I woke up today thinking about my kid. How absolutely amazing she is. 7-months tomorrow. Funny, I look at her sometimes and think "wow we are your parents?.....you are mine?" its so interesting. We didn't get to pick her, she didn't get to choose us....she didn't fill out a form and say that she wanted to live in Fort Lauderdale, by the beach, and wanted a great mom and great dad. Freedom was just giving to us...we were given to her....those are our cards.
My great close friend of many years, Tara, sent me this poem this morning, super early this morning like 12am. And you can call it cheesy or campy, but its dead on in my opinion.
We pray for children
Who give sticky kisses
Who hop on rocks and chase butterflies,
Who stomp in puddles and ruin their math homerwork,
Who can never find their shoes.
And we pray for those
Who stare at photographers from behind barbed wires,
Who've never squeaked across the floor in new sneakers,
Who are born in places we wouldn't be caught dead,
Who never go to the circus,
Who live in an X-rated world.
We pray for children
Who who bring us fistfuls of flowers and sing off key
Who have goldfish funerals
And slurp their cereal on purpose
Who spit toothpaste all over the sink
And hug us for no reason.
And we pray for those
Who never get dessert,
Who watch their parents watch them die,
Who have no safe blanket to drag behind,
Who can't find bread to steal,
Who don't have rooms to clean up,
Whose pictures aren't on anybody's dresser,
Whose monters are real.
We pray for those
Who throw tantrums in the grocery store,
And pick at their food,
Who shove dirty clothes under the bed
And never rinse out the tub,
Who don't like to be kissed in front of their friends,
Who squirm in church and scream on the phone,
Whose tears we sometimes laugh at
And whose smiles can make us cry.
And we pray for those
Whose nightmares come in the daytime,
Who will eat anything,
Who have never seen a dentist,
Who aren't spoiled by anybody,
Who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep
Who live and move, but have no being.
We pray for children
Who want to be carried
And for those who must.
For those we never give up on,
And for those who don't have a chance.
For those we smother,
And for those who will grab the hand of anybody
kind enough to offer.
Who give sticky kisses
Who hop on rocks and chase butterflies,
Who stomp in puddles and ruin their math homerwork,
Who can never find their shoes.
And we pray for those
Who stare at photographers from behind barbed wires,
Who've never squeaked across the floor in new sneakers,
Who are born in places we wouldn't be caught dead,
Who never go to the circus,
Who live in an X-rated world.
We pray for children
Who who bring us fistfuls of flowers and sing off key
Who have goldfish funerals
And slurp their cereal on purpose
Who spit toothpaste all over the sink
And hug us for no reason.
And we pray for those
Who never get dessert,
Who watch their parents watch them die,
Who have no safe blanket to drag behind,
Who can't find bread to steal,
Who don't have rooms to clean up,
Whose pictures aren't on anybody's dresser,
Whose monters are real.
We pray for those
Who throw tantrums in the grocery store,
And pick at their food,
Who shove dirty clothes under the bed
And never rinse out the tub,
Who don't like to be kissed in front of their friends,
Who squirm in church and scream on the phone,
Whose tears we sometimes laugh at
And whose smiles can make us cry.
And we pray for those
Whose nightmares come in the daytime,
Who will eat anything,
Who have never seen a dentist,
Who aren't spoiled by anybody,
Who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep
Who live and move, but have no being.
We pray for children
Who want to be carried
And for those who must.
For those we never give up on,
And for those who don't have a chance.
For those we smother,
And for those who will grab the hand of anybody
kind enough to offer.
Makes me think about America, Where You Are, Swaziland, and children around the wold. Makes me think about these missionaries who leave this great nation to spend time, and help others in needs in places we wouldn't dream in living. Amazing. Then that make me question, is Freedom spoiled, because she was born here? Am I somehow better because I was born here...No. Those are just the cards...and its about what we do with them that matters.
I started to think about why C&I does what it does. If you don't know anything about Where You Are:Project Swaziland, let me sum it up for you, simply. People have issues, problems all of the world, and people in America either don't care, are too "busy" to care, decide its "not their problem", or block it all out. The biggest problem in this world, the absolute largest problem, bigger than AIDS and Cancer is how people (mostly Americans) sit here, work here live here, watch the news, read the newspapers, know that there are problems all over the world, and do NOTHING....people love to talk....they even talk about the problems in the world, and what people "should" be doing...but it takes special people to DO. As those people read this, they immediately come up with excuses and try to justify their lifestyles, and come up with other things that they are "doing"..."I give this amount of money to the Red Cross, and blah blah blah", and i'm not dissin that...i'm just saying, any kid I know....and i've known kids, work with kids for a very very very long time....they would much rather...a hug...kicking a ball with you, you showing them love...giving them hope....rather than your money....
America is C&I's mission field....and we will never rest until hearts and minds are changed.
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