my passion lies. but G.O. is about so much and children are just a portion of it.

in the picture above is one of G.O.'s medical staff, Dr. Vladimir Canela. he is an incredible guy. if you have more than five minutes to sit down with him you will quickly find his serious exterior melting away and a comedian will emerge. besides being intelligent, dedicated, and disciplined, he has an incredible heart for the hurting people of his culture.

similar to in the states, being a doctor is a prestigious profession. an elite few become doctors and the road is long to get there. many doctors in this country seek to work in private hospitals and practices where the money is good and the stature is even better. not Vladi. he's completed his schooling and become a doctor to serve in our free daily clinic in hoya del caimito. not only that, but he travels to remote areas of the island to serve people of other communities who do not have access to good medical care or even something as simple as cough syrup.

his passion to serve inside his own culture and love others is a testament to his love for jesus. he is an incredible example of a godly husband and father and continues to be an encouragement to those in need. he's as good as it gets. and we are blessed to have him be part of this ministry.

Photo of the Week-6/14-6/21

she's not like the other kids. she doesn't run up to us and jump on our backs and beg us to swing her around. she's quiet and rarely talks. i've never even heard any of the other kids call for her.

quiet and reserved, somehow poised and mature beyond her age. i've often wondered why she is how she is. i know that everyone has their own personalities but living in a place like the hole, i immediately assume something has happened, or she's experienced something that makes her this way.

despite the crazy kids jumping, and twirling, and screaming around her, she found a friend. one that was quiet and reserved just like her. her new friend scooped her up in her arms and i happened to catch their bond. i believe in kindred spirits. have found a couple along this journey. i know what an instant bond can do for the soul. and since i happened to see her crack a few shy smiles, i think she may have found hers.