I like the name Olivia. It's a nice name. I don't know why, it just reminds me of the colors pink and yellow, of kites on a windy hill, or an antique rocking horse. Yes, it's a nice name.
When I think of the name Olivia, one of the first things I think of is a little picture book pig, who in turn reminds me of a few little girls I know.
Partly because these little girls owned the Olivia books, and partly because they acted like Olivia, are why these girls are brought to my mind.
When I was young I was very shy. Painfully shy is a term often used. That was me. (I recently had someone questions me as to the validity of this statement. I suppose because I seemed not-shy. But it's true.) I remember the absolute terror of accidentally grabbing a stranger's hand instead of a parent's. The humiliation of that episode, seemingly slight to everyone else, haunted me for years, probably.
So imagine my horror when I started babysitting girls who were certainly NOT shy. Quite otherwise. Although I hope I have sufficiently gotten over my own shyness, finding audacity in children under eight still shocks me. I really cannot relate to that. I often think it's adorable, but totally beyond my comprehension.
I think of all this when I think of Olivia.
But recently, I've begun to think of something else.
Last summer I went to Desperation with my youth group. That's another story entirely. Just know that it's an awesome youth conference put on by the New Life church youth group. Thousands attend.
In the buzzing foyer, along with lots of merchandise and people, was a booth for Compassion International. If you haven't heard of it... you live under a rock. But that's ok, I've heard the undersides of some rocks are really nice. Anyway, it's a child sponsorship organization. I had been thinking for a long time of being a sponsor, but procrastination is a fickle friend. So instead of putting it off any more, I went to the table, gave them my info, and walked away with an envelope.
Her name is Olivia. She'll be four this month. She lives in Burkina Faso, Africa. According to her letter, she likes to play with bottles and gather wild nuts with her sister. She has a dog named Kare. She drew a motorcycle for me. Maybe she will take art lessons in school.
The picture I have of her makes me happy. She's standing there in a soft white dress, ribbons fluttering around her in the breeze, dark, tidy cornrows, and an unreadable expression in her deep, brown eyes. Wild African desolation in the background makes her look like a little dessert rose.
Even more exciting was the first letter I received from her- I could read the original translation; it was in french! Of course, that in itself was translated from her original African language (probably Moore) which isn't written. But she will learn french once she starts attending school! Then she can write me letters herself in french, and I'll write her back in french! *sigh*
Why in the world are you telling me about some girl in Africa, you ask? Well, I have an idea. I just took a very round-a-bout way to get to it.
I think I'd like to offer a custom painting for people of their sponsor child. It would be a more artistic than a picture (let's face it: most pictures of sponsor children aren't as nice as mine.) and then a percentage of the proceeds would go to Compassion International itself. Doesn't that sound like fun?! I think so.
So, be looking for it in my shop in the coming weeks. Or, if you can't wait that long, email me and I can start painting right away! :)
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