While vacationing in Mexico in 1987, I was approached on the beach by a tiny child dragging a bag of trinkets. At first, I searched for her parents, assuming she was lost. But I soon realized she was alone, left to sell her goods to passing tourists. Her name was Sara, and she was only four years old. Her hair was matted, her clothes were tattered, and her small feet were burned from the scorching sand. I slipped some money into her bag, but as I watched her disappear into the distance, I felt utterly helpless. That day, I made a silent promise to one day help the “Saras” of the world.
Years later, my husband and I traveled to Bolivia to adopt our first child. While I was overjoyed to welcome a beautiful daughter into our family, I was also struck by the harsh realities so many children faced. Everywhere I turned, I saw children who reminded me of Sara. This time, I refused to feel powerless.
Through a chance encounter with a group of Canadian college students, I learned about a hidden orphanage where 35 severely neglected children were living in deplorable conditions. Determined to help, I reached out to friends and family in the U.S. for donations and enlisted the support of the Canadians and even our taxi driver. Together, we made critical repairs to the buildings, installed toilets, arranged for doctors to treat the children, set up a kitchen, and provided nutritious food.
Beyond the basics, we also brought joy and hope. We convinced the Bolivian Symphony Orchestra and other local performers to play for the children and took action to hold the orphanage director accountable for his abuses. In that moment, the seed for Casa de Sara was planted in my heart.
When I returned home to the United States, I formally established the organization, naming it in honor of the little girl from the beach—so that I could dedicate my life to helping impoverished children.
