The Giver, Not the Gift

This is quite possibly the only post of this nature I will ever write.

First, because it GREATLY contradicts my philosophy on missions and guilt and friendships and money. It's uncomfortable.

And, second, because I vowed early on never to be "that" missionary but here I go . . .

A couple of months ago, I was listening to a podcast by David Platt. He is NOT the guy you want to listen to if you enjoy  complacency in your faith walk or if your comfort zone is a place  you've planned to occupy until there's nothing left to binge watch.

Yes, the guy who wrote "Radical". That's the one.

So, he quoted Leonard Ravenhill, a British pastor who was openly critical of the First World church until his death in 1994.  And here is the quote:

Cringy? Convicting? Annoying?  It's going to hit different people in different ways.

I PROMISED early on in the life of our ministry here in The Philippines that I would not be that missionary. . .you know the one.  The one who comments about how giving up your Latte for a month could provide clean water for the Hookabooka people for seven centuries (I made that up but you know the type).  I very much do not want to be the missionary that makes her friends feel guilty for going to Disney World six times a year while kids languish in the streets of Asia eating from trash cans.

I'm not the Holy Spirit. 

I don't convict people.

I don't decide how fellow Believers distribute their God-given resources. 

But IF this quote by Ravenhill is to be believed, the Body of Christ has to do better.  We have to.

That includes me.  

I know what you're thinking. 

"Ah, giving must be low at Mercy House right now so it's time for Nikki to pull out the big guns".

And I respond to that,

"Not at all. This is not about our ministry alone and it's not about  'getting more money' out of

first world Believers. 

It's highly probable that I'm "preaching to the choir" here because the people who take the time to read a blog post about missions are probably already giving sacrificially, serving locally and praying fervently for the gospel to go out worldwide.  

This post is for YOU.  First world Christ followers. It is solely intended to benefit you. Not our ministry or any other ministry.

Check this out:

I recently did a short study on Philippians.  Chapter four contains a couple of the most quoted (and misquoted) scriptures in the Bible. One of them is Philippians 4:19 which reads

"and my God will supply every need of yours according to His riches in glory in 

Christ Jesus"

Missionaries LOVE that verse.  Anything that reminds us that God cares about our needs and will supply them is balm to our living-on -love gifts souls.

But Paul did not write that verse for himself or his fellow missionaries. That scripture was for his supporters!  Read the whole chapter. Paul is praising the church at Philippi for being his ONLY supporting church and reminding them he is not seeking more "stuff" from them but that he is seeking the fruit of the gospel.  Paul reminds the church at Philippi that the fruit of his work is to THEIR credit. 

How beautiful is that?  

The gospel goes out and the messenger is not given the credit but the ones who support the messenger are.  

I love God's economy.  

It's nothing like the world's.

The "silent partners" are the ones in the spotlight . They are the ones for whom God will "supply every need".  

That makes my heart sing. 

How desperately I want the Lord to bless every Believer who invests in missions. And His word says He will. He will provide for your needs as you provide for those who GO.

As I type this blog post, my mind travels to some precious faces in the First World. I imagine you sitting down at your computer and clicking on our web site to give. I imagine you writing a check, getting a stamp and giving "old school" through the regular mail as you think of us and share your resources with people thousands of miles away who don't have their basic needs met and who do not know the saving love of Jesus.

And I am smiling right now.

I don't know if the quote by Leonard Ravenhill is true. I suspect for many it is. 

But for those who do sacrifice for global missions, I believe God IS providing for your needs. He said he would.  His word is trustworthy. 

And if God has pricked your heart while reading this blog post, can I ask one tiny favor?

Don't stop feeding your pets! 

The Fire

In our little shelter for street children, I try very hard to be open to any child referred to us. I absolutely despise having to say "no" to admitting a child in need. They are there. We are here.  It seems an easy thing to open our home to the boys who have no place to go. It is what we do.

The last three children referred to our center were small boys. They were 9, 7 and 4 years old. I felt confused by this as younger children are rarely referred to us.  I assumed that this was the Lord's way of guiding our center to serve younger clientele and we welcomes the 9 and 7 year old willingly. (The 4 year old comes to us next week). These little boys are so extremely cute! They are all affectionate, cheerful little people who want to sit in your lap, be kissed goodnight, play with Legos, watch cartoons and do "little boy things".  

I saw my staff enjoying these children and, in a move that needs to happen more often than it does, reminded myself that Mercy House is NOT ABOUT ME.  The little dudes are happy here and my staff is happy.  They  bring a lot of joy and laughter to our shelter. They light up the place.

Their "issues" are nothing like the issues of the older boys we serve. They are easily managed. We haven't broken up a single fist fight or had to restrain  even one of these little ones in the heat of their anger. I was weighing the benefits of younger kids vs. older kids in my mind and finding a thousand reasons that younger street boys are the perfect kids for Mercy House.

But then, last week, I went into the street to spend time with a former client of ours who decided to go back to the "old life".  And I met his friends.  Actually, I woke his friends up to serve  them and see how they are doing in the unstable world of street life.

Our former client as we woke him up to eat lunch  

Good friend of our client 

His "tropa" - the best friends and literal "partners in crime"

And just like "that", the fire in my heart began to ROAR.  And as my eyes met theirs, I saw what true hopelessness looks like. Again.  And I felt ashamed at the same time.  I had spent too much time convincing myself that these boys are too old, too hardened and too difficult to serve.

That Mercy House should become a place for little kids.

I was prepared to do what has already been done to these young men time and time again- to turn my back because the work is daunting and the success rate is LOW once boys pass the age of 14 or so. They miss the street, and girls, and smoking, and having money. Being under authority gets tiresome to them sometimes. 

If I were not standing in the street, looking at these children, I could have justified it all. But God put a FIRE in me for these older boys.  He has given me a love for them that ONLY comes from him. It is not something anyone could manufacture.  It is as pure and true as any genuine love can be. It causes me to overlook the smell (oh, there IS a smell), and the curse words and the "tough guy" act they like to put on.  This supernatural love causes me to pray for these kids and to always remember their names, even after meeting only one time.  It makes me able to tell them apart from far away when I see them in the street and to remember what they like to eat or the small details of their lives they told me the last time we met.  It allows me to understand more Tagalog in the street than I can ever understand in a meeting. 

AND DO NOT BE DECEIVED. I AM NOT AWESOME. I AM NOT. APART FROM HIM, I AM ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. 

This fire in my bones for these budding young men was placed in me just the same way my faith in Christ was. By HIM, for HIM , through HIM.   I could no more extinguish this flame than I could snuff out my love for my own husband and children, it is there for good, I suppose. 

And they know. These boys know that I love them. They know they matter to me and, most importantly, that they matter to their Creator God. One of the first phrases I learned in Tagalog was "Jesus loves you so much".  I wanted to be sure that as I handed them their meal or their medication, they understood it came, not from some white foreigner, but from their father in Heaven who thinks they are worth feeding and loving and dying for. 

The time has come! We have a gorgeous piece of land that is free and clear. It's ours and it's waiting for a building. And INDEPENDENT LIVING CENTER for older street boys to be built on it. I have to do it. I have to do it for the boys in the photos.  I have to do it for the scores of older boys who are walking the line between street child and career criminal. I have to do it, more than anything, for the God who called us here and who put a fire in me that just will not die!   So please, please pray for Mercy House.  We don't have the staff for an independent living center. We don't have the funds to build. We aren't trained in the finer points of investing in the lives of these boys over age for adoption. All we have is a fire.

  But with the God of "two loaves and five fish", it is enough. 

    

Former client asleep on my lap as we wait for my staff

Mercy House

Missionary Mama: Raw and Ugly

Have you ever felt like God was calling you to the mission field? Has that notion dominated your thoughts and prayers for a long enough time that you're beginning to believe it's not just an emotional, knee-jerk response to a cool video, a David Platt book or a compelling speaker you were exposed to?

Well, I know where you are if that's you. I know how it feels. I've been there. And now I'm "here" and I want to get agonizingly REAL today about some things you might face if you take that leap. Maybe I'm tying to scare you away a little.  Maybe I'm trying to help you vet yourself before the field chews you up and spits you out.   Maybe I'm just looking for an opportunity for some catharsis and this seems as good a platform as any.   Jury's out . . .

When I said to the Lord "use me" or "take my life", I'm beginning to think that what I really meant was "don't touch my children" and "you can bring me anywhere you want as long as I retain enough comforts to feel safe and connected to my old life".  But "take my life and use it for your glory" was what I THOUGHT I meant.

And God, in His infinite wisdom and unwillingness to play by MY rules, did everything I didn't want Him to do.

And every day is a seemingly endless battle to take my eyes off myself, my circumstances and my own pain and put them on HIM.  Every day.  All the time. Even when I sleep, which is not much anymore.

The root of some of the most tragic pain on the mission field stems from the environment I'm in.

WHERE He has placed me has the makings of struggle.  

We are in a very remote village of indigenous people high up in the mountains of a province. It is breathtakingly beautiful here. It is also menacingly isolated.
We have no wifi (gasp, faint, seize!).   We have a little personal "hotspot" type deal that has to be loaded and runs out unexpectedly.  If we skype, watch videos or download anything, it is akin to revving our engines and watching the gas meter drop before our eyes. And you may think "whaaa, First Word problem number 23, 455"  but, people, that wifi is what connects me to my kids, my family back in 'Murica and the friends I left behind and our supporters. When it has to be policed and monitored and makes a dent in the budget,  I hesitate to use it.

When I hesitate to use it, it's lonely for me.  But yet, I'm never alone here.  Never.


The language barrier is another tricky aspect of being here. I am starting to pick up the language here pretty well after four years. I understand a good bit of what is being said. The daunting part is answering.  Tagalog is a language that is so much easier to understand than to speak. One verb can be conjugated 80 ways!  The precious kids in my center understand my fumbling, silly, Taglish and I'm not afraid to try new words on them. But when it comes to adult conversation - my pride just won't let me try too much.    I have Rosetta Stone. I need to make the time to use it.  The language barrier contributes to the isolation factor. A lot. The notion that people speak English in The Philippines isn't exactly accurate. Many do. But the kind of conversation my heart longs for just isn't.  I want slang and deep words and culturally saturated talk. I need my BFF for that.  And I'm pretty sure she has moved on. I would expect that.

The distance from my two biological kids is crushing.  The fact that we moved to The Philippines with six kids and are down to TWO under our roof is panic inducing! Yes, it's normal that kids grow up, they start their lives, they find their own paths - blah, blah, blah - but my kid have been, for a long time, some of my closest friends. And I feel the distance tangibly. The corners of their lives where I am not allowed are screaming at me through our skypes.  They have pain and they don't want us to worry. They have expenses but they don't want to ask their missionary parents to chip in. They have physical complaints but know our insurance isn't good enough and so, they don't mention things until they are GLARING and we want to hop on a plane and "fix it".

The fact that I'm the leader is another double-edged sword. I run a shelter for street boys. I handle the staffing, the schedule, training in behavior management of the kids, leading of staff devotions, meetings with adoption officials and social welfare officials, traipsing around in the hot, dirty streets to meet suffering kids (the BONUS of the work, right there. The TIP TOP IN love job) , the donor contact, the newsletter writing, the child sponsorship updates . You get the idea. And the reason I don't sleep. And, sheesh, I sound like martyr right here. Like I'm a contortionist who has figured out how to pat herself on the back.  NO! That's not why I unrolled the list. Not even close. I say that because, the pressure NOT to crack, flip out, turn over a table and run from the center screaming profanities is often looming.  If the leader falls, the whole house of cards tumbles down around us.  I've seen it in churches and secular business. When those in leadership can't get their schtuff together. Everything crumbles. Fact!

My own family who is here serving alongside me. The enemy does a bang-up job of opening that Pandora's box of Mama Guilt and there's no shortage of reminders from flesh and blood people that I have my own kids to "worry about".  Do they not think I know this? It's a teeter-totter of balance to have an abused, neglected, slow-to-trust child coming toward you at the same time your well-loved, cherished, adored OWN child is coming toward you. Who to reach out to first is not the obvious "your own" or "who needs you most".  It's a minefield in the heart and mind of a mother who already feels like she's not enough for either of them.

The perception of the people around us is difficult to swallow. We are a bank to some (ha! The Irony . . . ) , a novelty to others, a status lifter for some as the idea that you have foreign friends elevates you in the culture.
What I'm not is "just me".
There's a city nearby that is filled with missionaries. They often place their kids in the same school and attend one of two or three churches. They have a missionary community. I came here vehemently NOT wanting to join that community. Maybe it didn't seem "radical" enough for me if I lived here and had a bunch of white friends and put my kids in private school. To tell you the truth, it looks pretty appealing to me about now.  I envy those missionary Mamas who have friends right in their neighborhood with no agenda except to be friends.

The perception of the people back home  is always in the back of my mind. Have I become one of those weird, cultureless missionaries to them? The ones with the sensible shoes and the funky accent who prefer long skirts and asks them for money in round about, back door ways?  Do they feel funny telling me about their vacation or showing me their dog's new dress because, well . . .the starving street kids and all?    Do they pour their $6 coffee into a Kangaroo cup because they feel wasteful and unspiritual drinking that caramel machiatto in the presence of a missionary?  Sometimes I feel that. Often it's in my head I'm sure.  Not even a reality.
Do they feel sorry for me because instead of being a home-owning, miata-driving Mama who spends time filling up my cart at Target and Aldi, I've morphed into a chick who borrows her kids cars and sleeps in the guest room at her parents house?  Not sure if that sounds pitiful or spiritual right there. It is what it is.

And trust me, mission-minded friends. I could head right back up to the top of this blog post and spiritualize EVERYTHING I've shared as a struggle. I KNOW all the verses about "losing your life to save it" and "counting everything as loss" and "not looking back after picking up the plowshare" and "taking up your cross and following Him".   I know them by heart. They are ABJECT TRUTH.

They never change. HE never changed.


I have changed.  This is not a cry for help. I do not believe I am burning out. I love, adore and breathe the work that we do here.  Part of my lack of sleep is my excitement to get started each day. Promise.

But for those of you feeling THE CALL, I want to crack open the back door and let you peek into the messy part of the house.   I want to be raw and real with you about the painful side of serving God in a place that isn't your first country doing work that sweeps you up like a tidal wave.

And  I also want to encourage you to CLING to the relationships you have before you go. Cultivate them.  Take the time. Hone them. Cherish them.  Because the ones you skip out on in favor of some lesser "task" are likely to be the ones you crave when you get neck-deep in your new life.

Trust me on that.  Please.


And top-of-the-heap advice to my"called but not yet moved" friends: keep your walk with the Lord as first place. Every day. Even when you don't feel like it or your facebook has 27 notifications or your kid wants "cuddle time" during what was intended to be your "quiet time" with your Maker.

There is NO SUBSTITUTE for a deep, abiding walk with Jesus. No touchy-feely song and no sitting by a stream.  NOTHING sustains the heart, calms the mind, renews the vision and banishes the arrows of the enemy like time in prayer and meditating on God's word.

Trust me on that, too.

And so, now you know.  You still coming? I'll bet you are. Because His voice rises above the noise and you know it.

When The Door Closes

The child in the photo above is barely six years old.  I did not know him then. He was a neglected child who lived in a cemetery with his drug-addicted parents.  His father was eventually put in jail and his mother did unthinkable things to survive.

And then, a shelter opened in his town. This shelter catered to street children, shared Jesus with the kids, fed them, loved them and helped them to have a life very different from their lives on the street.

 Then something happened.

The shelter had to close. 

We have no idea why this vital, one-of-a-kind place in a town where there are many street children and few resources for them had to  close but it closed.  And that precious little five year old who was just turning six found himself back in the cemetery. With a mother who could not mother him.

He was on his own.

For three years, from six until nine years old, this little boy was abused on the streets. He was taught a skill that brought much money but robbed him of his human dignity and his identity as a little boy.   

He was broken again and again. 

And in order to separate himself from what he was engaged in, and to assuage the pain of the life he was living, he turned to solvent and marijuana and other vices. 

By the time we met him, he was nine years old.  Those pretty white baby teeth were replaced by decayed adult teeth.  Those sparkly child eyes were hollow as he sat in the local government office waiting to be brought into our shelter.  When we walked toward the bench where he was sitting, we observed that he was too high to hold his head up straight.  His eyes would not focus or fully open.

Our pre-admission counseling was going to be completely useless at this point, we realized. This child could hardly gather his thoughts to simply answer the questions "what is your name?" or "how old are you?".  

And against our general policy, where we have to see WILLINGNESS on the part of a street child to be admitted, we admitted him. The government social workers pleaded with us. This child was in terrible condition and they wanted very much to see him helped. They knew him and cared about his life. They tried many times to find a shelter willing to take this boy and came up empty. 

ADMISSION DAY

On admission day, this child said very little.  Even as the drugs wore off and he began to process what was happening, he was resigned.

He came to us without shoes, in filthy clothes wearing shorts that were split up the middle.  So our social worker and her husband took him, first to their own home for a shower and when our social worker's sister-in-law saw this child, her heart was so touched that she gave him the flip flops right off her own feet. A nice pair. 

This young man was then taken to a nearby shop to buy shorts and a t-shirt. When a slice of pizza was ordered for him and he sat at the table with Mercy House staff, he began to cry.   Our social worker was worried that he was feeling anxiety about coming into shelter but when she asked him what was wrong, all he could muster was "I'm just happy". 

This child has a unique and hard story. It is harder than that of most of the children we serve. It is scary in some ways to admit a child with this kind of background. It has stretched us and required specialized training for our staff and extra vigilance.  And he is worth it. All of that and more.  This child's life has driven us to the feet of God in prayer and made the phrase "give me wisdom" my own opening and closing sentence.

But it has also energized us and renewed our commitment to street boys,  The three years between the closing of the former shelter and the admission to ours were devastating for this boy.  If we did not trust in the power of the God of Universe to redeem lives, we would say this child's prognosis is grim and his future dark. 

But we DO trust. And we know that amid a broken and depraved world where adults use children and people often do what appeals to the blackest places in them, a light shines.

John 1:4 says "In HIM (Jesus)  was life and that life was the light of man"

It is with eager expectation we wait to see what plans the Lord has for us in the life of this child. He is prayed for, he is receiving counseling, he is fed and clothed and is learning to read for the first time ever.  He goes to a school program that is catered to his situation. 

And, just as with every blog post or newsletter, we share all of this as a segue to one massive prayer request.

Please pray that we are NEVER that shelter that has to close down.  It can happen. We have seen it. It happens for any number of reasons. We pray it doesn't ever happen to us.  We know it could. That is just the reality of this type of ministry. 

Please pray with us that we can see this child, and all of our children, through to the culmination of God's great plan for their lives.

Is it adoption? Family reunification? Independent living with us until they are self-sustaining adults?

Only the Lord knows those answers. 

Please pray that we are found faithful.

Let there never be another "three years of damage" while a child waits for another shelter to come along. Let us be there, Lord, to catch them when they fall. 

Thank you to our prayer warriors and supporters. This is what YOU do. Thank you for caring

about "the least of these".  Matthew 25:40

 -Mercy House

www.mercyhouseph.org

The Harvest

"Then Jesus said to His disciples 'The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few', therefore pray earnestly that the Lord of the Harvest will send out laborers into the harvest".

Matthew 9:37-38

It was only two days ago that my social worker and I walked upon this scene. Eight or nine boys between the ages of nine and fourteen, asleep on an overpass with traffic whizzing by below them. 

It was 10am. The boys were sleeping so soundly, thanks to a night of using solvent, that they didn't hear our voices around them. Or the traffic. Or anything.  

We began to shake them gently and say "gising na, kuya" (loosely: "wake up, guys") to each of them.

Some awoke with startled eyes as they saw me, a foreigner, standing there. Others fixed their gazes on the city social worker, whom they had met many times in the past and were leery of.  Several looked at my own social worker as she assured them that nobody was here to hurt them or take them anywhere they don't want to go. 

All of the boys sat up eventually, and huddled close together.

One younger child tried to get up and run and a male worker from the city who was accompanying us grabbed him as the child flailed around in terror. 

I asked the man to please let the child go.  I was afraid he would jump from the bridge into traffic. 

He released his hold and the child ran as fast as he could AWAY from the place he had been soundly sleeping just moments before. 

And my eyes were drawn, as they always are. To the feet of the children sitting before me.

A true street child can always be identified by his feet. There is a level of "dirty" that a child who has a place to go home to every night just can not achieve. I knew these boys were not ones who went home often, if ever.  I knew they were the ones we were sent to serve.  

These young men listened intently as my social worker explained to them that we were invited to come to meet them by the city social welfare office. We told them that the staff there was worried about them growing up on the street and wanted to help them find a new way of life and a safe place to be.  The boys were clearly skeptical at first. We told them we have a shelter where they could eat three times a day, go to school and church, have clean clothes and stop taking care of themselves and worrying about being hurt. One of the young boys said "I'll go" before we even finished our introduction.  His name is Rico and he was overtly ready to get off the street. 

Just a week before this visit, we admitted a friend of these boys. His name is Dreamboy (yes, given name) and he was exactly where they were, just one week prior to this encounter.

This is Dreamboy on admission day.  This is how the boys on the overpass know him. He came with us to visit his friends. 

The boys were clearly impressed with the outward changes in their friend. His cleanliness, his "real" shoes - the obvious improvements that came from just getting off the street.

Dreamboy was treated to a wonderful brunch by the city social workers on our return visit. They, too, were so relieved and impressed with the "new him". 

But what is harder to convey, are the changes that are happening inside a child when he goes from street to shelter. His confidence, the way he reverts back to being a young child again, the way he seeks affection from adults almost instantaneously.  And for these boys on the overpass to understand any of that, they would need to trust us enough to come and see for themselves.

And FIVE of them did!

Five boys from the overpass piled into our Mercy House truck and came with us for lunch and counseling.  Some were clearly hesitant while others were plainly giddy.  

As we finished our counseling and prepared to organize the paperwork with the city, the city social worker came to our van with some bad news.  One of the boys would not be able to come to Mercy House.  He was an older boy, 14 years old, and he was from a neighboring city. The social worker who was helping us had not been able to notify the city of origin that the child would be moved. Without their acknowledgment,  we could not move the child.  We had to wait.  

The disappointment on the child's face was crushing as she told him he had to get out of our truck and stay in the street a little longer while permission was obtained. We were devastated. But not as much as he was. 

In solidarity, two of the other older boys decided to stay with him and "look out for him". So they, too, left our truck, with solemn faces,  and we were left with two boys. 

We tried everything we could think of to bypass the city of origin, to plead with their secretary to help us and to get the helpful city social worker to be the one to authorize the admission. But in the end, because child trafficking is so rampant here, we had to wait. 

And so the two boys in the picture above, Rico and Kaking, were the two who came with us and became the newest members of our Mercy House family, just two days ago. 

These two twelve-year-old children have lived on the street for years. They have engaged in crime and substance abuse, like most of the children we serve.  But upon admission to Mercy House, all they wanted to do was color in coloring books and play with Legos!

Seeing redemptive work right before your eyes NEVER loses it's appeal. It is hard and draining work. The children are extremely hyperactive. They have terrible manners. They don't know how to "be" inside of a home with functioning family member.

But they are HERE. They are not sleeping one more night in a dirty overpass that smells like a  gas station bathroom.  They aren't begging for one more bite of food from anyone.  

They are here. 

And just yesterday, friends from Children's Garden, a shelter for older street boys, returned to the overpass and admitted three more of the friends we met there. In just two days, FIVE children were rescued from the street and given the chance of a lifetime - a LIFE beyond the struggles of the street.

Please pray for us as we serve these children and make plans to return to their city to meet others.

Please pray for God to send us TWO new caregivers who understand what a street child needs.

Please pray for Him to send us more "laborers".

Because this HARVEST is way too plentiful.  How we wish it wasn't. 

And the workers are SO SO FEW. 

Thank you for reading and praying and caring and giving.

Your part in this rescue, if you are doing any or all of those things, is massive. 

So, thank you!

The BIG ANNOUNCEMENT

Dear Friends, Family, Readers, Loved Ones, Donors to Our Mission and Curious Bystanders,

If you have been a friend, cyber or otherwise, for any length of time, you know that our family made an enormous move nine months ago. That move took us from Holly Springs, North Carolina - place we loved and felt so safe and secure, to Silang, Cavite Philippines - relatively unknown in every aspect for us.

We came here with a sending organization called "The Bartimaeus Project". This project is focused on serving children with blindness and visual impairments who live in orphanages here, in The Philippines.

We have taken children to eye appointments, purchased eye glasses, conducted weekly classes in our center and sponsored a life-changing surgery for a child.  We have loved being a part of those things.

There have, of course, been struggles. We are not finding many children in orphanages with blindness or visual impairment. Most orphanages don't accept them. So we opened up our service model to include some children with additional special needs - cerebral palsy, down syndrome, general learning disabilities and other issues.


Every day, as we drive to  serve the children in orphanages, we are struck with the same burning question.
WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE?
We are doing work we enjoy but . . . let me put it this way . . .
have you ever had an itch in that "chicken wing" area of your back? You can scratch "around" it but you have trouble hitting the exact spot?  When you finally hit it . . . OH THE RELIEF!!!

Well, a friend took me to a shelter for street kids a month ago. Young kids, aged 5-14. Kids who milled around in a room with little to do.  I asked about the plan for these children. I was informed that if a more permanent place existed, they could go there. They are not being educated, tucked in at night, loved on or truly invested in. They are in a "holding pattern" - in the throes of being completely abandoned.  They are in limbo of the worst sort. We were undone upon meeting them.

WE FOUND THE ITCH and now we're going to scratch it!

Effective today, we will be opening our own orphanage/shelter for children in crisis.
We will no longer be serving under The Bartimaeus Project.

There are no ill feelings between us and the BP.  We know that they are doing good work and handling all donations with the utmost care and wisdom.   We know the board members are genuine in their love for the Lord and their desire to do right by orphans with blindness and visual impairments.

We also know we have to meet the needs in front of us that are the most pressing.
We are confronted daily with the plight of children with no place to call "home" and no consistent food, support, spiritual guidance  or family structure. 
So, with some sadness and immeasurable excitement, we share with you that we are starting our own orphanage/ shelter!
We are hiring a full time social worker.
We have taken children in already (details in a later post)
We are almost finished with our our Social Work Development Agency application
We even have an operations manual
We are stepping out in faith

This is even scarier than selling all of our "stuff" and moving out here because we are doing this without a board of directors. We are investing the last of what we have to shelter children who, currently, are at immense risk of harm, abuse and exploitation.

This is a childhood dream-come-true for me!  Ask my mother.  Many of my Barbie games growing up centered around Barbie and Ken taking care of 15 children! I believe God put this type of love in my heart as a child and it has taken me years to soften up and allow Him to cultivate it to this point.

WE NEED YOUR HELP NOW MORE THAN EVER!!!!


To join us in funding care for these children, log on to www.americanhelper.org , make your donation via check or online and listen to THIS:  American Helper retains only 1% of donations made through them and 99% comes DIRECTLY TO US IN THE FIELD!!!! We donated through American Helper regularly before our move to The Philippines. They fund Children's Garden, the home that lovingly provided for our precious Ariel before he was ours. We know the people handling the funding and they are people of integrity. We knew our donations went right to CG because we were thanked within just a few days of donating, most of the time.
This is such a welcome change for us in ministry.  Something we needed. 

If you choose to support us financially in the endeavor, please make a note on your check or your online giving that says "ESQUIVEL FAMILY" -- and 99% will come to us and the children at Mercy House.

Now, more than ever, we need your prayer support.  We will be sending regular newsletters so if you are interested in receiving them, please send an email to:
mercyhousepi@gmail.com.  We can share a lot more in an online newsletter than we can on social media - including pictures and write ups on the children in our care. You'll want to meet them!

Stay tuned! Buckle up! Come and see what the Lord will do! I can't wait!!!!!!!!!!

I Notice

Hey. Little boy digging in the dirt next to the fruit stand.
I see your torn t-shirt, two sizes too small.
I see your ribs poking through the tear on the left seam.
There are tracks in the dust on your face where a tear fell today.
I see you.
I notice.

Little boy walking down the street outside my neighborhood. Too small to be alone but you are.
Carrying an empty plastic bottle of pebbles, shaking out a tune as you go.   I see you watch the children as they leave the gate at the school.  I see you follow their smiles with your eyes. I see you watching them line up at the sari sari store to buy a snack for the walk home. I can tell you would love to be in line, in that red and white uniform, choosing from the bags hanging above their heads.
I see you.
I notice.

Tiny, thin girl. How old are you? Eight? Maybe nine? I see you carrying your little brother down that busy road where the cars and jeepneys drive so close to you, it makes your hair blow up. I see your intent eyes, and how you keep your brother hoisted just inches off the ground because he is almost as big as you are.  I can tell  you are a wonderful big sister.
I see you.
I notice.

Twelve year old boy in a temporary shelter for street children. I see you sitting against the wall in the room while the twenty-something other children play. I can tell you are unhappy. Your shorts are too small and they were intended for a girl. You don't chase after me like the other children, trying to thumb wrestle or hold my hand. You keep to yourself. And never smile. So I come to you and ask your name in my pitiful Tagalog. But you understand and even spell it for me. I tell you I will look for you when I come back.  And I see a hint of a smile.
I notice you.
You are worth more than all of the gold in all of the mountains in this whole, wide world.
Do you know that? I think you don't.  Yet. 

Children are everywhere here. They are free to roam in ways that make my mother- heart skip a beat. . . . down busy roads, on precarious piles of rubble, on trash heaps. They are the most abundant resource in this beautiful and terrible place.  They are the future, but they are often disregarded.
I see them barefoot, sometimes naked, occasionally crying, often begging.   They spot my white face from afar.  They notice me.
But not the way I notice them.

Little boy with the dusty face, you interrupt my peaceful sleep.
Sweet preschooler who watches the "lucky" children,  I brought you home in my heart.
Precious girl in your mother role, far too soon, I thought of you fourteen times today, or more.
Twelve year old boy, in your misery, I know your name. It's Jhon Matthew. I won't forget it. 

I notice that you are precious and worthwhile and deserving.
I notice that giving you those few pesos might make you smile today but may reinforce your low self worth, verifying that you are "just a beggar child", choosing your white-faced target wisely.

You are infinitely more .  .  .

And THAT is why our path here has taken a hard left turn.
YOU are why I can not be satisfied just to do good things for a few.

I must do more than notice.    I must act. And that action must be immediate and intentional.

 I am praying for you. I am changing my life's path for you. I am taking a leap of faith that  has me shaking in my shoes.
I am making a place for you.
Because I noticed . . .