Crying for the children

"I think we've come up with some beds...and I've got an overwhelming response from people who have other items they'd like to donate...is there anything else that you need?" She was reluctant to share her needs, but with some gentle prodding a simple list was built. She paused for a moment...and with a genuine, sincere voice she spoke..."thank you Brandy." How can I even begin to tell her that it has nothing to do with me?

I'm sorting through the responses I've already received for the beds. Your generosity has both touched and inspired me. Adding to their need, I'm also searching for dishes, silverware, dressers, couch/loveseat, TVs, lamps, blankets, sheets, pillows, etc. If you've already responded, I promise to get back to you. Thank you! If you'd still like to contribute, please drop me a line. I'm excited to believe we can have her place fully furnished in two weeks. Oh the joy this brings me! A deep and sincere thank you from the very bottom of my heart!

You have made a difference in the life of a child today!

A grandmother whom I'd never met before came into the center this afternoon. I know her family and love her grandkids. She enlightened me on some realities going on behind closed doors. She wept when I hugged her and told her that I would do what I could for those children. I took a deep breath and walked in to continue helping the teens with homework, like the conversation had never happened. But tonight, her words haunt my thoughts and weigh heavy on my heart. I'm left to wrestle with the question I often ask God...what can I possibly do?

A very good friend of mine recently returned home from a mission trip to New Zealand where he worked with inner-city youth on a film project. If there is one thing I've discovered in this ministry, it is the fact that a hurting child is a hurting child...regardless of what side of the state or ocean they live. He shared with me a poem, written by one of the students he ministered to...

Who cries for the children,
Who are standing in the rain,
Who will lend them comfort, who will feel their pain
Look upon their filthy hand,
Touch not the one badly bruised
Look into their fearful eyes
See the faces of those abused
Who cries for the children
Who feels their hurt and pain
Who gives them love and comfort
Who shelters them from the rain
Look upon their shattered lives
Feel the festering in their souls
Tell me who will lend their hand and lift them from their souls
Who will take a stand
Who will turn away in fright
Who will pretend they don't see the terrors that fill their night
Who will turn their backs
Who will refuse to see
Who will stand and say
These things just cannot be
Who cries for the children?
Who really will feel their pain?


Thank you for crying for these children. Thank you for feeling their pain.

The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' Matthew 25:40

Not in my backyard...

As the set was coming to a close and the evening was wrapping up...the musician led us into his last song. I had joined a few friends out for an evening of live music. I'm not sure of the title and the words are a little foggy...but the main point I carried home. The music and lyrics told the tale of how we tend to build and protect our own worlds...yet find it relatively easy to ignore other's worlds around us, perhaps without verbally stating..."It's not my problem"...or as the song stated "It's not in my backyard..."

I've learned to both love and hate convicting songs...messages...and words. Six words instantly began repeating in my head. "My boys sleep on the floor"..."My boys sleep on the floor"..."My boys sleep on the floor." The boys I take to church with me every Sunday...and their older sister who I disciple...and their mother who I've formed a relationship with...do not sleep on beds since they moved into their new apartment. The boys sleep on the floor, their sister and mother sleep on couches in the living room.

My boys sleep on the floor.

Their mom asked me last night if I knew of any organization who could help them acquire beds. I told her I'd ask around, but nothing came to mind. I hung up the phone, reflected for a few minutes and then went on with the business of the night. Truthfully I didn't think about it again until I crawled into my own bed last night...and then again as the song convicted me tonight.

Now I don't have to help them...it is far beyond my job description. But there's something that just absolutely breaks my heart to picture them curled up on the floor.

There's a family...single mother, 12 year old daughter, 9 and 7 year old sons...who need beds to sleep in at night.

I know there are worse things and bigger problems...but if you feel led to help tackle this one...please email me at brandy@chaffer.net.

Do you have a bed you are not using and would be willing to donate?

Do you know where to get cheap used beds?

Are you willing to donate toward the purchase of a bed?

I'll sign off with one of my favorite quotes from Freedom Writer's, spoken from the character who helped hide Anne Frank during the Holocaust. A quote proven pretty popular around the center...

"I am not a hero... I did what I had to do because it was the right thing to do...that is all...we are all ordinary people....even an ordinary secretary or housewife or teenager can within their own small ways turn on a small light in a dark room."

Perhaps we've begun to take steps towards understanding Christ's love, when "not in my backyard" is spoken for injustices you refuse to accept for those around you vs. an excuse not to engage.

Boys sleeping on the floor...not in my backyard... :)

a story to tell

I finished reading the last composition notebook as the tears welled up. I brought the notebooks as close to my heart as I possibly could and tightly hugged them there. The tears fell full stream and I began to feverishly pray for the girls behind the stories. In that instant I realized how much I love them...how my whole being wants to see them succeed...how blessed I am to have them in my life.

When I was making the decision to leave my corporate job and enter into full-time ministry, I remember going to the movies alone...with this unwavering desire to see Freedom Writers. I remember the brisk air brushed against my cheeks as I walked across the parking lot after the credits rolled...a sheepish grin drawn across my face as I realized..."I'm actually going to do this."

When it comes to emotions, I've always been more likely to express myself on paper vs. to utter a word. With some of the Jr. High girls showing a similar reluctance to open up, I shamelessly stole the Freedom Writers approach, and handed out journal notebooks. And the girls began to write. If they leave their notebook in the top basket, that gives me permission to read it, bottom basket, and it's off limits. Imagine my excitement when the first few journals found their way into the top basket.

Everyone has a story...waiting to be told...perhaps hidden secrets, hurts and scars from our past...or worries about our future. We all have a story to tell. Maybe we're just waiting for someone to listen...or on a good day...maybe we're simply waiting for someone to care.

On the way home tonight a thought crossed my mind...I don't know if I'm saving these kids or they're saving me...

I know...I know...guess we'll leave the saving to Jesus. ;)