By Gwen Brown

I woke up to the news that Colin Kaepernick was invited to workout here in Atlanta this Saturday.  It’s funny…the man has been working out for 3 years and is in better shape than some NFL starters. I think he should have invited the NFL to workout, but Ronald (my husband) told me it doesn’t work that way.

When I was 17, I decided to workout and get in shape so I could play football. This was in 1993 and not exactly a popular decision. Eighteen months later, I became the first female to letter in varsity football in the state of Colorado. I will skip everything that happened in those rich, rewarding, painful 18 months to keep moving toward my point, but it was life-changing, to say the least.

Fast forward 20 years to where I am sitting down for a cup of coffee with Historic Selma, Alabama’s first African American Mayor, who asked me why I played. I told him my standard answer: I loved the game. He was unmoved. He asked again. I thought about it this time and then said, “I do love the game. AND no one was going to tell me I couldn’t play.” He seemed satisfied and then gave me a deep and moving speech—as if prepared—about how God uses experiences to make and mold and prepare us to impact people in the world around us years ahead. He may not have officially prepared that speech, but it came from a place of knowing—with certainty—what he was talking about.

When a friend forwarded me Kaepernick’s tweet this morning, that conversation came back to me.  No one stopped Kaepernick from playing football. He has been doing that for decades and I believe he will continue. He was, however, punished for making a peaceful stand for what he believes in— forbidden to play the game at the level he is worthy of—both in athletic ability and good humanship. 

As a result, we have been punished by not being able to watch him play the game and use his status and power to make a stand for something that affects humanity greater than yards and passes completed. Kap is a lot like Mohammad Ali, taking risks at the height of his career rather than waiting until it was popular or safe. His acts did not divide our nation, but our divided politics and agendas came out in ugly fashion—twisting and misusing what his simple and respectful message was meant to mean. Thankfully none of us is his judge.  

There shouldn’t be any question why this man should play the game he loves, respects and works for. He is an incredible athlete, teammate and humanitarian. As a lifelong Bear fan, I realize the quarterback scene is always a little rough, but have a little dream in my heart that they would make a good decision here and take advantage of an opportunity that shouldn’t—but does—require courage. Whether it’s Chicago or any of the other 31 franchises that takes a step toward doing the right thing (albeit 3 years later), I can tell you the first NFL jersey my baby boy will don will read Kaepernick.     

A Place to Call Home

Celestina lit the gas stove and poured a splash of oil into her pan. With the twenty soles (6 dollars) she had made at work that day, she purchased two small pieces of meat, a carrot, and three potatoes from the market on her way home. And now she smiled as she talked and stirred the potatoes in the pan. The room filled with the sound of laughter and the tart smells of Peruvian spices. 

It was a safe haven twenty bus stops away from her abuser – her ex-husband of 18 years. Her new home had a beautiful view of Cusco and three separate rooms – one for her teenage daughter, one for her teenage son and one for herself and her two younger daughters. Celestina’s small bedroom also served as the living room and kitchen. She wouldn’t dream of being bothered by dirt floors and lack of running water. Celestina is immeasurably proud of her new home. 

Before this, she had lived in a small studio apartment in the city. They lived their entire lives in one tiny room that the five of them shared. They had shared a bathroom with their neighbors. But when threats from her abuser forced them to find a new place to live, she was happy to find this sweet space on a hill just outside of Cusco. Here, it felt more like the campo (the country) where she had grown up. She had space in front of her house for a garden, a couple of ducks and chickens, and a swing for her little girls. And she was happy to have me and a few other friends over to fill her home. 

When the meal was ready, she served each guest with a smile and a hug. We could taste her hospitality in every bite.  

When Home Becomes a Battlefield

Just months after she moved into her new place, we received a call from Celestina’s oldest daughter, Lupe. Working with victims of domestic violence, the phone ringing can always be news we don’t want to hear. I answered the phone and heard a trembling voice. 

“Mi papá está en nuestra casa. (My father is in our house.)” She was sobbing so hard that I couldn’t understand her at first.

“Él me robó las llaves y ahora está adentro. Tengo miedo de irme a casa. (He stole my keys and now he’s inside. I’m afraid to go home).”  My heart beat quickly.  

“¿Está tu mamá en casa? (Is your mom at home?)” I responded. 

“No. Mi mamá está en el trabajo. No sé que hacer. (No. My mom is at work. I don’t know what to do.)”

Her dad, their aggressor, had found them. And despite the restraining order he had against him, he had followed Lupe home from school earlier in the week and stolen her keys, shouting drunken profanities.

“Abre la puerta. ¿Dónde está tu mamá? Sé que ella está allí. Abre la puerta o romperé la ventana. Voy a quemar este lugar. Abre la puerta! (Open the door! Where is your mom? I know she’s in there. Open the door, or I’ll break the window. I’m going to burn this place down. Open the door!”) 

The threat cut deep because Lupe was proud of her home. It also stung because just two years earlier when they lived together, her father had burned all of the family’s clothes. Now he threatened to burn down the new place they loved. 

Burning their clothes had been her mom’s breaking point after 17 years together. After he did that, they had escaped and fought for years to keep a distance from him. 

Now, he was back. His anger had grown, and he threatened to destroy their new place – their new life. 

Lupe kept her father out that night, but now he had the keys to their house, and she was afraid she’d find him in her house when she got home.  

“Come to our office. We’ll find your mom and go with you all to the police station. Do NOT go home!” we told her.

Estoy Agradecida (I Am Grateful)

Celestina and the kids went to the police station that night. Many times police do not take women with domestic violence claims seriously, so we went to the police station with Celestina to advocate for her. 

It took some convincing to get the police to go check their house, but when they finally entered Celestina’s home, they found her ex inside the house drunk, passed out in a bed with a knife. After a struggle, they arrested him and put him in jail.  We weren’t sure how long he would stay in jail. It could be for a few months or a few hours, but for a moment Celestina and her kids were safe. 

“Estoy agradecida de tener a alguien a quien llamar y amigos para defenderme. (I’m so thankful I had someone to call and friends to defend me),” Celestina was exhausted but thankful that she didn’t have to go through this process alone. She hugged each of us who had gone to the police station that night before getting into a taxi to return to her home — a house that just days before had been full of food and laughter but now felt unsafe. She waved and leaned her head against the window. We prayed that her abuser would stay locked away and that she’d be safe. 

A Place to Start Again

Celestina and her family were safe that night, but their story is far from over. After only five days in jail, her ex-husband was released. Today, with a stricter restraining order against him, if he is found within a mile of Celestina’s house, he will be thrown in jail for three years. 

While these steps are meant to protect the family from more trauma and violence, they are not enough to keep their abuser from returning. We are urgently raising funds to relocate Celestina and her four children to a safer home in a different city.

Every donation gets Celestina closer to her dream of having a safe and happy home full of love and dinner–not just for her children but for everyone. 

Celestina, you are not forgotten. We’ll help you rebuild your life. And one day we’ll come back for dinner.  

Raising a family in an illegal mining camp has a way of shrinking dreams 

As a young man, Leandro was trying to build a life with his wife Amelia and 2-year-old-daughter at an illegal mining camp in the jungle. These camps are a war zone, a no man’s land—where people disappear and no one asks questions. The young family faced constant attacks by both the military and local gangs, whose mission is to wipe out the entire camp and make quick money in the forbidden territories. They prey upon these camps, especially right after government bombings when workers are most vulnerable. 

One night when a gang invaded the camp, Amelia grabbed their daughter and ran into the lake. They survived by hiding under water, coming up for air in quick breaths. They knew that if the attackers found them, they’d be killed instantly. After an hour, Amelia’s daughter was so cold that they took a chance and snuck out of the water and hid by the side of the lake under an old sack. They stayed there all night long, listening to the screams of people getting slaughtered one by one, not knowing if Leandro was safe or if they would survive the attack.

Leandro walked away alive, but with PTSD

Everything they owned was burned to the ground and many they had worked with, killed. Amelia and her daughter found a way back to her hometown and moved into her family’s house, but Leandro stayed to work, desperate to provide for his family. He developed PTSD from the bombings, gang attacks, and nonstop fear. He turned to drinking to cope.

Soon after, their daughter had a terrible accident and fell. Years prior, Amelia had been caring for her younger siblings, and her brother had fallen from the same ledge at the same house. He died the next day. She had carried the guilt of her whole family’s blame—and now her own daughter’s life was at risk. Leandro moved back to help take care of their daughter, but he couldn’t find work. He drank more. His dream of being a good papá seemed more distant than ever.

Still hope is hard to kill 

In 2018, Leandro and Amelia found the Nuevo Camino program. 

Fast forward a year and their lives are moving in a new direction. Amelia finished her institute classes and is working in tourism. Leandro has stopped drinking and is fighting every day to be a father and husband who cares for his family. He is so grateful for opportunities to work in construction, but he doesn’t waste the time he has between jobs, either. A few months ago he couldn’t find steady work, so he used that time to rebuild their house from the ground up—including a balcony that is fully safe for their daughter to play. He also is the first to volunteer to care for other kids when their moms are working or have an appointment. When his daughter calls him papá or other kids call him tío (uncle), it’s all the motivation he needs to keep going.

“Quiero ser un buen papá.” I want to be a good dad.

Leandro is un buen papá—but he continues to hope for more. He wants to go to college and be a civil engineer. And he and Amelia want to pursue a new beginning in Lima. On paper, that’s impossible. 

But hope is bigger than the impossible. We can be a part of that hope. Together, we can send Leandro to college. Together, we can give his family a new start in a new city where there are more opportunities. Together, we can show them that hope changes everything. 

What Doesn’t Kill You

Angelo is a young Venezuelan immigrant who used to dream of being a policeman, but now works as an Uber driver in the dirty, congested streets of Lima. He’s been living in Lima for two years with his wife and baby boy, and has done everything he could to survive—from picking up debris at a construction site, to selling homemade popsicles in the middle of huge intersections. His wife Zeidi sold right alongside him, even 8 months pregnant—rushing out into the street as soon as the cars stopped at the red light (never a guarantee they would stop) and going from car to car to offer their marcianos. Zeidi finished her degree in accounting at the university in her hometown of Valencia, Venezuela, but was eventually forced to flee her own country because there was no longer enough food to eat even one meal a day. She was the hope of her entire family. If she could get out and find a way to survive in another country, then maybe she would also be able to send money back home so her family could eat too.

Venezuela used to be one of the richest countries in South America, as recently as the 1980s— with many even middle-class Venezuelans having second homes in places like Miami and Los Angeles. International travel was a given, and business was booming in a country full of oil and other natural resources.  Then power changed hands, and new leadership started the country down a darker path. Zeidi remembers that growing up she was able to do things like go to the movies, eat at a restaurant occasionally, and go spend the day at the beach, picnicking with her family. When she was a kid, there was always enough to eat. She said “we didn’t know how good we had it, until it was gone.” By the time she was in high school, circumstances had already changed considerably, and her family was down to eating two meals a day—growing whatever they could in their backyard just to fill their bellies. Just a couple years later they could barely scrape together enough food for one small meal each day. Currently, the average monthly salary in Venezuela (paid in their currency) is sufficient to buy one can of milk. Forget trying to buy medicine— it’s not even available anymore, no matter how much money you have.

Just Have A Little Faith

Angelo was the first of his family to leave in search of work. He saved up for months and then finally sold his motorcycle and the family’s air conditioner in order to buy the bus tickets from Valencia all the way to Quito, Ecuador (a trip that takes 41 hours by car, but many more than that by bus). In Ecuador, he faced severe discrimination and mistreatment because of being Venezuelan, and in his desperation to find work he was taken advantage of more times than he could recall. The worst was when he would work an entire month, having been told that his paycheck would come at the end of the month—only to be told after a month that he was fired, and there was no paycheck. This happened to Angelo several times, and is still happening to countless Venezuelans. More than once he reached a starvation point, and then by some miracle found the grace to keep trying. One time someone knocked on the door of the room he was sharing with four other young Venezuelan guys, and said that they had a box of food for them. The box was filled with enough food to feed all of them for several days. It was Christmas, and the person who knocked on their door a complete stranger.

The Long And Winding Road

Finally, Angelo found a job that paid and began to send some money home, a little bit here and there—always pining away for his own home and family. After the first year, he was desperate to return home, and so he scraped together enough cash to buy the bus tickets back to Venezuela. Joyfully arriving back home, he was shocked to see that the situation had gotten exponentially worse in the year that he had been gone and staying in Venezuela was not an option. This time, he returned to Ecuador with both his young wife and his younger sister in tow.

The same challenges faced them all: jobs they never got paid for or jobs that paid next to nothing, discrimination and xenophobia, and near starvation were all constant factors in their lives. Then Zeidi discovered she was pregnant, and a few months later Angelo lost his job that actually paid. The situation seemed impossible. They had to find a better option. How could they bring a child into so much uncertainty and danger? After a couple other options fell through, they finally settled on what had been their last choice: Lima, Peru. Angelo had a cousin there, who thought he might be able to get him a job. So once more they packed up what little they had and got on a bus to an unknown destination—this time in the land of the Incas and alpacas.

Everybody Has A Dream

Peru was a little kinder to Angelo and Zeidi. They met an older woman in Lima who not only let them start renting a room in her apartment without paying up front, but she also took Zeidi under her wing and taught her how to make marcianos—the homemade popsicles—and took her out to the streets to teach her how to sell them. Zeidi recalls how ashamed she felt the first time she went out to sell. Nothing in her accounting degree had prepared her for the stress and humiliation of selling in the street. But the señora would often cook extra food and bring it to them to make sure they ate, and was constantly checking in to make sure Zeidi’s pregnancy was going well.

Eventually Zeidi got used to the rhythm of making her popsicles and going out to sell. Then one day while she was out selling she went into labor, over a month early. Angelo came home and rushed her to the hospital, where they wouldn’t even admit her until she could pay the initial fees and buy the necessary supplies. Angelo called his cousin, who called everyone he knew, and they all came together and gave everything they had (everything they were saving to send home that month). When they brought the money to the hospital, it was exactly what was needed to pay for little Samuel’s delivery.

With A little Help From My Friends

After Samuel was born, the circumstances were even more challenging – they had to find a way to not only buy the most basic food, but also diapers and milk. Zeidi went out looking for a job where she could take her baby with her, and found a childcare position that offered to pay her half of the minimum wage (about $140 dollars a month). Driven by desperation, she agreed to it and began working 12 hours a day, 6 days a week. Angelo’s cousin helped him start renting a car so that he could drive for Uber, and he began to try and make it as a taxista. This was easier said than done, because the rental was costing him $25 every single day—forcing him to drive 16 hours a day, and even more on the weekends when traffic was lighter. They struggled to get by, but slowly started sinking into debt, and began missing rent payments. The señora was understanding, but she also depended on their rent in order to survive. Something was going to have to give. 

Then one night in September of 2018, Angelo answered an Uber call and picked up four gringos in Miraflores: visitors to Lima from Something New. They instantly could see how special he was, and could also see that he was under a lot of pressure. That night he got a tip that was exactly the amount he & Zeidi were lacking in order to pay the two months of back rent that they owed. That’s when Angelo knew that he had met some special people as well.

All You Need Is Love

Now Angelo is driving Uber without the constant pressure of mounting debt. Zeidi works part-time as an accountant, and is now able to buy medicine for Samuel when he needs it, as well as milk and diapers. They’ve been able to move into a safer neighborhood, and Angelo gets to spend more time with his little son (who will be 2 in December). Most of Angelo’s family has followed him to Peru, but Zeidi’s family is still back in Venezuela, and she sends them a little money each month to make sure they can eat. The success of a recent fundraiser enabled her to send them enough money to buy school uniforms and supplies for her little brother and sister to go to school this year. But that’s not the end of the story. Their dream is to help other young families from Venezuela who are struggling just to survive, and let them know that something extraordinary is possible. Their dream is to start a business that could employ lots of people, and give other Venezuelans (as well as Peruvians) the chance they need to make it. We are all a part of this dream. With your support Angelo and Zeidi will make this dream a reality!

Lisbet is one of four children adopted by her older sister when extreme poverty forced her family to separate. Lisbet’s older sister, Mariela, has been a part of Something New’s program in Peru for as long as it has existed. This means that Lisbet has been around, too!  

I asked Lisbet a few questions about her life, her dreams, and her future goals. What she shared can inspire all of us! 

What are your favorite sports?

Soccer, basketball, and swimming

What are your favorite things to do for fun?

I like to listen to music, to dance, and to play with kids.

What is your dream job?

I want to be an actress, an engineer, and an accountant!

How have you seen your family change in the past year and a half?

Before, my family was sad, and was on a bad path. My sister Mariela would cry every day when she woke up. She was worried and frustrated a lot, and she didn’t know what to do.

My sister met the people from Nuevo Camino, and they helped us and gave us a lot of love.  Now, my sister wakes up and is happy. She talks with us and plays with us.  

What is a dream you have for your nephews?

I want them to have the best life they can have. I want them to be good kids. My dream for my sister is that I want her to be happy. I want her to be with her kids and with all of us, her sisters.

What advice would you give other girls your age?

Some people say you can’t change in life, or they say you can’t make it like everyone else. But that is a lie. The truth is that you can move forward. Don’t believe what those people tell you. You can do anything!