By Roberta Updegraff
“The most profound mysteries are not hidden away in remote, secret places; they are mostly an unrecognized part of everyday life. We fret over mowing the lawn and miss the deep mystery of how the grass grows. We seek to shush a weeping baby but rarely ask where tears come from and what they could possibly mean." Michael Card, Hesed and the Mystery of God's Loving Kindness There are many, many inspiring quotes on dreaming. And there are also many hollow, silly sayings. What they all have in common is our perception that we all have aspirational dreams. Years ago, on assignment in Africa, a mission co-worker pointed out that when a person’s mind is fixed on how to fill just daily needs, there is no time for dreaming. Foresight takes mental energy not available to those whose intent is set on alleviating hunger, danger, or physical wellbeing. A decade ago I asked a couple of the Renacer teenagers about their dreams for the future. They hadn’t thought about their prospects—at least that they were willing to confide even with coaxing. What one young man did admit was his fear. He was afraid of what awaited him when he aged out at Renacer and would be forced to make his way in the world. Santos couldn’t imagine—fear held him captive. That young man stumbled into adulthood, making mistakes, learning hard lessons, and finally settling in a job that gives him some satisfaction. It isn’t regular employment but undergirds his work ethic. He’s in his thirties now. Going to school was not a dream she allowed herself Santos has four sisters. They grew up at Renacer after the death of their mother almost twenty years past. His oldest sister shared with me her delight in receiving a book bag and uniform when she came to Renacer. She had been the caretaker for her sick mother and her younger siblings. Going to school and learning to read was the dream she had not allowed herself. When she aged out at Renacer, we had hoped she would become the first girl to embrace our scholarship and transition to a career. But that didn’t happen. Her younger sister became pregnant, and Caroline became a mother once again. Then came a young man who lied about his intentions, and she had a daughter of her own. We established our university scholarship over a decade ago. I believe God called us to do just that. We had transformed through our years of work team visits to a ministry of presence at Renacer. Leslie Santee helped us clarify that call with the videos she produced for us that May. For all our years of visitation, we struggled to see what difference those visits had made. Only two young men had accepted our scholarships. Several of the girls had become single mothers, and almost all of the boys ended up in disciplinary programs at Project Victoria or on the streets, involved with drugs and gangs. The youngest Carolina and Santos youngest siblings now receive our scholarships. What changed? How was it they dared to dream? That they were brave enough to pursue those dreams? It could have been the encouragement of their big sister and brother. Maybe the examples set in motion by two other alumni who risked dreaming. Or it could have been the young man who embraced his and completed his education with one of our scholarships and went on to work on a cruise ship. But, I think there is more to it. Those two young ladies are among ten alumni enrolled in post-secondary educational programs in Tegucigalpa. I used to take for granted the sweet thankyou speeches they children would give at our welcome and farewell parties. They would beseech God to bless us because we came so far and cared so much. I overlooked the obvious in their similar adult notes thankyou notes. While I (in particular) fussed over making our visits work, searched for words of encouragement to keep them on the “straight and narrow,” and prayed God’s protection over them, I never asked how it was that we connected in the first place. How was it that this ministry was ideally suited for them—and us? And most importantly, how was it that should love us—strangers who came for but two weeks a year from a country that spoke another language? God spoke the answer in a devotional, “Listen.” I would have told you that I am a listener—I have to be in Honduras since I am interpreting so often for the Honduran children and the Gringo team members. But I come to realize over the months that ensued since reading that devotional that I had practiced selective listening. I, too often, anticipated what the speaker was going to say. And up until then, I had never thought to listen with God. This trip God had put his finger to his lips enough times for me to learn to quiet my soul, open my mind and listen to what He would have me hear. Listening with God opens us to hear the heart of the matter. “We’re family,” one of the young ladies reminded me, as she hugged a Renacer brother, a troubled young man, who seemed to have a turnaround. “We love and look out for each other.” One of the younger girls confided in me that her fear of disappointing an older Renacer sister kept her on track. And then one rainy afternoon the scholarship girls threw a dinner for us. We sat in the dark (electricity had gone out) with rain pounding on the roof. One by one they opened up, laughing, crying and confiding. I put my finger to my lips when my Gringa partner wanted to interject, asking me to translate. “Listen,” I whispered and felt God smile. “I could not have imagined that someone who had not met me—probably will never meet me could care.” As Leslie interviewed the young man next in line to graduate, I recalled his hard journey through adolescence and young adulthood. We had prayed often and hard for Jans. When my friend June’s church adopted a scholarship recipient to support, she contacted Jans and offered her friendship. He had confided that her faithful Messenger and e-mail encouragement had carried him through some tough places. He made a friend—a mentor and adopted-mother. I smiled recollecting the times June contacted me concerned for Jan’s health, wondering about something he did or sharing her joy at one of his accomplishments. Indeed, the most profound mysteries are in plain sight, unrecognizable without God’s eyes and ears. They are recognizable in the friendships God weaves into our lives. Please watch the Video on the Home Page to see learn more about these wonderful children and young adults.
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“The most profound mysteries are not hidden away in remote, secret places; they are mostly an unrecognized part of everyday life. We fret over mowing the lawn and miss the deep mystery of how the grass grows. We seek to shush a weeping baby but rarely ask where tears come from and what they could possibly mean." Michael Card, Hesed and the Mystery of God's Loving Kindness There are many, many wonderful quotes on dreaming. And there are also many hollow, silly sayings. Yet, what they all have in common is our perception that we all have aspirational dreams. Years ago, on assignment in Africa, a mission co-worker pointed out that when a person’s mind is fixed on how to fill just daily needs, there is no time for dreaming. Foresight takes mental energy not available to those whose minds are set on alleviating hunger, danger, or physical wellbeing. Dreaming takes foresight A decade ago I asked a couple of the Renacer teenagers about their dreams for the future. They hadn’t thought about their futures—at least that they were willing to confide even with coaxing. What one young man did admit was his fear. He was afraid of what awaited him when he aged out at Renacer and would be forced to make his way in the world. He couldn’t imagine—fear held him captive. That young man stumbled into adulthood, making mistakes, learning hard lessons, and finally settling in a job that gives him some satisfaction. It isn’t regular employment, but undergirds his work ethic. He’s in his thirties now. He could go back school, but…. Carolina dared not dream of going to school He has four sisters. They grew up at Renacer after the death of their mother almost twenty years past. His oldest sister shared with me her delight in receiving a book bag and uniform when she came to Renacer. She had been the caretaker for her sick mother and for her younger siblings. Going to school and learning to read was dream she had not allowed herself. When she aged out at Renacer we had hoped she would become the first girl to embrace our scholarship and transition to a career. But that didn’t happen. Her younger sister became pregnant and Caroline became mother once again. Then came a young man who lied about his intentions, and she had a daughter of her own. We evolved over the years into a ministry of presence We established our university scholarship over a decade ago. Personally, I believe God called us to do just that. We had transformed through our years of work team visits to a ministry of presence at Renacer. Leslie Santee helped us clarify that call with the videos she produced for us that May. Yet, for all our years of presence we struggled to see what difference those visits had made. Only two young men had accepted our scholarships. Several of the girls had become single mothers, and almost all of the boys ended up in disciplinary programs at Project Victoria or on the streets, involved with drugs and gangs. The youngest of Carolina and Santos youngest siblings now receive our scholarships. What changed? How was it they dared to dream? That they were brave enough to pursue those dreams? It could have been the encouragement of their big sister and brother. Maybe the examples set in motion by two other alumna who risked dreaming. Or it could have been the young man who embraced his and completed his education with one of our scholarships and went on to work on a cruise ship. But, I think there is more to it. Those two young ladies are among ten alumni enrolled in post-secondary educational programs in Tegucigalpa. I used to take for granted the sweet thankyou speeches they children would give at our welcome and farewell parties. They would beseech God to bless us because we come so far and cared so much. I overlooked the obvious in their similar adult notes thankyou notes. While I (in particular) fussed over making our visits work, searched for words of encouragement to keep them on the “straight and narrow,” and prayed God’s protection over them, I never asked how it was that we should be connected in the first place. How was it that this ministry was perfectly suited for them—and us? And most importantly, how was it that should love us—strangers who came for but two weeks a year from a country that spoke another language? God spoke the answer in a devotional, “Listen.” I would have told you that I am a listener—I have to be in Honduras since I am interpreting so often for the Honduran children and the Gringo team members. But I come to realize over the months that ensued since that devotional that I had practiced selective listening. I, too often, anticipated what the speaker was going to say. And up until that devotional, I had never thought to listen with God. This trip God had put his finger to his lips enough times for me to learn to quiet my soul, open my mind and listen to what He would have me hear. Listening with God opens us to hear the heart of the matter “We’re family,” one of the young ladies reminded me, as she hugged a Renacer brother, a troubled young man, who seemed to having a turn around. “We love and look out for each other.” One of the younger girls confided in me that her fear of disappointing an older Renacer sister kept her on track. And then one rainy afternoon the scholarship girls threw a dinner for us. We sat in dark (electricity had gone out) with rain pounding on the roof. One by one they opened up, laughing, crying and confiding. I put my finger to my lips when my Gringa partner wanted to interject, asking me to translate. “Listen,” I whispered and felt God smile. “I could not have imagined that someone who had not met me—probably will never meet me could care.” As Leslie interviewed the young man next in line to graduate, I recalled his rocky journey through adolescence and young adulthood. We had prayed often and hard for Jans. When my friend June’s church adopted a scholarship recipient to support, she contacted Jans and offered her friendship. He had confided that her faithful Messenger and e-mail encouragement had carried him through some tough places. He made a friend—a mentor and adopted-mother. I smiled recollecting the times June contacted me concerned for Jan’s health, wondering about something he doing, or sharing her joy at one of his accomplishments. Truly, the most profound mysteries are in plain sight, unrecognizable without God’s eyes and ears. They are recognizable in the friendships God weaves into our lives. I went to bed last night with a jumble of thoughts leftover from the conversation with good friends. We talked of God and giving, and I mentioned that I don't "round up" for charity at stores asking me to give my change for their causes. Nor do I always give even to the most deserving of causes soliciting my support. I don’t also put money in most of the offering plates of churches where I visit. Aren’t I embarrassed? People will think me cheap—that I don’t care. Why not give the little bit of change to the cause du jour?
There are thousands and thousands of great causes to which give, each one most important in its own right. Over my lifetime I have discovered God has provided custom opportunities for me to give. I have been blessed to bless. I'm not referring to my material, health, or talent wealth. I have been blessed by God to be loved by him. God came to my house--knocked on the door of my soul, and opened himself to me—to know him. In friendship, the love we share (God and I) swells to overflowing. God's love in me spills over on to everything I touch. And as I make myself willing, he coaxes me to come close to see with his eyes and heart how I might please him--bless him in embracing the opportunity he reveals. Perhaps the best I can come to describing it is summed up in finding the perfect gift for one of my beloved, and then in giving it I know, I chose right. We share a giddy joy, a connection deep and tender. We are known to one another. And to be known so intimately is to be magnificently blessed. Last night pondering these things I was filled with joyous recollections of some of those unique opportunities in my lifetime. Of course, you know, I count those precious children and young adults in Honduras high on that list. God revealed, at least that is how it felt, how blessed I am to have friends who gave to this project dear to my heart to please me—because they care for me. They gave me a gift of love, which spilled over on to children thousands of miles distant. Children they don’t know and probably will never meet. And those young received the overfilling joy of being loved by God through people thousands of miles removed. I have come to understand that we give not because we are obligated but out of the fullness of our relationship with the Receiver, who is also the Giver. Generosity cascades, spilling over to delight and refresh all on their way. And together with God we splash the wonder of the Kingdom on the world. Based on my reflection on this blog post: 13 Things I want American Christians to know about the stuff you give to poor kids - I have learned through trial and error--and lots of mistakes of my own as we developed our ministry of presence in Honduras the truth I quote from the blogger's post: "Generosity is not about stuff. American Christians tend to act like what people need is more things. More toys, more shoes, more t-shirts. We limit our thinking about giving to a monetary thing, stemming from our consumer values and culture. But generosity needs to run so much deeper. Generosity is also about giving time, giving friendship, giving presence (not presents), giving dignity, giving emotional freedom, giving a welcome, giving a lack of judgment, giving hope, giving trust, giving an experience, giving space." And, oh, how I have carted my share of "stuff" in my suitcases. Over the years I have schlepped soccer shoes and shin guards too few to keep the peace on the field. I have taken toys and clothing and all other sorts of things. Not that this is bad, but this giving often overshadows our true act of generosity—our presence. The children recognized our faithfulness to travel 5000 miles each year to be with them. After years of visiting for two-weeks each summer, it finally dawned on us that we were not a work team, a mission team—but ministry of presence. God had to practically scream it in our ears through the thankful voices of the Honduran folks on the ground. It wasn’t the gifts or even the financial support that the children recognized but rather our faithfulness, our willingness to travel 5000 miles each year to be with them. They shouted it in hugs and laughter upon our arrivals and whispered it in tears long-embraces at our departure. Their caretakers voiced it in the preparations for our arrival, the deeds of kindness during our stay. The village folk and congregation of the little church acknowledged it in their greetings. We were the beloved family home for a reunion each year. The most important thing we have given to Renacer is our presence Our presence is almost 20 years strong. Our abiding love and encouragement have been our best and lasting gifts. We joke that there are probably thousands of Matchbox cars lost in sand spots around the play yards. We are sometimes saddened that they don’t seem to appreciate our current cache of “stuff.” But deep down we know we are family, among the most constant in presence in their lives. They love us like they would blood parents. And that love and respect are their best gifts to us. And as parents-in-heart, we want the best for them. We now see the dignity that our faithfulness has undergirded. The children dream and imagine careers for themselves. They no longer feel sorry for themselves as abandoned and abused children. They see themselves as a family. I observe the dignity and desire to become the best they can be primarily in the young people embarking on their vocations. I experience their gratitude in their willingness to serve at Renacer—to encourage the youngest of the children to make goals and follow their dreams. Catracha is slang for Honduran used despairingly by Latinos from the other countries, as Gringo is used to describing folks from the USA. We refer to ourselves Gringos and the Hondurans lovingly allow it, but it was when one of the young women said I was becoming a Catracha that I knew I belonged. I thank God as I pray for my children-in-heart each day. I thank God for His gift of them to us. And most of all I am thankful for God's patience with me as I learn to love and serve in His model for generosity. By Sarah “Uppie” Updegraff
I know there are many good causes to which you could choose to give. Hogar de Niños Renacer is the children's home where my husband Dave Andrew and I volunteered about ten years ago. The youngest of the children we loved, at that time, are now aging out of the children's home and trying to plan their futures. Most of the Honduran children like these, without opportunities or family support, end up in gangs, homeless or worse. Many of them flee illegally to the states. You have the opportunity to change this trajectory by giving them access to an education. These are children with no families and no safety nets. They remind me of the starfish story. What difference could be tossing one stranded starfish back into the ocean make? There are thousands of children abandoned and stranded in the ghettos of the world. It is true that there are many seas of children who could be bettered by an educational opportunity. But these Kids are mine. I have tucked them into their beds at night. I have calmed their fears when they awoke from nightmares. I have made tortillas (albeit not very well) for their lunches. And I have even shared their chicken-claw soup--a delicacy for the poor of Honduras. I have had my heart broken realizing that none of them had someone who loves them BEST of all. None of the kids had the fierce advocates that parents become for their children. Their one way to build a life, after being saved from the streets and raised in a children's home, was to have access to an education. If I could send them all to college, I would. We are trying to raise sufficient funds to provide that opportunity to all of them through this nonprofit that is run by my mother Roberta Updegraff and other volunteers. In previous years, there have been only a handful of children who were willing to risk dreaming big enough to even ask for scholarships. A couple churches and a handful of volunteers were able to cover the costs. This year, there are more than these churches and volunteers can support alone. One hundred percent of your donation--minus bank processing fees, go directly to the children. For just $166 a month we can pay the full tuition (books, fees, and transportation costs) for one of these young adults. Dave Andrew and I as a family are sponsoring one young man. Please consider donating to help this cause. You can get to know the student your funds are supporting. The committee can put you in touch with the student as well. The young people would also benefit from having emotional support from a caring adult as they cross this threshold from the security of the children's home to the overwhelming world of the largest city of one of the most dangerous countries in the world. And they are stepping forward without any family support. You can provide that much-needed encouragement, and be the person that makes all the difference in their success. What difference could tossing one stranded starfish back into the ocean make? It makes a difference to THIS child. Be the one who makes a difference. |