To the Girl With the Hot Pink Satin Gloves

Ryan and I went shopping to assemble our Operation Christmas Child boxes today -- that's where you fill a shoebox with toiletries, school supplies and toys for a child, then it's shipped off to needy kids in a third-world country.

It's the first time in my life I've purchased hot pink satin gloves.

The gloves seemed perfect for a pre-teen girl. They're elegant and striking and I could just see a little 11-year-old wearing them around until they're soiled and ripped from so much loving use. The brand label reads, "Princess."

It made me think of the way girls all over the world are never treated like princesses. Their dads ignore them; other men in their lives abuse them. Their society tells them they're second-class citizens, and they have no rights to a job or education. Worse, they learn to live the lie that they're only valuable for their bodies and love is just an illusion.

I sent my mysterious girl recipient a hot pink note with daisies printed on the front, and I told her there's someone who will love her and never leave her, and his name is Jesus. I hope she finds someone to translate those English words into her language, and I hope she takes them to heart.

Oh, and along with the pink gloves, some colored pencils, hair clips and a journal, I sent her a huge, desktop-size calculator -- the kind even a 90-year-old can use without their glasses. I want her to know that whatever those detractors say, she can learn math and get an education because she's strong and smart and wonderful.