I got this email from Chester the Turkey. My response will follow tomorrow!
Dear Name Giver, This is one of the happiest days of my existence. I was released outof my isolated spot in the closet and allowed a "front-and-center" spot on the floor where I wish I could be forever. Oh, I know that I am part of a tradition, but I still dream of that day when I am set free. I needed to let you know since you are responsible for my best name ever. Thank you for that name - it was a long time ago that you did that for me. I hope to see you soon - very soon. Be sure to say hello to me when you come to my place of habitation.
PS I allowed someone else to write this for me - my "fingers" don't do well on the keyboard. I think she is the one who ties me up every year.
I went to my first bigger Compassion event. I don't know if you all know, but I am now a child advocate for Compassion International. I have felt a strong pull on my heart to be involved in some kind of ministry involving children, and I didn't really want to volunteer at Awana or something like it, because I teach all day long, and that would be too much time with kids. I'd probably end up running around with my hands over my ears. So when God brought this opportunity to me, it seemed like a great fit.
I went to a youth pastor's conference, along with Naomi, another child advocate here in Wichita. We drove up to Salina Kansas, and proceeded to spend the next day manning our table and talking with people about what Compassion does.
One of the speakers was a professor at the Southern Baptist seminary in Fort Worth Texas. During one of the breaks, he came up and briefly looked at our table.
He picked up one of the child packets and the set it down. "That girl is the same age as my granddaughter," he commented. "How sad."
Without blinking an eye he walked away. As Esther says, I bit my tongue until I tasted blood, because what I really wanted to say was this:
"Actually sir, it's not sad. What is sad is that you walk around here with your name brand clothes, your blackberry visibly clipped to your overpriced belt that's holding up your pants over your ample stomach, and yet you turn away and do nothing. This child is not sad, she is in a project that will help her develop in more ways than one, and she is waiting a sponsor. The sad thing, sir, is not this child. It is the fact that overfed, overclothed and overindulgent Christian Americans, like yourself, would rather spend more money on coffee or dining out, than on making a difference in the life of a child. You sir are what's sad."
I didn't. As much as I take after my father, I am learning when to get on my soapbox and when not to.
Naomi commented on the drive back that it was very hard not to judge those people.