God answered my prayer in huge ways. I spent a week in Nairobi, Kenya, visiting kids who are sponsored through Compassion International. I even got to meet my sponsored child, 6-year-old Esther. Join me as I introduce you to the people who defined poverty for me.

Slums and Smiles
Today is a heavy day. I’m overwhelmed in this slum. Plastic bags filled with human waste cover the ground. The children wear clothes full of holes and beg for attention. They can’t afford to go to school, so they’re left to fend for themselves, running over shards of glass, battery acid and animal waste . . . barefoot. Barefoot! The smell is atrocious—body odor, sewage, burning trash. It hurts to even breathe. How can people live like this?

Meet Tabitha and her infant son, Daniel. Tabitha lives in a slum that’s is in the middle of a wealthy section of town—her “neighborhood” is literally in the shadows of huge mansions and perfectly landscaped yards. Tabitha wakes up every day and sees what she’ll never have: a comfortable home with electricity, running water and a refrigerator full of food. So close, yet unattainable. Instead, she lives in a “house” that’s smaller than my bedroom. She walks over a trash-lined dirt road to get to the community outhouse—a few boards nailed together over a hole in the ground. A community outhouse.

After gingerly walking over plastic bags of human waste, used needles, sewage and pig droppings, we reach what Tabitha calls her “house.“ It’s really just mud-packed walls with no outside light and only a few pieces of scrap wood for furniture. Walking through the slum, it’s easy to get disoriented, because it’s just row after row after row of mud-walled shanties that all look the same.

We stoop down to enter Tabitha’s home and ask her how we can pray for her. She says she’d like a window in her house. A window! That’s it. Not a ticket out of poverty or a warm meal or even new clothes for her son.

My heart breaks, and I weep. This woman, who probably owns only two sets of clothes and whose house doesn’t even have enough room for her to stand up in, asks for a simple piece of glass for a window.

Yet Tabitha has a joy that surpasses anything I’ve ever seen. She’s part of a new Compassion initiative that helps pregnant mothers and those with young children. Social workers help educate mothers about nutrition and basic health needs. Kids in these conditions die from diarrhea. Can you imagine? Dying from diarrhea? But poverty means lacking even basic health education. They provide money for a cab so that the mother can deliver her baby in a hospital instead of at home in the slums. Compassion is meeting their practical needs while teaching them Jesus.

The Compassion babies know they’re loved and have a purpose, because they’re surrounded by such a loving church community. They’re destined for great things because of the incredible legacy that Compassion gives them. How amazing for them to know they were prayed for before they were even born!

Doesn’t Make Sense
I know God is enough and He’ll always take care of me, but I don’t live in that reality every day because I was born in America, and I haven’t ever had to be poor. I have no frame of reference, and I can’t make it make sense. How some children get into the project and some don’t. Why some children are born poor and others rich. Why some people never have a full stomach and some eat to excess.

Meet Charles, a 10-year-old boy who’s part of a Compassion project for those affected by HIV/AIDS. Charles is HIV positive, so his entire world revolves around taking his medicine at the scheduled time and surviving another trip to the hospital when his weakened immune system can’t fight off even a simple cold. He loves English class and hopes to be a doctor someday. Reality? Charles won’t live that long.

That’s not his fault. It’s not like in the U.S.—he didn’t get HIV from making bad choices for a night of pleasure. Charles is completely innocent, but he’ll have to live with the consequences of his father’s choices.

Charles’ father died from AIDS in 2005. He slept with another woman and brought the infection home to his wife, Pelina, who in turn passed it on to their children, most likely through breast-feeding. Pelina’s in-laws thought the virus was a curse from her, so they took all of her belongings after her husband died, leaving her with sick children, no way to take care of herself and a wood hutch as her only possession. She had absolutely no way to buy the medicines that were the only way to prolong her son’s life.

People with HIV die; it’s just a matter of time. It’s living with a death sentence every day, never knowing if this trip to the hospital will be the last. Pelina found the Compassion project, which now pays for their medicines.

But even though Pelina now has medicine that helps to keep her and Charles alive, Pelina doesn’t know about her older daughter, Mary. It’s very possible that Mary is HIV positive, but Pelina doesn’t want to know. For her, denial and hope that Mary is healthy is better than knowing the truth. A simple test could determine Mary’s status, and she could start taking medicines to keep her healthy, but Pelina simply cannot bear to have another child who is HIV-positive.

Hope Does Not Fail
I kept thinking about the conditions that Esther, my sponsored child, goes back to every day. She wakes up and sees and smells and LIVES poverty every single day. But because of Compassion, she has hope. And hope does not fail. Chances are she’ll never become famous or influence millions, but she doesn’t have to live in the oppression and inhumane conditions of the slum. She knows that until she graduates from college and can support herself, I’ll take care of her. We’re connected now, and we have a bond that is so much deeper than the pages of a letter.

Six-year old Esther lives with her mom and 9-year-old sister. Esther lives in an area heavily affected by AIDS—80 percent of the parents are HIV positive, and each Compassion project loses about one parent a month. It’s very possible that Esther will be orphaned by the time she graduates from the Compassion program. Esther lives in Kibera, the largest slum in Africa. It’s a place with little hope. Multiple people live, eat and sleep in a room the size of my bathroom. Brio Sisses, let that sink in for a moment.

Esther lives deep in the Kibera slum; it’s a place so dangerous that the police no longer patrol it. As our group walks through Kibera, I have to hide my camera and take off what little jewelry I have so that I won’t get mugged. It’s the only time that I feel unsafe, the only time I’m fearful that someone may harm me. I can’t imagine the fear that Esther lives with every day.

We spend an afternoon at an animal park, and Esther gets to be a kid for at least a few hours, free from worrying about getting sick or having enough to eat. She’s hesitant to smile at first, but after a few games of catch, she opens up and responds to my touch. I hold her precious little hand in mine, hoping to convey my love through a simple touch.

I give her a denim backpack full of presents, including a Brio T-shirt! After lots of hugs and photos, it’s time to say goodbye.

Now that I’m home, the picture of Esther turning to give me one last smile before she got on the bus, her little denim backpack on and the stuffed duck I brought her clutched tightly to her chest, will be burned into my memory forever. In that moment, I felt so powerless to help her. Tears streamed down my face as I walked away from her, because I knew the conditions she was going back to. I could imagine her walking over piles of trash and human waste to get home. But the story doesn’t end there. I can imagine her going to the Compassion project every Saturday and singing songs about Jesus. I can see her graduating from high school and going on to college, full of confidence because Ashley from Colorado loved her enough to provide for her basic needs.

But what can I do?
Before I went to Kenya, Esther was just a random girl in a random place far away. I didn’t think about her much at all. But now, I think about Esther every single day. I think about what it felt like to hold her little hand in mine. I remember the huge smile on her face as we jumped rope and giggled. For Esther, it’s a BIG DEAL that she has a sponsor. I am literally her hero. My letters are her most prized possession; every time she receives one she cradles it in her arm like it’s worth a million dollars. I am the most important person in her life.

Sisses, do you understand what that means? You, the girl with the bad hair days who tripped in front of your crush, can be a hero to a child an ocean away.

Your parents might not trust you with the car or allow you to date yet, but the God of the universe trusts you with the life of one of His precious own.

Think about it: You can change the life of a child forever. Your child will tell everyone that Sarah from Houston, Rachel from Calgary, Breanne from Europe or Natasha from wherever. . . is her sponsor. She will display your letter on the mud-packed wall of her tiny “house.“ And when visitors come, you will be whom she talks about.

Can you imagine? Somewhere in a hut in a Third World country, a child is thanking Jesus for YOU! Wouldn’t that be WAY better than a bouquet of flowers from your boyfriend or candy hearts from your BFF? Flowers die and candy gets eaten, but sponsoring a child impacts a life FOREVER! It’s showing tangible love to a child every single day, not just on Feb. 14. It’s loving others because God first loved you.

You REALLY Can Make a Difference!
Hey, Brio Sisses! I asked Ashley if I could interrupt her article for a moment to share my heart. When I read her story, it broke me—and I expected it to—because I’ve been to several countries with Compassion International, and I know firsthand what poverty smells, sounds and looks like.

It weighs so heavily on our minds here at Brio that we’ve been asking God what we can do. How can we help? And we believe He’s given us the answer in YOU!

Brio Sisses, we’re presenting you with a God-sized dream. And we believe only God’s working through you can make this dream a reality. We’re asking you to dream bigger than you’ve ever dreamed before, to put the word impossible out of your vocabulary and to believe—truly believe—that with God all things ARE possible.

We’re asking you to take ownership of an entire village of children who live and breathe poverty as a lifestyle. We’re going to adopt a village in Guatemala and this is where God’s working through you comes in! And we’ll be heading to Guatemala for the 2009 Brio Missions Trip, so you’ll be able to meet your sponsored child if you come. How incredible is that?!

Will you let Him help you change a life forever? Will you talk with your parents, your youth group, your circle of friends, about sponsoring just one child from Guatemala? Yes, we’re talking about sacrifice (God-sized dreams never come cheap!). It will mean $32 a month.

The reality of that means going without a $4 Frappuccino from Starbucks and a couple of pizzas. Will you start praying about that right now? YOU can become someone’s hero. (OK, I’m going to scoot out of here and let Ashley finish her story.)

What Now?
Girls, are you ready to be part of our God-sized dream? Are you serious about helping kids like Charles and Esther? Is God calling you to be part of showing a Guatemalan child His love? How awesome to think that this Valentine’s day, you let God use you to literally change the life of a child forever.

To sponsor a child in our Brio project in Guatemala, go to briomag.com/compassion. We know this is a God-sized dream, so you’ll have to think creatively to raise the money. But if you need some ideas to get you started, check out future issues of the mag for more info.