Gemma Adopts A Club

Gemma is a Spark at our church's Awana club. 

Gemma loves Awana.  So, when our club announces that we are raising money to "adopt" a club in Zimbabwe--I know, it is surprising that Mugabe's regime permits Awana!-- Gemma sets off on a mission. 

In general, she likes to earn money.  She thinks often about what kind of business she can start (right now), and how the businesses and zoos and movie theaters around her make their money.  But to make money so that kids in Zimbabwe can do Awana, too?  She's just thrilled.

Her mother: less so. 

I come from a family of salespeople, so I know the type.  But I am not the type.  Asking people for money makes me nervous.

Couldn't Gemma just be content to earn money by doing jobs around the house?

No.  I think she is the type.

I wrestled with this, folks.  Really prayed a lot about it.  About why the prospect of her going door to door made me sick to my stomach.  But God pointed out that this is something He has woven into her person, and I have to let her live that out.


Sigh. . .But then. . .she made something more than bookmarks, something besides soaps (which were kind of pretty). . .she made earrings.

Beautiful, well-crafted earrings.  Hmm.  If priced right. . .


We made a little display board from Bryan's old black trousers, a cardboard box and ribbon wrapped around from which the fish hook earrings could dangle. 

She loaded that, plus the soaps and book marks into her baby doll stroller, donned her red Sparkie vest, gathered money to make change and even took along a pen and paper in case someone wanted to make a custom order for soap.  (No such orders came in.)

Ding Dong
"Hi, my name is Gemma and I'm selling these items I made to raise money for kids in Zimbabwe so they can have an Awana club, too.  The soaps and bookmarks are a quarter each, and the earrings are one dollar."

One hour and twenty minutes later:  $19.50 raised.

House after house--if someone was home--she made a sale.  After half dozen of these, she said, "This is going rather well, I'd say,"

The people who answered their doors were so nice.  And I was glad to introduce myself, too.  These were neighbors, after all, but we've been pretty content just to keep to our own cul-de-sac and not meet the others.


After a while, she asked, "How many streets do you think we can hit?"

Girl, it's cold outside. And I'm all for your becoming who God made you to be, but I also have to get home and make dinner tonight.


Then, a young man opened his door.  Maybe 19 or 20 years old.  He was well-pierced.  That is, oft-pierced.  That is, pierced all over.  If only Gemma had made some stud earrings, too.

She gave her intro.

He paused.  Smiled, and said, "No thank you."

What?  What kind of jerk can't find a quarter to buy some soap from this kid?  Man. . .



Bryan has promised to take her to a flea market this summer to sell earrings.  I doubted him at first, as I've never been to a flea market and as I think of them as. . .unsuitable for children.  Or something.

Bryan says he set up shop at markets all the time in his youth.  His Mom would drop him off in the morning and get him at night.  Huh.  I did not know this about my husband:  That he is that type.

Gemma has since used her own money to buy more supplies, so that when she turns a profit this summer, it will be an actual profit, and not money-made-by-selling-stuff-Mom-paid-for. 

And those kids in Zimbabwe?  For each $5, one gets to go to club for the year.  Gemma has donated $57 to them.  Thank God for all types.