Not what I started out to write

I don’t miss him during the days, he’s rarely ever here during the day anyway. But I do miss him at night. That’s when the kids start whining, “I really wish daddy was home.”

Evenings are when the house seems so empty and lonely.

He called yesterday. I didn’t even know his Thai cellphone could bridge the distance and reach me here. It was morning there, as I figured out what to make for dinner.

There’s a big group of people with him from some local churches in San Diego. They are spending 3 days at the Charis Home with the children. They brought gifts and supplies and are spending time loving and taking care of our kids there.

He cried on the phone as he said, “I wish you could be here to see this, all these people loving on our kids. It’s amazing to watch, and it’s because of your faithfulness over the past few years with all of the administrative work that this is happening right now, that any of this has been possible. We haven’t failed them.”

Then I cried too.

I get so weary sometimes. Faces blur and turn into columns of numbers and presentation booklets and the minutes of board meetings.  I don’t see the children everyday. But I do see the work it takes to secure their future, and their immediate survival. Sometimes the work is all I see and I wish I could hand it to someone else to do.

It’s not unlike motherhood that way. Sometimes all I see is the work. Yet, I do for them for free what I would not do for a lot of money under different circumstances.

I can’t find anyone who will volunteer to do this job, to take care of those kids, but I will do it for free, because, in a way they too are mine. In a way they are all of ours.

I almost said no to the Girl today and took away the scissors and tape, because all I could see was the mess to clean up later, the aftermath. But then I would have missed this moment, these paper diapers she made for her baby doll, six in total, painstakingly cut and taped, inspired by her baby brother of course.

I’ve wanted to say no to the Charis kids too, to the work involved in being responsible for them.

But then a moment happens, and faces come into focus again, and I remember why I do it, why it’s worth it, and my heart catches up again and is ready to work once more.


We could use some help. We need people to write letters to the kids, to be their friends and let them know they are loved. Many don’t have sponsors yet. Many who have sponsors don’t get letters. If you want to sponsor a child that’s great, we need it!  But even if you can’t give financially, if you have a little bit of time to write to one of our kids and befriend them it would mean so much to them. You have no idea how much it would mean to them.

You don’t even have to get out pen and paper if you don’t want to. You can email them to us and we’ll see that the child gets a printed copy sent to them with a translation.

If you are interested in being a friend to a Charis kid please email
info at thecharisproject dot org
Put penpal in the subject line. We will email you a photo and brief bio of a child.

all content © Carrien Blue

One thought on “Not what I started out to write

  1. This is great, Carrien! Good for you for doing something. I know how you feel, but I also know how good it feels to help others who can't help themselves. It's actually a little bit addictive. 🙂

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