Sponsoring a Child: Grace for Imperfection

When we first began sponsoring a child, I was pretty good at writing to her. A testament to my own imperfection in action is that thus far, I’ve maybe, on average, written a letter a year to Hilary*, our sponsored child in Uganda, even though it would have taken little effort and I knew it would have made a big difference to her life and perceptions of Jesus’ love.

A big reason for my procrastination was been wanting any letter to Hilary to be just perfect for her and her circumstances.  How ironic that one of my imperfections is placing value in perfection! Although anyone would be forgiven for thinking I really just don’t care.

And yet..

Despite my imperfection in action, it seems, amazing things are afoot. Here, grace is revealed.

Let me explain…

13 years ago, through an organization called “Compassion”, we set up and began our first child sponsorship, when we agreed to pay a monthly sum in order to build the well-being of a little girl called Hilary who lives in Uganda.

 ^“For who hath despised the day of small things?” (Zechariah 4: 6-10, KJV)

Time has passed since then. This month, a hard white envelope came through our door about Hilary and its contents shook my world. The day of small beginnings has become the current day…of endings. It’s all past tense now. Though I’m marveling at the presented present.

“Thank you for Changing my Life”.

I stare incredulously at the words on the certificate.

On the left hand side of the certificate is a photo of a tiny girl – she looks only about 5 years old in the photo but I remember; she was 7.  On the right hand side of the certificate is a photo of a statuesque woman, now 20.  The two photos of Hilary mark the years that have passed, and usher in the news for us that Hilary has now graduated from the Compassion programme.

This piece of paper marks the end of a childhood.  The end of our “relationship” with Hilary.

I read the accompanying letter about Hilary.  It describes how, as a direct result of being in the Compassion programme, Hilary has received nutritional, medical and educational support and vocational training as a seamstress.

She has also learned about Jesus and accepted Him into her life into her Lord and Saviour. She has been discipled by people of faith.

Oh wow, oh wow. I cry with gratitude.

And yet…

At the exact same time, as awful as this sounds, part of me is cynically thinking…”Yeah, right!… I’m not sure that’s the full story.”

When I show my husband the certificate and letter, he also has conflicted emotions.

For one, we know, in the many letters from and photos of Hilary over the years, she doesn’t come across as a particularly happy individual.

Apart from one photo I treasure, where Hilary, around 10 years old, shining and carefree, is wearing a cotton turquoise dress and a huge toothy smile.

In the rest of the photos, there are few smiles. Mainly, she stands barefooted against the backdrop of what looks to be the Ugandan jungle, in an unflattering baggy yellow tee-shirt or similar. The look on her face implying her mind is elsewhere.

I imagine she’s thinking, “Let’s get this photo for the rich people over with.”

In the photos, the look on Hilary’s face reminds me of the look I sometimes get from my teenage daughters: disdain. It’s possible, of course, that I’m turning my own guilty feelings about not writing enough letters into assumptions about other people’s thoughts.

Either way, from now on, there will be no more new photos for the “rich people”. I will only have the photos I have saved.

Imperfect Progress On Display

And I’ve saved every single photo of Hilary for the last 13 years. So later, I gather them all together and spread them out in display. With their crisp edges and vibrant colours, the photos from Uganda turn our white kitchen table into a modern art gallery. Oh how wonderfully stylish I am, with my African connection.

Our sponsorship of Hilary throughout the years resolutely stays on display until I’m compelled to move it at dinnertime. I am determined for our three children to witness how, through these years, our family has played a part in changing the world for an individual. I want our kids to be inspired.

Despite my guilt at writing so few letters to Hilary, I still want to celebrate and feel proud. 

I consider it a great achievement and a result of the blessing on our lives that we may contribute to the life of another person that we may never meet. It’s a testimony God’s grace moving on the earth as well as “The Slight Edge”, as lots of habitual small things have created one big, worthwhile thing.

We’ve played a part to help good things happen and build Hilary’s life and now, suddenly, there she is :

A woman.

How quickly and imperfectly it happened and was completed, this good work.

We diligently sent the money every month. Could we have given more than just money? Yes. Did we prioritize Hilary and her feelings? Not often. Did we let our busy lives intervene the majority of the time? Yes. And oh, how many opportunities we missed.

All around us, little people are growing up. Not just Hilary.

We see our own daughters growing up so fast it’s scary and we put so much attention to their growth and development, so many actions of denying-self in order to build their lives, so many conversations to encourage them in their personal relationships with God.

Though she called us her “family”, we never gave that kind of parental attention to Hilary. Of course, we never met her, so it was a tricky connection; a transfer of money is not quite the same as a relationship.

We had intended to communicate with her more often. We thought we would make it up to her.

But children grow up.

And it’s too late now.

In her letters of reply, Hilary didn’t seem to have ever built a picture of who we are, nor relate back to any information we sent. I wonder, were our letters read to her in translation? Was the translation written out? How did she feel about us? Grateful? Angry? Both?

Perhaps I’d like to know the worst to feel better. That she is as imperfect as me.

With these questions and this post, I’m acutely aware of my own boring self-obsession. Asking, where is the closure? What do I get back? Wanting reciprocity of some sort instead of just giving graciously with no ties.

Completion and yet frustration. Strange celebration. Happiness and sadness. Gratitude and guilt.

Ouch.

…………..

May we redeem our imperfection?

My beautiful husband suggests we may still be able to buy Hilary a sewing machine. We read she’s learned tailoring and so it may come in useful in earning money.

Understanding instantly that the gift may help appease my guilt, I excitedly call Compassion to find out if we may.

But underneath I understand our generosity is nothing more than token. Such gifts can never be our redeeming factor. I can’t save Hilary with money nor redeem myself nor my actions in my own strength.

I have to trust the Spirit of the living God to pick up my slack and, by the finished work of Jesus Christ, redeem me.

I remind myself of the awesome words on the letter: Hilary has accepted Jesus Christ into her life as her Saviour.

All our imperfections, Hilary’s and mine, are known by Him… and yet we are still accepted and loved by God.  Our flaws are fully covered over by our perfect Redeemer with His gift of grace.

Thank you, God.

………………………

Post-Sponsorship Contact?

After the certificate came, I asked Compassion if we could still stay in touch with Hilary.  They revealed the reality of a post-sponsorship connection is complicated and must be considered carefully. We will consider.

Meantime, perhaps an anonymous letter will bring closure:

Dear Hilary,

Sorry we’ve been such crappy sponsors. That you waited for letters that never came. We do care and we’re sorry. Will you forgive our imperfection?

Sponsoring you has been a blessing, a privilege and a challenge to our characters and priorities. I pray you’ve got good things out of it too, which will pay forward into your adult life for many years to come.

It seems so weird that it’s all over and you’re grown up.  Just like that, you’re now a woman and we may never have contact with you again.

It makes me yearn for the opportunities we missed where we could have connected. Makes me wish we could have come to know you more instead of just knowing about you and seeing your photos.

We have prayed for you and imagined you based on your photos, your drawings, your letters through-out the past 13 years. Your photo has always been on display to remind us of you.

Although it’s been an unusual relationship, please know, we appreciate you and we want to thank you for being a part of our lives.

I thank God for you. I am so grateful to read you have accepted His gift of amazing grace and know Jesus Christ as your Lord and Saviour.

We trust Him with your future, grateful that He has you as His treasure.

Goodbye, Loved One.

From your sponsor family in London

 

*Hilary is not her real name as I don’t think I should share it here. But I do know that God knows her name and wherever she’s at, He treasures her as an individual.