I chastised Noah, yet I knew he was only repeating what he’d heard from my own lips. I’d complained about a too-small kitchen, a too-small house before. More than once.
“It doesn’t look very nice,” he admitted, his eyes glued to the computer screen.
“Why aren’t there any windows?” he wondered. “And what’s that blue stuff for?” He pointed to the plastic tarp pulled loosely over the gaps between the tin, a flimsy shield against wind and rain.
“How would you like to share a bedroom with six other people?” I asked him.
“I definitely wouldn’t want to share my room with Rowan,” he said quietly.
That was the night I decided to stop shopping for a year, and use the money I saved to sponsor a child through Compassion.
Twelve months later I clicked on Pedro’s picture on the Compassion site – five-year-old Pedro, who lives in Bolivia with his mother and five siblings. “How about this little guy?” I’d asked Noah and Brad, who were standing next to me.