I kept my hotel key in my pocket all day today. At first it wasn’t on purpose, just a convenient place to keep it after eating breakfast. Later, as we sat listening to the children sing at the Child Sponsorship Development Program about an hour away from our hotel, I noticed the outline of my keycard in my pants. I started to take it out and put it in my backpack, but something stopped me, and so I left it.

Five hours later, I was on a boat with one of our Compassion trip leaders in a more rural area than yesterday. It was a boat made of styrofoam, fastened together with boards between. It was big enough for three of us to sit on (very carefully) and one person to push in the back, standing with a bamboo stick. It was the only way to get from the road to Emily’s house. I thought it couldn’t get worse than Rose Ann’s house in the city yesterday. Turns out, it kind of can. If you add water.

I keep saying ‘boat’. It was so not a boat. It was more like a raft made of organized trash. You wouldn’t let your kids float on this in a pool, much less have it be the only thing standing between you and a cesspool of water filled with trash and feces. Do you see it there in the picture? Look close.

There on the left is the boat, and I’m guessing on the right is extra materials incase that one falls apart. This boat is important in Emily’s family. It is the only way for them to get into their home and back out again. Sometimes the children just swim over. I said a prayer to the Lord to preserve that boat/raft, and not just because I was on it. They need it. If you have a hard time picturing how that works, Kat has a video up on her blog that shows our visit today.

So as three of us sat statue still balancing on top of the raft, we looked at the row of corrogated tin roofs we were floating towards after leaving Emily’s house. And someone pointed and said “In that whole row of houses live kids who are sponsored by Compassion.” Soon, we start just referring to those type of homes as “Compassion houses.” After that, whenever someone pointed saying That’s a Compassion house, there was a collective sigh of relief.

Because now, I know what that means.

When we got on the bus to drive back to our hotel, I sat numb and bleary eyed, not sure what I was feeling. And Tsh looked at me and said, Just be sure what you’re feeling isn’t guilt. Don’t feel guilty for what you have, thinking you have everything and they have nothing. It isn’t the case.

She’s right. And I’m not just saying that to make myself feel better. Because I was there. I can’t explain it but I also can’t deny it. They have more difficult lives than I will ever know. And some of them die from Malaria or measles or other preventable diseases. But if they meet Jesus, at least they will not die from despair.

It is the only thing that kept me upright today. Because walking through that water in knee high rubber boots, being led by a barefoot boy who was holding our shoes is not something that makes sense. I have been picked up by my ankles and shaken upside down. I have been flipped over like a pancake and flattened like gum on a tire. I have been lost and found and lost all over again.

As we sat in Emily’s house with her brother, sister, their grandmother Lola and their mother Susan, Keely asked what we could pray for them about. We do this at every home visit, and every family asks for the same two things: They ask for good health, and they ask for daily bread. So that is what we prayed for.

“The thought of my suffering and homelessness is bitter beyond words. I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss. Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: The faithful love of the LORD never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning.”

Lamentations 3:19 – 22

And I pat that key card again in my pocket, considering all it represents. Will you join me in praying for good health and daily bread for this family? Would you consider sponsoring a child in one of the homes that isn’t a Compassion home in order to make good health and daily bread a realistic opportunity for someone else? Pick yours out today.

Half-way through standing in line to board the plane in Los Angeles, there was a moment where I realized I was going to have to leave things behind. Not bags or stuff, but things. Precious-to-me things. Things like my sense of normal. My sense of everything is okay and at least half-way predictable. My sense of making an impact. I glanced at Kat behind me, who I’d only met thirty minutes earlier. I realized this new person was going to become a comfort zone person, along with every other person on this team. And so we boarded the airplane bound for Tokyo and headed into the blue unknown.

The blue unknown is a lot more familiar than I thought it would be. First, it isn’t blue at all. Manila is a thick haze of green, yellow, and gray. After a short night sleep and an early morning bus ride, we arrived at the country office for our initial visit with the people who work at Compassion here in Manila. As it turns out, Jesus lives in the Philippines.

From the woman who handles the letters to the man who handles the money, Jesus has hands and feet and sometimes holds a calculator. If you currently sponsor a child with Compassion, I want you to know this: Your money is handled with respect, gratitude, wisdom, and great care.

One woman in particular who works in the Compassion office wore a most sincere smile (as do most of our new Filipino friends). She was later introduced as a graduate from the program, which means she was registered as a child with Compassion and now, she works as an adult to help release other children from poverty in Jesus’ name, other children who are coming up behind her.

In a daydream glimpse, I saw my sponsored child Stacey sitting in that office chair, 15 years down the road with her coffee mug and her ring of important keys. Perhaps it won’t work out that way, exactly. But this is a story where gratitude multiplied the offering. Love motivated sacrifice. And compassion birthed compassion. I pray that will be true for Stacey. I pray it will be true for me.

Scarcity doesn’t exist in the arms of compassion. But sometimes it feels like it does. I found that out today when I met Stacey in person. I didn’t feel I had anything to offer her, and I felt small and unable to give much. I walked into the room to meet her for the first time, and I instinctively knelt to her level. She quickly knelt as well, right there in the middle of the room. And I realized this little one simply didn’t know what to do, so she copied me.

She copied me. Me, who has empty hands and left everything behind. She was just as unsure as I was.

She smiled as she took the gift I offered, and we sat together to look through the photos of another world, the one I had just left and will soon go back to. She read the notes my girls wrote to her, and looked up at me as I spoke in nervous English. Our time together wasn’t slow-motion running and teary-eyed hugs. Instead, it was sweetly awkward. Real life. Drama free. Her mother and I made small talk, and I learned she has three older sisters and a dog named Aang. I was never more grateful that I have a dog than in that moment (and you know what a big deal that is for me to say). We had a little something to talk about.

I felt scarce. I felt lacking. I felt I had nothing to give. But compassion speaks a different kind of language. There are a few things that, when given out, don’t go away. We think, if I give it to you, then I no longer have it. But not here. Not with these eyes. Not with this. There is a currency that isn’t dollars or pesos or yen. There is a limitless supply of grace and mercy available, and showing compassion sometimes just looks like showing up. Even more, He can make things show up that you don’t think even exist, things like love, joy, patience. I am not the source of the love, Jesus is. And he picks up when we leave everything behind.

He shows up sometimes in places and ways where we least expect. Today, it was in the midst of some awkward but also delightful moments with Stacey, when I slowly began to remember that it isn’t about me feeling like I have something to offer. I am simply to show up. And because He is in me, I do not show up alone.

When we left the office, the staff asked to pray for us. And I bowed my head and expected to hear individual prayers spoken clearly, but instead heard quiet whispers, words spoken to only the Lord all at the same time–loud enough to know they’re talking, but not so loud that we forget who they are talking to. Here are the people who make it possible for me to support Stacey, the people who handle the letters I will send and partner with the local churches that have the programs that provide her with holistic care. Here are the people, right in front of us. And they are praying for us. This hazy, green-yell0w-gray city is filled with pain and beauty, poverty and hope. And the Spirit of God is in their midst. Just like He is where I live. Just like He is with you.

Incase you don’t know what’s going on around here, I am currently traveling with a group of bloggers in the Philippines to learn and write about the ministry of Compassion International and what they are doing for children living in poverty. You can also follow the team on Twitter. We will be blogging daily.

The last four photos were taken by Keely Scott, our trip photographer.