The Compassion Experience

Back before social distancing started, my family and I participated in an event to help us get as close to someone in another part of the world as we could. We participated in The Compassion Experience. This immersive exhibit allows you to experience other cultures, the realities of global poverty, and how you can change the life of a child living half a world away. At this particular location, we got to choose whether to follow the life of a little girl in Uganda or a little boy in Bolivia. We chose to hear about the little boy, Ruben, in Bolivia.

We were each given a headset so that we could listen to Ruben tell his story as we walked through several small rooms, which were designed to look like the places Ruben had lived. He talked about his life–the poverty, the abuse, the fending for himself. But he also talked about the hope that he found through Compassion International. It was through their programs that he received education, food, mentorship, and, most importantly, an introduction to who Jesus is.

It was my idea to attend this event, but I hadn’t read enough on the ad I saw to make me even realize that this was put on by Compassion International. I assumed we would walk through the set-up and learn a little about this country and that country, etc. I hoped that it would help all of us with some perspective on just how blessed our lives are. But if I’m really being honest, I was particularly wanting a couple of my children to get an adjustment on their life perspectives…

And so we went through the exhibit, quietly, soberly, together. It only lasted about 15 minutes. I kept wondering what my children were thinking. At the end, we entered a small room with walls covered in photos of children from all over the world who were in need of sponsorship. Even though it was closing time, and we were the last people to go through the exhibit, we took our time and lingered over the pictures, quietly, soberly, together.

I have learned over the years that if I want my children to really take note of something, I have to be the one to model slowing down and lingering quietly in order to really see, hear, and take it all in. And we did. We looked at all those faces, read their names and home countries, pointed out some of their features, and just sort-of wondered about them.

We have been sponsoring children through World Vision for many years, so we weren’t looking to sponsor additional children at this time, but I found myself completely drawn in by their images. My heart was particularly drawn to two different groups: 1) the toddlers and 2) those who were in their late teens and about to age out of the system. The first group grabs me because I just LOVE me some babies and toddlers! Everything is new and innocent, and they have their entire lives ahead of them, and they just need love and attention and help. But the second group grabs me because they have obviously already endured great hardship in their young lives, and now they will soon be released to fend for continue fending for themselves. And they, too, need love and attention and help.

As I continued lingering over the photos, I thought about my own family. My sons Carlos and Brandon were never involved with Compassion International or World Vision, but they lived in orphanages in Colombia for five years of their childhood. And our initial connection to them was through seeing a photo of them on our adoption agency‘s “Waiting Children” Facebook page.

So the unexpected turn this whole evening took for me was that I ended up thinking even more about my own family. It sounds crazy to say this, but it really can be easy to forget where Carlos and Brandon came from and even easy to lose our sense of compassion for them at times. They spent a lot of time as children having to fend for themselves, just like Ruben did. They dealt with abuse, too.

Carlos was 12 when we adopted the boys, and Brandon was 9. They entered orphanage life at ages 7 and 4. We have one picture of each of them at those ages, because they had to have pictures made for their government IDs, but we don’t have a single picture of them prior to that. So as I lingered over the photos of the little ones at The Compassion Experience, I allowed my mind to wonder what my two sons looked like when they were babies and toddlers. And I allowed myself to grieve the fact that we have no idea.

Then the grief got deeper, and it was grief for all of us. Grief for the sin and hurt of this world. Grief for the brokenness of my sons’ first family. Grief for the boys’ lack of control in how their lives were turning out. Grief that the adoption process was so difficult and took such a long time. And then grief that the blending of our family was so demanding and strenuous, that growth and progress seem so slow. Had we even done the right thing? Was this actually good and helpful? It has been, by far, the most difficult thing we have ever done in our lives. By far. And I was feeling it heavily on this evening–this evening when we were supposed to be focusing on the difficult lives of those living in impoverished countries. We weren’t supposed to be thinking about ourselves.

But I couldn’t help it. As I looked at all those children’s pictures on the wall, my heart broke for them, for my sons, for me. My heart broke in pieces for all of us. And I struggled with a wildly mixed bag of emotions: compassion for the helpless, a yearning in wanting to help each one of them, love for all the children whom God created… but also… discouragement over how poorly I feel like I’m handling being Mama to our five, shame in not feeling like being a Mama all the time, fear that I’ve actually made my sons’ lives worse by adopting them…

The Enemy loves to whisper lies in our ears and convince us that they’re true. He also loves us to keep them to ourselves, because then others can’t speak actual truth over us. The Compassion staffers were watching me and smiled sweetly as they observed my tears. It would’ve been easy for me to just make my exit and let these kind strangers feel good about their exhibit having such a strong impact on me. And at first I did. But just before we reached our van, I asked my husband if he and I could go back inside for a minute.

The staff looked surprised when we walked back in, but they were so tender toward me as I burst into tears. I told them how going through the exhibit was such a strong and real reminder of the previous lives our sons had known. I told them how my heart ached for each child on that wall and how I wished I could help every one of them. But I also told them how incredibly hard it has been to actually bring two such souls into our home and family and how I just feel so overwhelmed and discouraged and sad and sometimes hopeless.

I knew that these strangers had at least some knowledge of what my boys’ lives might’ve been like before they came to live with us, and I thought that might help them imagine how hard the transitions have been. And so I asked them to pray for me, for us. If you know me, you know that I’m not usually one to make this request of strangers, especially, but I’m so glad the Spirit prompted me to do so. Immediately, these people surrounded Kevin and me, and they prayed for our family as I wept.

I wish I could say that everything immediately became better, brighter, and easier, but I can’t. What I can say is that there is beauty in sharing and bearing one another’s burdens. There is relief in letting pent-up tears flow. And there is encouragement in the Body of Christ.

I am so thankful for this Compassion Experience.