Pure Religion is this.

I wrote this blog right after returning from Kingston. I wasn't ready to "publish" it (not that anyone reads this!) as my heart was heavy and I felt too vulnerable. But now, as I am fighting to get back to Kingston... to me, this is an excellent reminder who I am fighting for.

December 12th


I wanted to write again when we got back from GH Children’s home on Saturday but I just couldn’t. I was overwhelmed with emotion and had to process. GH is children’s home for children who have been found on the streets or who’s parents have been incarcerated or have passed away. Some of the children have disabilities but most are just delayed due to lack of stimulation. I didn’t think I could feel more than I felt the day before at our visits to the special needs orphanages, but somehow my heart felt even heavier.

Our new friend, Claudette who brought us around the homes is a beautiful, feisty woman in her 50’s who works a full-time business job (yet somehow manages to endlessly serve her church and the children’s homes). She asked us Friday night if we were “sure” we had enough energy for Saturday. We stated without hesitation “absolutely” ready and invigorated by our previous days adventures. Little did we know what she meant…

We walked into GH and I was yet again amazed by the cleanliness of the run-down facility. We went to the toddler room for children Owen’s age first. There was one woman and twenty 1-2 year-olds in the area. Many of the children still on their camp-like metal beds, some locked in a caged beds, crying in anguish for attention and to get their soiled sheets cleaned. A pile of mismatched clothing and underwear lay on an empty bed and the tireless worker doing her best to get each child into some type of clothing. She looked at us stone-faced and with no emotion, “it’s Saturday, we are understaffed.” Apparently, it was her and 1 other women left to about 60 kids under the age of 6, including infants (I now have absolutely no room to complain about handling my one 2 year-old!).

We picked up the worse-than-goodwill looking clothing and began to help lotion and clothe the children. I would clothe one child (in mismatched and wrong-sized clothing) and set them down to go yet they would hold up their feet (a trick Owen does often when he wants to be held) and begin to cry fighting to stay in our laps. Most of the children had very little language, and those who did were very difficult to understand. The neglect and lack of stimulation was evident- but even more was their need for touch and love. We couldn’t possibly have held the children enough. Many of the children would say “Momma” in hopes to grab my attention again. Momma, such an important and endearing term however I knew that they probably had no real understanding of what what this word meant.

The morning consisted of 1 coloring book, a bag of markers and 5 books (we brought them for the babies yet they ended up being occupied by the older kids) for all the kids in the home to share. Remember the couple times that Jesus multiplied the fish and the loaves?! Well, so was it with the coloring book and markers. Somehow it occupied for a good couple hours. Most of the morning for Joe and I was taken up by holding the children- sometimes two or three at a time. Every couple minutes I thought of my Owen- all the hugs, holds and kisses he received. He probably was given more in his first week of life than these children's lifetimes.

…. And the babies- each in their own crib, picked up to be fed to be laid back down again. Even the youngest week-old babies don’t get fed at night and are let to cry till morning. We held them, sang to them and I dreamed of bringing them all home with me.

It was painfully difficult to walk out the door when we were told it was time to leave that afternoon. I felt myself searching for reason and comfort in a situation that seemed to have no hope. On the ride home I was reminded that there is much more going on then even I could see… our God is in the business of saving… “He defends the cause of the fatherless, giving food and clothing” (Deut 24:19), “He hears the cries of the orphan" (Exodus 22:22), “He is a father to the fatherless" (Psalm 68:5).

Religion is a topic full of emotion and controversy. But when I was at GH and the other children’s homes it seemed so simple. Jesus was evident, the children pure and it was my job to allow my heart to move and my body to give.… “Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world” (James 1).

As I finish the blog from my suburban home warmed by electric heating and snuggled in clothing that match and fit just right- there is a call for me to remember this scripture and not forget what I experienced. It is also a call not allow commonality stain spirituality and to continue this religion (no matter where I am).

"Ya Mon".. First adventures in Jamaica and the children's homes

We spent 13 hours in the airport on Thursday where we had our first Jamaican experience (even though we were in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida). Long story short: the airline left us and 13 Jamaican’s to our own in FL to find a flight and make it to Jamaica (our plane was under technical repairs.) The 13 of us grew close (I marveled at their accents) and we learned about each others lives on the floor of the crowded airport. When we finally made it to Jamaica at 1:00am (time of arrival WAS at 4p the previous day) Joseph and I hugged our new Caribbean family, they ensured we had a ride and were taken care of. The Jamaican culture is unique, and I love it.

Joseph and I are here on behalf of our church to explore the possibility of bringing in ESP (extraspecialpeople.com) resources and starting a week-long ESP camp in a couple of the disability children’s homes (a 3 year dream for me). Here in Jamaica, kids with disabilities are often times abandoned leaving several children’s homes working diligently to care for the hundreds of these children. (note: the children are property of the country and therefore we were not allowed to take pictures. I wish I could show you their faces. Words will do, but not do their beauty justice.)

Yesterday we were able to visit two places: a center for children with disabilities and a children’s home for children with disabilities. We went to serve, play and explore. We did not want to come in as “know it all American’s” ready “fix” what they worked so hard to achieve. We wanted to come in the image of Jesus. If the opportunity arose to talk about what I do in the states, and the dream we had, we would take it.

I definitely had fears coming in- What if what I have isn’t needed? What if they didn’t want what I have to offer? What if we are turned down?

The first place we visited for only a few minutes (our ride took an “extended lunch break” from work in order to drive us around). We walked in and the sight was oh so familiar, 15 children with cerebral palsy and multiple disabilities in a circle practicing Christmas carols. Once they saw us, the workers quickly got them together for the favorite song, one with 4 soloist. The tears were almost instant for Joseph and I- the workers hummed the tune to Silver Bells and the children strained out their best voices. To an untrained ear it may have sounded like nothing at all- but to us, it was beautiful, perfect.

The second, a children’s home, was even more impactful. We were welcomed at the gate by Omar, a young man around 14 with an intellectual disability. Omar took his job very seriously- and he opened our doors and made sure they were to close locked. One of the staff members showed us around the 3rd world looking facility that somehow houses 52 children with disabilities (yet was amazingly clean). We got to the back of the facility where many of the kids were left alone to stimulate themselves. The children instantly got excited and began waving, clapping and body rocking. One boy Dave, also bound to a wheelchair, hugged us and tried his best to show off the toy in his hand- an old, dirty fisher price toy missing all of it’s parts that he proudly called his “truck.” Roy, a little boy with Downs syndrome (who they call Mr. Roy, apparently he tries to own the place) gave us hug after hug. There was Deena, Andre and Leon who I got the most time with. There were also several children in the back, locked in a gate.. those are the children with aberrant behavior who are labeled “not able to learn.”

Children are children everywhere- and many of the children at both homes reminded me of one that I love back home. The pure joy, love for the small things in life and perseverance to push past their disability was there, just as the kids at ESP.

Our driver decided to leave us- I think she realized that she wasn’t going to be able to pull me away after only 15 minutes. I don’t know how long she left us (I think it was a couple hours) but time flew by and I felt as if I were home.

Joseph and I sat down with one of the teachers, talked about her teaching strategies, asked her questions and commended her work. Once she found out my experience and schooling- she began asking me questions to help her with her classroom materials and ideas for teaching functional skills. The conversation lead to ESP Camp… which lead to another conversation with her and the director of the home. We all four sat in the little office and talked for an hour about what we could do, how we could help… all of our eyes, hearts and minds began to come alive with the possibilities and we began to dream together as to what the camp would look like and all that we could accomplish through it.

I could visualize and feel an ESP Camp in both the first program and the children’s home: the hope, the love and the ESP magic.

“To humans belong the plans of the heart, but from the LORD comes the proper answer of the tongue.
All a person’s ways seem pure to them, but motives are weighed by the LORD.
Commit to the LORD whatever you do, and HE will establish your plans.”
Proverbs 16:1-3

I began the post with “Ya mon.” It’s actually more like “Ya Man”… but really fast. I thought it may be a stereotype, but was happy to find that nearly every Jamaican we have spoken to has said it at least once. Upon arrival, I was prepared to get a big fat “No, man” regarding the plans of my heart. Thanks be to God- and the beautiful Jamaican culture- who welcomed us with a “Ya Mon.” It is only the beginning. It’s exciting to be a part of His plan, as He leads me to become more like these children, and ultimately more like Jesus.

More visits to come… and more to share…