This morning I woke up thinking about Yulli.

I wanted to know what she told her family last night, if the clothes we bought her fit and if she was wearing her raincoat this afternoon when it began to pour.

Although I was traveling with the team and visiting another Compassion project and the Compassion Colombia main office, my mind kept drifting back to the little girl who stole my heart.

Tonight the Compassion Colombia staff threw a goodbye dinner for our team. There was sizzling meat, authentic Colombian dancing and a surprise that still takes my breath away.

As the Leadership Development students, in costume, performed in front of us I caught the slightest bit of movement out of the corner of my eye. Before I could comprehend what was happening, Yulli and the other children sponsored by someone on my team walked into the door wearing leis and party hats. We weren’t expecting to see them again so it was a huge surprise.

Yulli had her grandmother with her tonight so Michael and I got to meet her too.

“Thank you for sponsoring Yulli,” she said. “I love her very much because she is with me all the time. I am thankful you are her sponsors because I know she has someone to help her grow up when I am not here.”

That’s when I noticed. Yulli was wearing one of the dresses we brought her and she had several of the barrettes we gave her in her hair. She had also painted her nails with some of the nail polish we brought. Her grandmother, Anna, also had some of the barrettes in her hair and she was holding Yulli’s raincoat.

My eyes were seeing tangible proof that I was making a difference in the life of a child. Yulli walked into the room tonight with all the confidence in the world. There was no measure of shyness. It was like she knew she was loved and that she could do anything.

When I asked her if she wanted to talk to any of the university students performing for us she nodded vigorously. So she and I walked over to Dina.

Again, I watched God paint a picture for Yulli of the dreams He has for her life. As she talked about wanting to go to college one day and listened to Dina assure her God would make it possible no matter how impossible it looked, I knew.

God has a calling on Yulli’s life. She will break the cycle of poverty and go on to do things I can’t even imagine. There is a future and a hope set before her that was once unfathomable.

On back to back days my sweet Yulli got to talk with two women who grew up just like she did and have gone on to accomplish big things. I watched her eyes grow big and heard her Spanish grow rapid as she engaged in conversation with them.

And I saw it. The beginning of a dream—the first inkling that the things her heart desires might be possible.

When we said our goodbyes she said what she said yesterday:

“Thank you for everything.”

I heard what she said loud and clear. She wasn’t just thanking me for the dress the raincoat and the other items. Those were all nice and helpful—and it’s obvious she loves them.

But my heart knew what her heart was saying. What I heard her say was:

“Thank you for helping me dream and thank you for your commitment to help me get there.”

My heart’s response was instant.

There is nothing in this life that I would rather do.    

I am not a mother.

So I don’t get to experience some of the hallmarks of motherhood. There are no cartoons blaring in the early morning hours in my house. I don’t get summoned by a sick child in the middle of the night. Runny noses, scattered toys and little giggles are not often found in my home. But there is one piece of evidence that demonstrates my life has mattered to a child: a handmade drawing sent with love.

Ever since I became a Compassion sponsor in 2006 my refrigerator has never been bare. Each time a new letter comes from one of my sponsored children it comes complete with his or her latest work of art. Usually an inscription in their native tongue can be found somewhere on it bearing three precious words: I love you.

The other day as Michael and I talked about our trip to Colombia and the things we were going to see and experience, both of us latched onto one moment as the one we were most eagerly anticipating: meeting Yully.

Although she is our newest sponsor child, selected after we discovered we were going on this trip, we have an instant bond with her because we know what is coming. Letters filled with reports of how she is doing in school, questions from a young inquisitive mind who wants to know all about us, and the tender compassion that can come only from a child when she tells us she loves us and that she thanks God for us each night.

The thing that astounds me most about being a Compassion sponsor is the depth of relationship you build with a child on the other side of the world. These children, and their families, truly begin to view you as one of them. When our boys write to us they often sign their letters, “Your son.”  

Robert’s village threw a party in his honor when they found out he was sponsored. In the first photo we received of each of them, neither boy was smiling. Every photo that has come since has boasted a grinning boy with laughter not only on his face but also in his eyes.  

But there’s something different about Yully. We won’t just get to see her smile. We will get to hear her laugh. This week Michael and I get to meet her in person. I will look into the eyes of a precious child who has chosen to love me as wholly and completely as she does her own mother. If my relationship with my Compassion boys has taught me anything it is this: I will be in the forefront of Yully’s mind on many occasions.

She will go to school and strive to do well so she can write to me and tell me about it. When she gathers with her family for holiday celebrations my name will come up and everyone will tell her how blessed she is to have a sponsor. Anytime an American comes to visit her Compassion center she will say something like, “My sponsors are Shannon and Michael Primicerio from California. Do you know them?”

The thing that is most moving to me about being a Compassion sponsor is that these children claim you. They want you to be theirs and they want to be yours. And their parents, who are hardworking and honest people, view you as an answer to their prayers. In countries with corrupt governments, even reliable and diligent people cannot make enough money to do simple things like buy uniforms and send their children to school.

The thing that absolutely undoes me as I think about meeting Yully in person this week is that I am going to walk into the open arms of a child who views me as a gift of God’s grace to her. But really, I know it’s the other way around.

Anytime I ever wonder if my life matters, whenever I want my life to count for eternity, I have to look no further than the carefully drawn crayoned artwork on my refrigerator. There in a child’s handwriting, in a language that must be translated for me, is proof that at least one thing I do makes a difference.

I may not be able to end poverty on a global scale. But I can make the difference in the life of one child. This week, as you travel with me to Colombia, keep in mind that you can too.