My Carlen

My Carlen turned Seven yesterday. When we first "met", he was Four years old. I saw his little self looking up at me - so to speak - on that November afternoon after church. The head of Compassion Canada had visited Harvest Oakville, and our pastor had made the call for us to consider sponsoring a child through that organization. I think the focus was initially on children in Ecuador. But, closer to the end of the service, we were told that by the end of the other two services that weekend, all the children from Ecuador had got sponsors! But there were many more from other parts of the world.

As I perused the pictures and profiles on the table in the lobby that Sunday, I was not even sure what I was looking for. Each child was in need. The younger the child, the longer the $41/month commitment. A sponsor is in it until the child turns 18. Still, when I saw Carlen, from Kijiwetanga, Kenya, I kinda knew. I'd finally decided to come up with a few criteria, or I'd have spent the entire afternoon deciding. So, I wanted someone born in April - we could kinda celebrate birthdays together. And, I wanted a little boy. Carlen actually reminded me of another little boy I used to babysit years ago in Jamaica. There he was, standing with his hands by his side, decked out in a school uniform and looking up at me. His card said he was born April 27, 2007. Nice. :-)

Even though it's not an adoption, I still think of him as my Carlen. I must've mentioned in a post several months ago how touched I am by the endearment, "My Claudia". Once upon a time, someone called me that. "How is my Claudia?" He'd said. I liked it. A lot. And it still makes me smile when I remember it. I don't even think he'd ever watched the movie, "Water for Elephants". I dunno. It was from that that I'd heard the term, "My Marlena," and it had kinda given me goosebumps. So, when I'd heard, "My Claudia," you can imagine my warm delight.

Anyway, he's my Carlen. After all, his letters (via translator) sometimes say, "Your son says hi." Isn't that beautiful? The first time I read that in one of his letters, tears came. I had had a very bad day. I dragged myself to the mailbox and found the letter waiting. When I read that line, I just melted. Remember the movie, About Schmidt? He writes that last letter to his sponsored child, Ndugu. Then there's that scene - the one where he reads the letter from Ndugu. Yeah. It was kinda like that. Except that I don't write spilling my guts to Carlen about life's moments of disappointments. Too funny. It's always good to hear from him - what he's been up to at school; at home; at church, and with his friends and family. Lots about his favourite this and that. How he'd like to be a pilot when he grows up...

On one occasion when I'd sent extra funds for his birthday, he sent back saying he was thankful for the money. He had used it to buy a school uniform and a few school supplies. I found myself talking to him out loud asking why he hadn't bought himself a nice present. But, I guess, those were "nice presents".

You know what is a nice present? Realizing you make a real and positive difference in someone's life. That was my birthday present from him.

Happy Birthday, my Carlen!



Claudia
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Things

I'm not a fan of things.  Y'know?  Things that are acquired for reasons like, "It'd make a great conversation-starter!"  No.  For me, there have to be more creative, less expensive ways to start a conversation.  I imagine that many of those conversation-starters have been picked up at many a garage sale.  I used to enjoy going to garage sales.  Not only for the off-chance that I might discover the multi-million dollar painting behind the painting, but, because I liked looking at certain kinds of old things.

But, I've stopped.  Well, I've cut waaay down.  I've convinced myself that, for the most part, other people's discards are making their way into my home.  More than likely, in the not-too-distant future, I might want to get rid of them, too.

Before moving into my new space, I kinda made a deal with myself.  I would be very careful about the "things" I acquire.  They should have utility value built right in!  Now, anyone can see how I would be able to rationalize my way into getting that 3-piece work of art. (That wall needed something to cheer it up. It's blue!")  But, I think so far, for the other purchases, I've held up.  My prayer is that I'll be wise in my spending.  And, of course, I'm mindful of St. Luke 12:15: "A man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things he possesseth."
 
One of the motivations for that deal was the fact that I already have too many things I treasure; items of high sentimental, nostalgic and my-sweat-and-blood-is-in-this value.  I think I might have mentioned this in an earlier post, or a tweet or something, but, there came a time recently when I had to declutter.  Create space.  That'd be space to dance, to stretch. Even space with which to do nothing but to connect one part of the house to another.  Not every space needs to be filled!

So now, I try to acquire and keep the things that, as I said, have some built-in utility value. Bonus if it looks nice and promises more durability.  (It's true.  You get what you pay for!)  The other motivation was from a piece that was read several months ago by my Pastor - Pastor Robbie Symons of Harvest Bible Chapel, Oakville.  I asked for, and was emailed, a copy from his office.  My plan is to have it framed and hung.  A bit of a reminder, y'know?  "Just in cases." (Love Actually.)


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Mr. and Mrs. Thing

 Mr. and Mrs. Thing are a very pleasant and successful couple.  At least that’s the verdict of most people who tend to measure success with a thingometer.  When the thingometer is put to work in the life of Mr. and Mrs. Thing, the result is startling.  There he is, sitting down on a very luxurious and expensive thing, almost hidden by a large number of other things.  Things to sit on, things to sit at, things to cook on, things to eat from.  All shiny and new.  Things, things, things.  Things to clean with, things to wash with, things to clean and things to wash.  Things to amuse, things to give pleasure, things to watch, and things to play.  Things for the long, hot summer and things for the short, cold winter.  Things for the big thing in which they live, and things for the garden, and things for the lounge, and things for the kitchen, and things for the bedroom.  And things on four wheels, things on two wheels, and things to put on top of the things on four wheels, and things to pull behind the four wheels, and things to add to the interior of the thing on four wheels.  Things, things, things .  And there in the middle are Mr. and Mrs. Thing, smiling, pleased as pink with their things, thinking of more things to add to their things, secure in their castle of things.

Well, I just want you to know that your things can’t last.  They’re going to pass.  There’s going to be an end to them.  Maybe an error in judgment, maybe a temporary loss of concentration, or maybe you’ll just pass them off to the second-hand thing dealer.  Or maybe they’ll wind up a mass of mangled metal being towed off to the thing yard.  And what about all the things in your house? Well, it’s time for bed.  Put out the cat.  Make sure your lock the door to make sure some thing-taker doesn’t come and take your things.  And that’s the way life goes, doesn’t it? And someday when you die, they only put one thing in the box. 

You.

Claudia
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