Letters & Love

I love letters, in any form. There is just something exciting about receiving something unexpected in the mail. Something that someone you love has written. Created. Touched. It's so different than receiving an e-mail, text message or phone call. Letters are nostalgic, and they take much more thought and effort. From finding something to write on, deciding what to write in it, purchasing the stamp and walking it to the mail box, letters are a labor of love. They are special. And so, whether it is an old fashioned letter, a greeting card, postcard or something in between, I get a unique thrill every time something shows up in the black metal postal box outside my door. Recently, I got one of the most special and exciting letters I have ever received. This letter has changed my heart and my perspective. It has been displayed on my night stand since the day I opened it, right where I can see it every morning when I wake up, and every night before I go to bed. This letter made me smile, it made me laugh, and it made me cry. I've never met the person who wrote it, but he is slowly changing my heart.

This letter is from Guillermo.

He is 8 years old.

He lives in Nicaragua.

And each month,a few $$ are withdrawn from my bank account to help support his education and his health.

I sponsor Guillermo through an organization called Compassion International. Last spring, at the Catalyst West conference in California, I had the opportunity to hear Dr. Wess Stafford, president and CEO of Compassion, speak about his outlook on children across the world, and how we are called to not only care for them, but involve them, teach them, and let them be a part of our world (he has an excellent book on this subject called Too Small to Ignore). After his speech, I lined up with many others to fill out the sponsorship paper work, and got to take a packet home that day with pictures and information about Guillermo, which sits on my desk at work.

Compassion is such a cool organization, and one that is reputable and responsible in how they manage funds. Founded in 1952, today Compassion serves more than 1 million children in 26 countries. The organization works to release these children from spiritual, economic, social and physical poverty. To learn more about Compassion, check out their website.

So, back to the letter. Why was it such a big deal? Well, in the months since Catalyst West, I have done my best to think of Guillermo and to pray for him. I talk about him when people see his picture on my desk, I even sent him a letter and a birthday gift not long ago. But the problem was that he was just a name. A picture. A child far, far away that I sponsored. Then, in an instant, things changed.

The moment I spotted the envelope sitting in my mailbox, I knew exactly what it was. I squealed with delight, as my roommate wondered what in the world I had found. I raced inside, dropped everything at the door, and jumped onto our velvet green chair to rip open the envelope. And the moment I opened it, I saw this:

He drew me a picture! My heart soared and tears filled my eyes as I realized that this child wasn't a picture, a face, or something I could check off on a list of "good deeds." He is Guillermo. He lives. He plays soccer, loves to eat rice and beans, has a dog, loves the color blue, and loves going to social studies class. He wants to be a christian musician when he grows up. He has a sister and a mother and has brown hair and he likes to draw pictures. He drew me a picture. One of the most precious things about the picture is hard to see in the photo above. It's all of the erased pencil marks from several attempts, until he decided he'd gotten it just right and colored it in with his crayons. It was Guillermo's labor of love. He is real. For the first time, I was holding a physical object that he had touched and created. And everything changed.

Holding something in my hands that had once been in his possession just made it click for me. It filled my heart with love for this little boy I may never meet. It fueled my desire and discipline to pray for him, not as an afterthought, but as a member of my family. I think of him in an entirely new way. All because of one letter.

Isn't the power of a letter marvelous?