... Living inspired by the beauty of life, one post at a time.

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Compassion Assignment no. 3

I am participating in blog month at Compassion. Assignment no. 3 requires bloggers to tell a story behind a Compassion image. Here is that story.

The sound of gentle breathing hummed in the humid air. Red dust particles wafted lazily through the opening in the mud wall. A goat was bleating in the distance. Nzuri anxiously wondered if her eldest son had finished milking the neighbour’s goat. Gratitude filled her heart and she murmured a prayer of thankfulness, relieved that her son had acquired this particular chore and hoped the small offering of maize tucked carefully into a raffia bowl would be received with delight. Nzuri adjusted the wadding of material that firmly held her napping babe in place across her slender back, and gingerly kneeled on the worn spot in the center of her hut. Tightening the cocoon of the sleeping infant, she continued her Chapati ritual. Pounding out the lump of unleavened dough, Nzuri intentionally eyed the two little faces sitting cross-legged on the earthen floor before her. Lifting her finger to her lips she encouraged their silent vigil as they eagerly watched her knead the dough into shape. Her rhythmical motions rocked the baby snuggled tightly against her, contented snoring filled every space of the simple hut. As she kneaded, she allowed her thoughts to wander aimlessly, exploring every nook and cranny of her mind. Fears came unbidden, opening old worries, and forming new ones. She wondered if there would be enough milk to sustain this babe longer than the last. Dared she hope for her own goat! Perhaps this year would be different. Her thoughts shifted to her Compassion sponsor, and her eyes rested on the rumpled photo wedged into a crevice high in the mud wall. Immediately the worries vanished, her heart settled once again. Nzuri smiled confidently at her children. “Soon my little ones, the Chapati will be ready soon”, she breathed to the expectant faces sitting before her.

Join Me for Blog Month

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Blogging for Compassion

It's blog month over at Compassion during the month of September. I signed up as a Compassion blogger last month on the spur of the moment, thinking that this would be a great opportunity to get involved in a mission I wholeheartedly believe in. Then I missed the first assignment, being so busy and all! ... now it is week two and I'm still trying to find the time to do this assignment. I keep re reading the suggestions for writing, going over and over the prompt words, hope - poverty - silence - sacrifice ... and wait patiently for the moment that something inspirational begins forming in my mind, yet the something profound I am searching for escapes me. I have been staring at the words on the screen for some time now, waiting patiently at first, and then with a certain amount of angst. Because, the truth is - these words rest heavy on my soul. How can I give justice to these particular words? It is easy to write down a few good lines, throw together a bunch of great ideas, pull a few heart strings and push the button that says 'publish post'. Voila, done!

I long for each thought to be carefully measured with purpose and significance. 
I desire to afford each word appropriate truth and dignity. 
The weight of responsibility makes me pause. 


Which word should I choose? The lives on the other side of my words, the children behind this project, cause me to catch my breath. My heart is moved, I wonder if I can make a difference by just punching out a string of words on my computer? There are lives out there waiting, a hurting and suffering world so full that I wonder if what I have to say can change anything! I think about our little boy living in Rwanda, where water is scarce and sanitation poor. A child of a subsistence farming community growing what little crops they can for their own consumption. I can't imagine his life, not really. Born into a country devastated by a genocidal mass slaughter, a country still struggling to rebuild itself nineteen years later is so very far beyond my understanding. How can I shed light on this situation? What can I say that hasn't already been said? 

and then by its own volition, 
the word 'silence' finally speaks to me, 
each letter lifts from the page, 
hangs surreptitiously in the air, 
pulsating frantically before me.

The word slides through my mind, s-i-l-e-n-t. I test it out, speaking it aloud, pronouncing the 't' with particular emphasis. I think about how I nearly let this opportunity pass, how I almost put my laptop away and became reticent with my plans. I ponder how easy it is to be silent when we lack the eloquence to speak up or put our thoughts forth with clarity and certainty. It has stopped me before, this not quite being able to carefully articulate what is deep in my heart.

It is easy to hold back, to refrain from being just another voice in a world saturated by a never ending parade of LOUD voices. There are so many voices competing for our time and attention. The din can be overwhelming. How do you filter out the voices that don't matter, and focus on the ones that do? Our words matter. Our voices matter. I press in closer, lean into that quiet still voice, the one that guides me along still waters. It takes me out to green pastures, calls me forward and leads me on. I see the path I need to take,

and I realise I cannot be silent. Not today, not ever!

Sponsor a child today.

Join Compassion bloggers here.
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...