Called 4 Jesus

Matthew 18:5

“And if you tenderly care for this little one on my behalf, you are tenderly caring for me.” Matthew 18:10

“See that you do not despise one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven.”

Parents what would you do to protect your children?

I’ve seen a father cover up his child with his body, as gunmen drove by and shot at anything that moved.

I’ve heard the cries of a mother, as the doctor told her the bullet went into your young son’s heart.

“Tomas mi vida! ¡Usa mi corazón! Dios mio! “Take my life! Use my heart! My God!” She collapsed to the floor, clutching at the doctor’s pants. Exchange my life! Make my son live again!

My son started having seizures at 5. He dropped on a school field trip, and started to convulse. An Ambulance was called. I left work immediately and rushed to him. At 10, the seizures got worse. He would lay in my arms like a “rag doll”. His body flopping about helplessly. His face white as snow. He could not talk, he was completely spent from the seizures. His eyes pleading with me. “Dad, fix me”. It was all I could bear. I put him on the couch. I went to the kitchen and cried. I’m talking about sobbing, like no tomorrow. “Jesus! Heal my son! Look into my heart. I will do anything for his healing. Give me his illness. Do whatever you want with me. Just make my son whole.”

Ok, maybe this prayer is not sound doctrine. Yet I was going out of my mind from despair. It’s a parents nightmare.

This is, I believe, when I received a real desire to care for children. Not just a children ministry or calling, but a deep ache to care for children.

You see, I came out of an abused home. I remember, my mom beat me on the head with her stiletto heel. She then told me to spend the night outside. Winter nights were freezing. I was dressed in shorts and a tee. Luckily, the family car was unlocked. I shook uncontrollably. I was 10, my life was bleak. “I will never treat my kids like this”. I thought to myself

On a mission trip to Indonesia, I met a very rich family. They invited me to stay at their house a couple of days. Early morning found me walking the compound. I saw a little girl washing clothes by hand. Then I saw another little girl in the kitchen cooking. This was a curious thing to me. “Who are they?” I asked the wife as I entered the living room. “Oh, just our servants. We paid the families for them”. My mind seriously could not grasp this concept. I learned that they were from another country. I tried to speak to them. They spoke a different Asian dialect, So I just smiled. I realized their main task was to care for the rich families’ only son. “Prince of Egypt”. Ok, my joke. Mind you, these little girls were about 9 or 10. They bathed this boy. Dried him, clothed him, cleaned up after him, cooked for him and entertained him. You know, ping pong, board games, etc. All this time I could not grasp this idea. My heart ached for them. I asked the family about this. “I don’t understand. Why they are here? Not in school or something”. “Oh their family was so poor, they are better off here.” Said the lady of the house. The last day, I gave them candy and a doll each. Maybe the only personal toy they had. My heart is sad when I think of these little ones.

In Central America, half naked children ran around playing in mud. They ran through the drainage ditch playing. Every foul thing ran down this ditch (use your imagination. You’d probably be right). Kids eating dirt soaked tortillas. None of the kids had shoes. It was the rainy season and none of the roads were paved. Animals joined us INSIDE the church. They just came in and no one showed them out.

Family homes were usually one room. Cinder block walls and cement flooring. Toilet? Mostly outhouses, for those who remember that. The roof was corrugated tin, with no insulation. The sound of a rain storm reminds me of being inside a snare drum, while being played. Homes for the little ones.

A pastor shared pictures of children he moved to his orphanage. They have a better life in the orphanage than outside of it. Scrounging in garbage, living in make shift tents. Sleeping in the dirt. When it rains, sleeping in the mud. Helpless little ones with little hope.

In one religion overseas, temple priests buy children. Then they turn them into temple prostitutes. That’s right, parents sell their own children as sex slaves.

I have 2 adopted daughters and 2 sons. They are equally loved. I work hard to give them opportunities and a positive Christian life. I want to take them to the missions. I want them to appreciate life as they have it.

Would you allow your children to live in these conditions? Of course not! I see Jesus sobbing in the “kitchen”and begging his people to help. Every child deserves a safe, loving home. I don’t think it’s too much to ask people to learn about displaced children and to pray for them.

It is disheartening , when i ask people to simply pray and get no answer. It breaks the heart of God.

If my heart is broken over the little ones, can you imagine how God feels? I pray every night and cry because the little ones deserve better. Do you feel their suffering?

Ways to help:

childfund.org, unicefusa.org, red cross orphans

Giving money is nice. Yet, I feel people need to see the plight of children. Here’s some ministries/events I worked with.

A church faire. We had food, games, music, testimonials. We invited the neighbors and homeless. Yes, America has homeless children.

Church clothing and toy donations. We sent childrens clothes (new and used) to orphanages.

Soup kitchens. You don’t have to volunteer. Go in sit down and talk. You will see whole families eat there.

I volunteered at youth authority and state ran orphanages (the government doesn’t call them orphanages. They’re called Children’s homes).

Children are starving for approval and affection from good Christian folk. Please love them.

God bless!