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This is a post about one of the children my wife and I sponsor through Compassion International.

Actually, he was the first child we sponsored.

His name is Joel. He lives in Haiti.

My wife and I decided to sponsor Joel in 2004. Through my employment at Student Life, I heard all about Compassion and their mission of eradicating poverty in Christ’s name. We did not have a lot of money. We tithed to our church, but in obedience to Christ’s call, were looking for a way to give sacrificially, in excess of our tithe. We were introduced to Compassion and felt the Lord was leading us to sponsor a child.

We began the task of choosing a child. For those of you who have undertaken this task before, it can be so gut-wrenching. Faced with dozens and dozens of packets of children, each waiting to be sponsored, selecting one child is virtually impossible. Saying “yes” to one means saying “no” to so many. Sitting there, you know your decision will dramatically change the life of one of these children. It is a tough, tough decision.

Ultimately, we chose Joel for one reason: He looked so sad. His photo spoke to us in a way many of the others didn’t. Yes, they we all needy, all crying out for relief. But there was something about Joel. He was small for his age. So, so small. His skin was dark, his eyes hollow. He compelled us. We longed to help this precious boy. We entered into our sponsorship of Joel so thankful that we had the opportunity to demonstrate the love of Christ to this boy.

We eventually felt led to sponsor two other children. We love these kids. They are a part of our family. Our daughters pray for them. We write them letters. (Not near as often as we should.) And we cherish the letters we get from them. Our sponsorship of each these children has been so rewarding for us, and for them.

But Joel always seemed to stick out.

First it was the storms. A big one on rocked the island nation in 2004. But it was nothing like 2008. The ‘08 season cruelly unleashed its fury on Haiti. Storms Fay, Gustav, Hanna, and Ike damaged 70% of Haiti’s crops, affecting 8% of the population and causing 1 billion dollars of damage. We heard some Compassion children were affected, even killed. We waited anxiously to hear word of Joel’s safety. Thank God, he survived.

Then, early this year, we learned that Joel’s mother had died. She was his only caregiver. We were so troubled, so worried for him. We feared for his safety. We called our contacts at Compassion, and after several weeks, found out that he was living with a relative.

Joel seemed to be a survivor. This undersized boy was a fighter. The pictures we received from time-to-time told a story of one who persevered. He had grown. He was doing well in school. He was even smiling in some of the pictures. But there was still something in his eyes. A pain I will probably never know, born out of the harsh reality of his daily, threadbare existence.

Last night we received a letter from Compassion telling us that Joel had moved and he no longer would be available for us to sponsor. I called today and talked to a very kind individual on the phone who confirmed that Joel’s family had moved to a different village where there was no Compassion Project.

And just like that, he’s out of our lives.

It’s tough knowing what a difference Compassion makes in the lives of children; knowing that Joel had tasted that; and ultimately knowing that he now will have to do without this wonderful presence in his life. Some of my best friends have visited Haiti and spent time with the people there. They describe it as one of the most hopeless places on earth, a country devoid of industry, plagued by a corrupt government that is incapable of meeting even the most rudimentary needs of its people.

I know through Compassion, Joel encountered Jesus in many ways . . . through the Bible stories he would recount for us in his letters . . . through the Haitians who demonstrated Christ to Him in their actions . . . and, hopefully, through our sponsorship. I believe Joel was exposed to the transcendent hope found in Christ. I trust his time in the project will convince him that the hope and love found in Christ is true, and real, and good. And that this hope is capable of sustaining him in a landscape where nothing else will.

I pray he carries this hope with him on his journey . .. wherever it is taking him.

I pray, like I always do, that he will be kept safe. That God would protect him.

Mostly, I pray he knows that he is loved.

Loved by God.

Loved by his own family.

And loved by a family in Alabama he will never meet, but whose paths he crossed, if only briefly.

We are better people because we knew him.