Did I ever get help! I had so much peanut butter and jelly and bread delivered to my apartment that I still have a jar of peanut butter from that first donation—and that was eight years ago. With that food, I made some sandwiches and I made some Kool Aid and I started feeding the neighborhood children from out of my apartment.
We had so much fun that summer. We watched movies, we talked about God, we played games. I tried to teach them about cleanliness. A lot of the children had head lice, so I tried to clean their hair and get rid of the lice.
The kids came every day the whole summer, and we spent all day doing things together. I just fell in love with these children. They were so nice, but so poor. And they were just completely unattended. No one was taking care of them.
At the end of the summer, when it was time for school to start, the kids were sad. And so was I. Helping these kids had given me a reason to live.
My apartment felt so empty and quiet that first day of school—much too quiet. But that afternoon, there was a knock on the door. And when I opened it, a few of the kids were standing there.
“Bea, we need help with our schoolwork,” they said. “Will you help us with math? With you help us with reading?”
“Of course I will,” I told them, my eyes filled with tears. “Come on in.” I was just so glad they were back.
I believe God called me to do this work. God needed someone to look after these kids—and that someone was me. When God calls you to do something, you don't fight that. You go with it.
So in 1990, I formally established a nonprofit organization called Bea's Kids. I went to the management of my building to ask for help, and they gave me an empty one-bedroom apartment where I could take care of thirty kids after school. Within one month, I had sixty kids. So the management gave me a two-bedroom apartment. And that's where my volunteers and I have been taking caring of our children for the past eight years.
Our whole community is involved now. We have volunteers help us from local schools and businesses. People in the community donate thousands of dollars worth of used items, and we sell them once a year in a gigantic garage sale. We use the money to buy school supplies, shoes, socks, and underwear. Twice a year, at Christmas and when school starts, we buy everyone new shoes. Eight years ago, these children didn't have socks and underwear. But now they don't have to worry about that. They didn't have pens or pencils or paper—but now they do. Someone even donated a computer for them to use.
I feel like these children are all my own. And I'm so proud of them. They are doing so well. These children know what is expected of them when they come into our program, and they know how important they are to us. Our kids are not on drugs. And our girls are not pregnant. They have a clear direction in life. I even have a group of kids graduating from high school this year, kids who have been with me for eight years. Some of them are even going on to college.
I am so blessed. These children are the reason I'm here now. That's why I'm living—to help them. Even when I have days when I can barely walk because of my injuries, I get up and get going because I know my kids need me. They give me a purpose. In fact, they've given me much more than I've ever given them.
I know now that this is why God saved my life. This is why he sent Anna to knock on my door that day just when I was thinking about swallowing a whole bottle of pills. He saved my life because He needs me to take care of these children.
There are so many children who need help everywhere. And there are people in apartment complexes everywhere who could help. I tell people, Open your doors, open your hearts. Help a child with their math homework. Help them with their reading. Just love them. No one is tending to the children any more. And we need to. They need us.
I've learned a wonderful lesson from these kids—a lesson I will never forget. I've learned that the only truly happy people are those who have found a way to be useful.
Join Bea in her effort to make today's children tomorrow's leaders. Contact: Bea's Kids, 1517 Metrocrest #129, Carrollton, Texas 75006. Tel: 972-417-9061. Web site: www.princeofpeace.org/beaskids.htm. In Canada, contact the United Way of Regina, 2022 Halifax Street, Regina, SK S4P IT7. Tel: 306-757-5671.
CHAPTER2
David's Legacy
FAITH KAPLAN
ON NOVEMBER 14, 1992, my sixteen-year-old son, David, was with his friends at a school dance. I went to a movie with my twelve-year-old daughter Kristy and one of her friends. We asked David to come with us, but he said the dance sounded like more fun. And I really couldn't blame him. Later that night, he called home to ask if he could spend the night at his friend's house after the dance. My husband, Steve, and I said sure.
We didn't know David would never come home again.
Kristy and I just couldn't fall asleep that night. We kept tossing and turning, dozing for a minute and then waking up. Then all of a sudden, I saw an enormous, bright white light in front of my face, and I sat up in bed and yelled, “David!”
I had no idea what was happening at the time. I didn't know what I was seeing, or why I was screaming out David's name. I thought it was just a bad dream. But ten minutes after that bright light woke me, the police called to say David had been in a car accident.
The light I had seen was the light David saw as a car came directly toward him. I truly believe that. That's how strong the bond is between a mother and child.
When we got to the hospital, the police told us what had happened. David and his friend had gone for a walk. They were trying to cross a busy street in the pitch dark. David accidentally stepped off the curb directly into the path of an oncoming car. There was no way for the driver to avoid him.
We were allowed to see David for just one brief minute, and then they took him by helicopter to a nearby major medical center. It took us thirty minutes to drive there—probably the longest thirty minutes of my life.
When we got there, two doctors met us and started discussing David's injuries. They told us he might lose his leg, and I was OK with that. They told us he might have some brain damage, and I was OK with that, too. I just wanted him to live. But then they started talking about how his brain was swelling and there was a chance he wasn't going to make it.
And that's when they asked us if we would consider organ donation.
“Yes,” we said.
That was our answer, our total answer. We didn't need any time to ask questions or discuss any issues because we had already discussed it as a family a few months earlier. We had been aware of the need for organ donors because Kristy has diabetes. And although she wasn't in need of a transplant herself, we decided as a family that we would donate our organs if the need arose.
At the time of that discussion, of course, we all thought we were talking about the possibility of Steve or I becoming a donor. Never the children.
We only had David with us for two days after that. We sat with him while we waited for the swelling to go down, while we waited for him to show signs of life. But over those two days, his body just shut down. We had already signed the necessary papers, so when his brain was no longer alive, the doctors harvested every single part of him that anyone could possibly use. That's what we told them to do.
Initially, the fact that we had donated David's organs was of no comfort to us whatsoever. All we knew was that we had lost our David—our Deedle, our D. J.—one of the sweetest souls to ever hit this earth. We cried and we screamed, then we cried and screamed some more. Nothing we did, and nothing we thought, could help us make sense of such a tragedy.
David was such a special boy. Everyone loved him. He was the kind of