A Christmas Bonus

It might seem a simple task – paying some workers their Christmas bonus.  But unfortunately nothing remotely bureaucratic is simple here. 

The first thing I had to do was purchase a form from the Ministry of Work.  I duly went to the office to be told I had to go and pay the grand sum of $2 in the government bank.  My heart sank.  The queue at the bank was out the door and round the courtyard.  We stood waiting expectantly, advancing in excruciatingly slow mini-steps in the blazing sun.  Gradually, inch by inch, I advanced round the courtyard and finally stood outside the door.  Big guards clutching even bigger guns frowned at us lowly punters, and eventually waved me inside. 

The inside of this bank was painted a dreary brown, matching the mood of most of the people inside.  The heat was tremendous, hardly touched by the token fan whirring away in one corner.  The smell of sweaty bodies was overpowering and the flies buzzed around us provokingly.  As I inched around the curves of the queue, each new step forward was a step towards freedom.   At last I reached the fan in the corner and lingered under its welcome breeze for as long as I could before reaching the home straight. 

The relief, the joy, of at last being able to deposit that $2 in the bank… clutching my deposit slip fiercely, and with a wide smile on my face I burst out of the bank doors.  Back across town in the office they gave me my form – now I “just” had to navigate the ministry of work website to be able to fill it in correctly.  (A little help from a friend and a box of chocolates made that task a little easier).

Finally I paid the workers. 

I won´t think about what procedure they may think up for when I have to go and hand in the form so that they can check it has all be done correctly. 

It is nearly Christmas after all.

When there is no cure

It is a question I dread.  “Can you cure me?”  With general knowledge of disease here so poor, and belief in all kinds of weird and wonderful cures here so rife, it is a common one. 

I have built up something of a reputation for curing leg ulcers and preventing amputations.  The recent cure of a diabetic man who came with his foot literally a ball of pus, who had been told at the hospital the only alternative was a below knee amputation, has created quite a stir.  People are genuinely astonished that he is up and walking about again after 5 months of honey dressings. 

They are so astonished I have had several cancer patients brought to me hoping I can work a miracle for them.  The 60 year old man with advanced gastric cancer asked me the question.  “Can you cure me?  I am too weak to get up out of this wheelchair.  I just want something to give me energy.” 

It is a hard thing to take away someone´s hope.  But at some point surely the truth has to be faced.  This man cannot have many weeks left of his life.  I hope we helped him focus on spending those days in the company of his loved ones, rather than travelling the length and breadth of the country, exhausting himself more in the vain search for a cure. 

The 46 year old woman with terminal breast cancer´s brother asked me that question.  “Can you cure her?”  Her chest is covered in a huge fungating weeping cauliflower of a tumour.  It has been growing and spreading round her back for a year now.  The cancer hospital is waiting for some new drug to arrive from Switzerland as a final attempt to control it. 

I showed them how to dress it to stop the smell and the bleeding.  I gave her medication for her pain.  But this is no diabetic ulcer.  This is uncontrollable malignant cells running riot and causing havoc.  Distressing as it is – and it truly is distressing – I cannot cure it. 

But I can help them.  I can work with them and make her more comfortable.  I can give them someone to turn to for advice, someone to phone when she takes a turn for the worse.  I can touch her and listen to her and point her to the Saviour who loves her and offers her hope. 

The 32 year old woman with 3 children under 7 years old who is dying of cervical cancer asked me that question too.  She went to the cancer hospital first, had all the tests and was told there was nothing that could be done.  Then she went to the general hospital, without telling them she had already been to the cancer hospital, and went through all the tests again, only to be told again there was nothing that could be done.  She was sent home to die with no medications.  She was constantly vomiting and in pain.

“Can you cure me?”  That question laden with hope.  “I can stop you vomiting.  I can take away your pain.  I can help you sleep at night.” Was my reply.  But I cannot give her more days with her children. 

As we accompany these patients on their journey, as they accept their diagnosis and bravely try to make the most of the time they do have left, I hold on to the conviction that even when I cannot offer that cure they so desperately want, it is still worth doing what we can. 

I don´t know why one person dies aged 32 and another aged 102.  But I am convinced that this life is short for all of us in comparison with eternity.  I hold on to the hope that God can bring beauty from ashes, that beyond what we can see and touch there is something more wonderful yet to come. 

First Do No Harm

I was concerned to receive Johanna´s recent school report and discover her grades had fallen considerably.  So had her self-confidence. 

Johanna suffered a brain injury at birth which means she has always been partially sighted.  She has an 80% sight loss, but you would never think it to watch her running and climbing like any other girl her age.  You would only notice it when you watch her reading and notice her putting the book right up close to her face and squinting shut her eyes in order to make out the words. 

Johanna is very motivated to learn.  She wants to be able to finish Secondary School and work with young children.  She was crest-fallen to have done so badly in this term´s exams.  “I will be able to finish school, won´t I?” she asked her Mum.

I asked her Mum how Johanna had been health wise recently and the whole story came out.  The school had told Johanna´s Mum she was negligent for not taking her to see a neurologist every year, and had insisted she make her an appointment.  This duly done the neurologist in question had done a CT scan (which was reported as normal) and prescribed her medication for headaches. 

I looked at the medication and was horrified to see it was medicine for epilepsy.  Johanna does not have epilepsy in any shape or form.  Taking such powerful medications explains her lack of concentration and ability to perform at school this term.  And it had done nothing for her headaches, her only complaint. 

Education is so important.  Johanna has a non-progressive brain injury.  It will neither get better nor worse.  There is no medicine available to treat it.  She has learnt to adapt to her disability remarkably.  The primary law of medicine is First Do No Harm.  The doctors treating her need to understand this, rather than prescribing harmful, unnecessary drugs.  The teachers need to understand this rather than demanding unnecessary, detrimental interventions.  Her mother needs to understand this and be able to defend her daughter.  Johanna needs to be able to learn so that she can make something of herself in this life.

I hope I have persuaded Johanna´s mother to stop the medication and only give her paracetamol for headaches as and when they occur.  I think the next step may be to accompany her to the school to try and explain Johanna´s problems.  I don´t suppose I will ever understand why the neurologist prescribed the drug in the first place. 

Welcoming a baby boy into our world

Some babies are born into this world to be greeted by showers of clothes, cuddly toys and a Mother and Father longing to meet them at last and hold them in their arms.  They will never want for anything.  They will always have food on their plates, always have clothes in their drawers, will have every opportunity to study and learn, medicine if they are sick, and much, much more besides.  And isn´t this how it should be? 

But I know babies for whom this is not the case.  I know a little baby boy about to be born for whom this is not the case.  His mother, Sarita, is 17, but is only in her second year of Secondary School and greatly lacks emotional and mental maturity.  She has 4 younger siblings and lives with them and her mother in a house we built for them.  Her father abandoned them in pursuit of a younger woman with whom he was expecting yet another child.  Sarita´s mother has no work.  Sarita has no job, and insufficient education to secure one.  They do not always eat 3 meals a day.  The children´s schooling is paid for by sponsors.  Their clothes are donated to them. 

A married man started taking the family gifts of food.  The result was Sarita becoming pregnant.  The man in question has now fled and denies everything. 

Sarita has nothing and no means to provide for her baby.   This little baby will be born into this world with no clothes waiting for him, no snuggly blankets and certainly no cot or pram.  His mother will struggle to feed him.

I have already given away all my baby things or I would give her something… If anyone reading this has some boy baby clothes going spare, I would be very happy to make space in my suitcase when we visit the UK in December, to take back for Sarita´s little boy.  Please send them to Andrea Gardiner (Sarita), Headcorn, Erbusaig, Kyle of Lochalsh, Rossshire. IV40 8BB.  Let´s give this tiny baby a brighter welcome into this world of ours.  Thank you. 

As I opened the school gate the children spotted me and the whisper began, “Andrea, Andrea is here!”  I grinned and walked down the steps into the playground as the chant changed to, “Fight, fight, fight!” Some little boys had taken to fisticuffs over some disagreement.   This was fairly typical of this school.  The last time I had arrived to find the Head hauling some boys over the coals for stealing some drinks from the snack bar.  They had been purchased to raise funds to replace the school computer which had been stolen.  Fingerprint dust was still coating the computer room. 

I wondered why I keep coming to this school.  These children are from the poorest families.  Their parents in the main do not value education.  Their behaviour leaves much to be desired.  Two boys who had sponsors in this school lost them because they never brought me copies of their school reports.  They are not even in school today.  Last year I gave several children spectacles.  Some wear them, but some do not.  The children are dirty, skinny and have teeth full of caries.  They are some of the neediest children, but are some of the most difficult to help because their parents do not seem to care.  The teachers complain the children come when they feel like it and do not come when they do not want to.  The teachers complain to the parents with no response. 

Making it to the bottom of the steps I was greeted with a crowd of children and fifty kisses.  Their bright expectant faces smiled up at me as they gave me all they have to give – a cuddle.  Excitedly they formed in line to see why I had come to see them.

My two year old daughter insisted in being the one to hand each of them their pretty soap bags filled with a toothbrush, toothpaste, soap and a colourful Bible story.  The children were over the moon.   No one ever gives them gifts.  They come from families of 8 siblings, and their parents have no money to buy them what they would consider non-essentials.  I gave them the spiel about the importance of tooth-brushing and hand-washing, and my heart melted looking at their cute little faces. 

I saw the teenage girl with special needs lined up with the five year olds.  I saw the wee tot with Downs´ Syndrome, his trousers soiled with urine.  I saw the teenage boy still not finished primary school with a huge cut down his face.  I saw the twelve year old still in fifth year of primary whose mother committed suicide.  Her daughter found her gunshot body.  I saw the eight year old now living with her aunt because her step father was abusing her.  I saw their need.  I still want to help them.  I want to give them the chance of a different future. 

Perhaps I can help those children by giving the exercise books, pens and paints directly to the school for them all to share, instead of to individual children with sponsors – if we can raise the funds.  Perhaps someone will want to come and volunteer to work with the special needs children in these schools.  Perhaps we can find sponsors for some who do want to go on to secondary school, and give them that opportunity.  

I have to confess sometimes I think it would just be easier if all there were after death were nothingness, oblivion, the end.  I find it hard to imagine heaven, what it might be like, if I would really want to live there forever and ever. 

But I do believe there must be something more, because of patients like Maria. 

Maria had AIDS.  She was a young Mum of 3 small children.  Her husband cared for her dearly and visited her regularly.  She was in the local hospital for months being treated for tuberculosis, during which time she developed pressure sores.  She was emaciated. 

She came to Orphaids to be cared for and arrived in a very weak state.  Gradually we healed up the ulcers and as she ate nourishing food she began to put on weight.  But she still was not on antiretroviral treatment for the AIDS. 

This treatment is free in Ecuador, but is only available through the government programmes.   There is one for those who have social security and one for those who do not.  Getting started on the treatment is something of a lottery, depending on the good grace of the physician attending you.  At least once a year the drugs run out in one of the programmes, and patients are without treatment for a month or two.  Even if the other government programme has the drugs there is no way they will ever share them with patients on the other programme.  These patients develop resistance to drugs, contract life threatening infections and some die.  Every year.   

Maria went to the hospital to ask, again, to be started on the antiretrovirals, and was denied because of rivalries between doctors.  I went to see her in Orphaids.  Her ulcers were healing nicely, and her cough was much better, but she looked sick.  She was vomiting and could not eat.  Her husband was bringing her all kinds of remedies, desperate to keep her alive, desperate to keep the mother of his children alive.  But it was all in vain.  Maria died the next day.  Those children were left motherless.  No one gave her the life-saving drugs that could have made all the difference for Maria.  No one gave her that chance. 

These injustices in life are what make me believe there must be some ultimate redressing of wrongs.  I feel so impotent, I long for justice, fairness, for people to simply act with kindness to their fellow human beings.  I hope that Maria will be able to spend an eternity with her children, after being denied the chance to live with them these short years on earth. 

I cling to the cross, where all injustice was crucified and beaten, from where flows forgiveness and hope.  Such great, self-sacrificial love is found there, I stand amazed.  I need to gaze there longer, renew my vision of what a heaven full of such love could be like.  It is there I find the strength to keep on fighting. 

Checking children’s sight is always something of an adventure.  First we pile into the pick-up truck and bump our way along dusty unmade roads to get to the remote rural schools we are trying to reach.  A few dodgy bridges later we make it to the school in question and are welcomed by the teachers. 

 

“I have children in my school that cannot see the blackboard,” they exclaim, “It would make such a difference to them to have glasses.  Come in!” 

 

We stick our Snellen charts to the wall and cover eyes with our homemade pirate patches.  The children jostle and giggle, not wanting to be the first in line.  One by one we check their sight and it becomes apparent some have serious problems, and others cannot see for close work.

 

Edison cannot even see the biggest letters on the chart.  How he is learning anything I do not know.  His teacher says he is a frequent non attendee – perhaps for obvious reasons.

 

Lisbet is nine years old and has a lazy eye that is no longer seeing much because she has never had the spectacles she needs to make it work.  Glasses can make her vision 100% better given a little time. 

 

A few days later we take these children to the optician.  They climb into the back of the pick-up, many with their Mum or Granny, and we bump along the track to town, covering them in dust.  I have some 30 people in the vehicle and hope no policemen take issue with us. 

 

Once in the optician the faces of the children light up at the sparkly, shiny glasses on display.  They have never seen anything like it.  They complete their tests and choose their spectacles, breath held in excitement.  The bright pink and yellow frames prove popular. 

 

A fifteen year old girl is already blind in one eye from a neglected infection that has scarred the macula.  Her other eye is now deteriorating and she needs an urgent appointment with the ophthalmologist.  She is only now finishing primary school as she has had to repeat several years due to learning difficulties caused by malnutrition.  Her mother is raising her and her 7 siblings alone, and has no work.  Sometimes there is not enough to eat. 

 

The optician comments a twelve year old’s sight problems seem to her to be psychological.  This girl came home to find her mother had shot herself some 3 years ago.  I hope I can persuade her father to allow me to find her help with a psychologist. 

 

In a few days I will take Edison his mega strong spectacles, with which he can read to the second last line of the chart.  I hope he will wear them with pride and be able to learn.  I hope he will enjoy school more and attend.  I hope he will have a brighter future due to this simple helping hand he is being given. 

 

My heart goes out to these children who have such a simple need, and hope that being able to see better will make a real difference in their lives.  I hope they will study hard and make something of themselves.  I hope they will now be able to read the little Bible story books we have given them, and will understand the reason why we help them.  I hope they will remember this gesture of kindness and reach out to help a friend in need when they have the opportunity.        

It is a privilege to have the opportunity to offer patients not only physical but also spiritual help.  This is particularly the case when I am attending palliative care patients.  Many of these dear people will forever be in my memory and my heart. 

I visited Señora Maria for a year.  I will never forget her warm welcome and gentle ways.  She had terminal cancer, and had had to leave her small farm and come to live in the city with her daughter so that she could care for her.  Each time we visited her daughter ushered us in with great kindness, making us comfortable, offering us food and drink, and finding soft toys for my one year old to play with.  Only then could we turn to the business in hand of finding out how Señora Maria was feeling, and what medicines she needed to control the swelling in her legs and the pain in her abdomen. 

Sometimes getting to her house was a challenge.  In the rainy season the road became a sea of mud, and I had to leave my car far from the house and wade through the sticky dirt to reach her home.  Once inside I was made to sit and eat chicken and chips in recognition of the effort I had made to visit, and in appreciation of the help we offered.

Once she felt more comfortable physically she looked for spiritual support in her difficult circumstances.  A local pastor accompanied me on the next visit, and his simple songs and reading of the psalms, accompanied by his willingness to listen and to offer comfort and hope lifted Maria´s spirits.  Her daughter asked the pastor to visit again. 

As time went on Maria became weaker, and finally bed bound.  Her smile never failed her, even when she was too frail to talk much.  Our visits became more frequent in order to keep her comfortable and at peace.  One evening her daughter phoned asking me to visit the next day as Maria had taken a turn for the worse.  When I arrived she was lying in bed with her eyes closed, relaxed and pain free.  As I held her hand and told her who I was she whispered, “Sing me a hymn Doctor.”  I sang to her, not letting go of her hand, and prayed with her.  She was ready to meet her Maker, her Lord.  She died later that evening. 

Tears trickled down my cheeks during that final visit, my last opportunity to accompany that dear, kind, beloved grandmother and mother who had also become my friend.  But I was glad she was at peace.  I was glad I had had the chance to befriend her and point her to her Saviour.  I was glad I had made the effort to wade through the mud.  I was glad she was safe in Jesus´ arms and in His loving care.  I was glad I had not only helped her with medicines but also shared my faith.

Sometimes I think we don’t have very much.  Sometimes it seems a struggle to make ends meet. Some days I am very grateful for the chicken a patient gives me that will provide delicious soups for our family for a couple of days.  Sometimes I worry about the future.    

 

But really we have all we need.  We never lack our daily bread (or rice and bananas).  We have plenty of clothes.  We have a safe and comfortable house and beautiful flowers in the garden.  We even have cars to get to work and school. 

 

I cannot imagine what it must be like to be Maria Elena.  She is a widow with two sons to feed and educate alone.  They lived in a falling-to-pieces ramshackle wooden house, with rotting bamboo walls and plastic hung up inside to make the walls of a bedroom.  The rain came through the rusty tin roof.  The mosquitoes entered at will.  Their toilet consisted of some planks lain over a hole in the ground, with some plastic around it to give privacy.  She eeks a living out of selling clothes from door to door and knitting bags.  Sometimes they go hungry.    

 

I could not live like that.  I would think God had abandoned me and did not care.  I would struggle to find the inner will to keep going.  

 

Maria Elena says, “Jesus is my life.  He gives me the strength to live another day, to fight another day, to enjoy another day.”  

 

Imagine her delight when we found a sponsor willing to put her son through secondary school.  Her heart filled with hope for the future, for her son’s future.  The opportunity to study means the opportunity to obtain a full time, long term job, and a wage one can live off.  

 

Imagine her joy when we told her we had funds to build her a new block house, with a flushing toilet and shower.  The house means safety, hygiene, health and comfort. 

 

She is delighted and joyful, but she is not amazed.  She trusts God to provide for her.  She knows He cares for her.  When she had nothing - He was her life.  Now she has a little bit more she gives Him thanks every moment of every day.

 

When I stop to count my blessings, name them one by one, I realise my Heavenly Father pours out His wonderful generosity upon me day by day.  I have blessings in abundance.  His loving care is evident every moment of every day.  I do not need to worry.   

As I write this I am sitting in a queue waiting to be able to request a telephone line for my house.  This is the fourth time I am here already and I have not yet even managed to find out if they have a line available for our house, let alone make the formal request.  I estimate today I will be waiting for at least an hour.  The other day it was two.  I dread to think how many more visits I will have to make until I have a telephone line – and internet, skype, direct contact with my family from the comfort of my home.  It is better not to think about it. 

Sometimes I am tempted to give up.  Sometimes I do.  Sometimes the obstacles put in my way seem insurmountable yet unavoidable.  It would be easier to go home to the UK.  But then I remember the Bible tells us “Do not grow weary of doing good”. 

My patient Mrs A does not give up.  She is 44 years old, and has had breast cancer for 4 years.  She has had a mastectomy and several rounds of chemotherapy and radiotherapy, and kept fighting bravely.  Now the cancer is eroding her skin in a smelly, painful mess, and she knows she is losing the battle she has fought so long.  With simple measures I can at least dress the tumour so that it does not smell and give her medicines to control her pain.  I can help make her days liveable still.  And she inspires me daily with her positive attitude and determination to make each day count.  Why should I give up?

Mrs V does not give up.  Her husband of many years has abandoned her for a woman 20 years younger who is expecting his 9^th child.  She is left with the other children they had together with no income.  To add insult to injury her simple 17 year old daughter is pregnant by a married man who was bringing them gifts of food “to help”.   Her daughter is still only in her second year of high school.  But Mrs V keeps fighting for her children.  She does not give up.  I will not give up lending them a helping hand, ensuring the children are able to keep going to school, giving them the chance of a better future. 

So instead of feeling sorry for myself or frustrated today in the small challenges I face, I lift my head and determine to keep on going, by the grace of God, and I  bring these dear people I know who face much bigger challenges to Him.  Let us not grow weary of helping the poor, sick and oppressed.  Let´s keep on fighting. 

Here is a recipe for a typical dish here in Santo Domingo  It is called...

Colorado Rice

This dish takes its name from the Colorado Indians who are the natives of Santo Domingo, because they paint their hair red with a red fruit, and the rice is coloured with the same fruit, achiote.  It is a great dish for making big quantities of, and we have often made this at village events for example at Christmas so everyone gets a portion.  Have a go at making some! It is delicious.

Ingredients (serves 8)

1 chicken

8 cups of rice

1 chicken stock cube

1 green pepper

2 carrots

1 red onion

4 chorizo sausages

1 cup of peas

2 teaspoons fresh coriander

2 teaspoons fresh parsley

Salt and Pepper

Turmeric

Instructions

First cook the chicken – people here boil it, but you could roast it.  Flake the meat off the bones once cooked.  Cook the rice with the finely chopped carrots, peas, stock cube, seasoning, herbs and turmeric to colour it yellow.  Finely chop, then lightly fry the pepper, onion, and sausages.  Mix together the chicken, rice and vegetables and sausage.  Serve hot with tomato sauce and mayonnaise. 

Happy cooking!

This is my prayer for the children who have sponsors helping them attend school;

“Give them neither poverty nor riches, but give them their daily bread.  Otherwise they may have too much and disown You and say “Who is the Lord?”  Or they may be too poor and steal and so dishonour the name of our God.”  Proverbs 30v8-9

I pray it for myself as well. 

I pray these children may learn and grow in wisdom and knowledge so that they may be able to defend themselves against those who would oppress them, and may be able to provide for their families in a dignified manner. 

I pray that they will no longer have to wonder where the next meal is going to come from, work only to eat.  I pray they will have enough to clothe their children, and send them to school.  I pray they will have enough to be able to have a day off and still have food to eat that day.  I pray they might have enough to take a trip to the seaside at least once in their lifetime, to explore their beautiful country and discover the wonders of the world around them. 

I pray they will not seek money but that they might know contentment.  I pray they will not think that riches and wealth will satisfy them, but that they will remember their Heavenly Father who graciously gives us all things.

I pray that they will take their place in this world, that they will realize their potential and serve their communities as nurses, lawyers and teachers, as mothers and fathers, as honourable business men and women, and as community leaders.  I pray that their education and hard work will open doors for them, will give them opportunities and choices in life.  I pray that they will pay forward the help they have received to others in need in the future. 

Most of all I pray that they will seek Jesus as their Master, their Friend and their Guide.  I pray they will discover the joy of serving Him.      

Andes Creations was born to help an epilleptic girl fund her medications.  Now it supports ten families, enaabling them to feed their families and send their children to school.  The ladies sew beautiful crafts that are sold by volunteers in the UK. 

I love sharing my passion for sewing with the ladies.  What a wonderful way to be able to use my God-given talents... the ladies have grown immeasurably in self confidence and dignity as they have learnt new skills and are so proud to be able to provvide for their own families.  As we meet together it is also a wonderful source of mutual support through good times and bad. 

I would like to share with you one of our designs for you to try out.  It is a mobile phone case,  but could be made for a small camara as well.   Simply make  the case to fit your device.

We make the cases using brightly coloured felt.  Cut out one back piece, and one front piece (just cut out the rectangle up to the dotted line for the front.)  Cut out the toucan pieces using the template provided below. 

First stitch the bird to the front piece of  the case using two strands of embroidery thread.  Then stitch thhe front to the back using two strands of contrasting embroidery thread in blanket stitch.  Finally edge the flap in blanket stitch and sew on a popper closure to fasten your pouch. 

If you give it a go do let me see how it turned out!

If you use the pattern and would like to give a donation to Project Ecuador please go to out Justgiving page.  

http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/charities/projectecuador

Thank you and have fun!   

I am privileged to know many heroines.  One of them is called Gabriela.  I first met her when she was thirteen years old.  She lives in a remote village here in Ecuador, far into the countryside along an unmade road.  Her father has been quadraplegic since she was eleven after he suffered a tragic accident.  The family toppled from making ends meet head long into abject poverty.  Gabriela's parents were in Quito for a year while her father was fighting for his life in the hospital.  Gabriela finished primary school but could not go to secondary school.  She dedicated herself to helping her mother once her father finally came home.  She washed and cared for him as he lay in bed all day.  She learned to suction his tracheostomy tube to keep him breathing.  She milked the two cows and sold the milk.  She collected the eggs from the chickens and often cooked dinner.  She was a child losing her youth in her service to her parents. 

I began visiting the family providing rehabilitation and medical support and was impressed by Gabriela's quiet dedication to her family.  She is a child of the King.  She is a precious child of God.  She had to have more of a future.  I could not ignore her plight. 

I found a sponsor for Gabriela to pay for the cost of sending her to school.  She could help her family during the week and make the long journey into town on Saturdays to attend a distance learning school. 

Without education Gabriela's future was bleak.  She was being condemned to an eternal cycle of poverty and hardship.  She would continue to live hand to mouth, fearful that she would go hungry.  Gabriela deserved more.  All children do.  I was filled with joy as I told her she had the opportunity to go to school.  Gabriela's face lit up as hope flooded her eyes. 

Gabriela is a heroine because she has pursued her dream of becoming an agriculturalist with dedication, while never failing to make sure her father is well cared for.  She is now in her final year of secondary school.  She is going to make it. 

I hope Gabriela goes on to find work she enjoys through which she can provide for her family in a dignified manner.  I hope Gabriela receives the love and joy of her own family one day.  I hope she finds a husband who will love and cherish her for the very special person she is.  I hope she knows deep in her soul how much her Heavenly Father loves her, and follows his path for her life. 

I am in Ecuador to have the privilege of lending a helping hand to heroines such as Gabriela.  It is a privilege I enjoy everyday.