​By Rez Gopez-Sindac

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I grew up in a poor community — no running water, no electricity.

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My parents never finished grade school, but they were big dreamers. When they met and fell in love, they made a promise: Our children will have a better life than we did. They wanted us to get a good education, find decent jobs, and be able to help others in need.

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My father worked as a machinist. He never missed a single day at the foundry. Still, his small paycheck could barely cover our family’s basic needs. Sending me and my younger sisters to school — and keeping us enrolled year after year until we graduate — felt like an impossible dream.

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But somehow, that dream found a way.

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We got the chance to study at the best school in town, founded by an Irish priest, Fr. Edward Kelly. The school partnered with the Catholic Children’s Fund (CCF), which ran a sponsorship program to help poor children have access to quality education.

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Because of CCF, my three sisters and I were able to finish grade school. That was all my parents needed — a bridge strong enough to help us cross over to a better life.

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I still remember my mom telling me that I was a “generic” sponsored child, which meant my tuition was subsidized. My parents still had to pay their share — and you won’t believe how much it was — just one peso a month. That’s about one U.S. cent today.

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One peso a month — and yet, that small amount, combined with big dreams and hard work, changed the course of our lives.

Well, maybe my mom exaggerated a bit — she couldn’t quite remember the exact amount anymore. Let’s just say my parents’ share was so small, they could actually afford it!

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My sisters, on the other hand, were fully sponsored. Their tuition, books, school supplies, and uniforms were all free. On top of that, donations to the sponsorship program helped my mom learn new livelihood skills.

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I was her eager little assistant. Together, we grew mushrooms to eat and to sell, and we sewed cotton gloves — a few cents for every pair.

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Did I tell you we didn’t have water?

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Some days after school and on weekends, I would fetch water from an open well about 300 meters from our house. Sometimes I carried the bucket by hand, sometimes on my head. Other times, I’d balance two jerrycans from each end of a bamboo pole resting on my shoulders.

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That was hard work! I was small and clumsy, and the road was slippery. By the time I got home, the buckets were already half-empty.

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I hated poverty.

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But I loved how my story unfolded.

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One day, I came home from school and found some neighbors digging a well in our backyard. Just a few days later, they built us a proper latrine. I learned that our sponsors had provided the funds — and the men and women in our community had come together to do the labor.​

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I can’t remember exactly when things started to change, but I could feel it — there was more joy, more hope, more life. Our eyes began to see more clearly, and our hearts became more grateful.

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Eventually, our family had reached a better place. I was released from the sponsorship program so another child could have the same chance — a chance at joy, at hope, at life.

 

The short time I spent in the program left a lasting mark of gratitude on my parents. It was as if the sponsorship gave them a crutch — something to lean on while they learned to walk on their own through the struggles of poverty.

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My sisters and I all finished grade school, went on to high school, moved to the big city for college, pursued graduate studies, found good jobs, and discovered our passion for serving others.

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We overcame poverty as we knew it.

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Above all, we found new hope, new life, and a new future in Christ.

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And it all began because a stranger — someone I never met — had compassion on a little girl from an unknown town and saw her bright future through eyes of faith.