11 PM - Christal Earle’s Blog

Here in Thailand, our team is experiencing life in a whole new perspective. As our eyes are opened to what is going on in the world that we are currently immersed in, our hearts are being broken by the obvious exploitation and pain of poverty that is stealing so many futures, hopes, and dreams. This is what Vicky saw when we were at the Burmese border, working with the VCDF street team:

“When you see a tourist, you would normally think that they were there to look at the city and its surroundings. As I watched dozens of people traveling through the border into Burma I wondered where their travels might take them. Only letting my imagination think pleasant thoughts, I wondered whether they might be going to shop in the fabulous night markets or perhaps experience an exciting tuk-tuk ride. When I heard a group of people talking, I looked over my shoulder and saw  about 15 Caucasian males , some in early thirties others in their forties taking photos in front of the Mekong River, which seemed perfectly normal to me.  There was one female in the group so I assumed they were not there for exploitation. A little while later a few hero holiday participants and I were walking along the streets preparing to leave when we saw it. One of the Caucasian males, who I had seen earlier taking photos in front of the river, was holding a girl about seventeen by her thigh.  My pleasant thoughts turned to nightmares and I knew that tourist was not there to browse the night markets or ride tuk-tuks. That night that teenager, who was my age, had been sold to man old enough to be her father.”

Vicky and the rest of the team are a part of something exciting - something that is bringing hope to hundreds of stateless orphans, young mothers, and their children. It is called safety and it comes in the form of a group of people who are committed to seeing them get off the streets and out of sexual exploitation and into a life of freedom, education and knowing they belong. We are honored to work alongside of them on this Hero Holiday.

Tons of smiling faces ran towards the van as we hopped out. Friendly smiles, giggles and laughs, and hugs were given to me by children I had never met in my entire life. I instantly fell in love with them -  before knowing their names, their stories, or anything about them, I knew I loved them and would never forget them.

No one could ever guess these beautiful kids had grown up in anything close to a harsh environment. They have so much to cope with and to deal with and they take it all with grace. Nothing in the world could wipe the smiles off their faces. A seventeen year old girl living at the home said something to me that is now etched in to my memory and will never be forgotten. As I left, she looked at me and said “I see your eyes, I see you, I see you are good heart.”

To be quite honest, I don’t know how this makes me feel; I feel honoured that such an amazingly strong young woman would have something so incredibly complimenting to say to me, but at the same time I feel unworthy. I see her, I see she is strong and very brave. She absolutely amazes me: her eyes tell such an incredible tale, and she seems to have a wise soul.

Although we don’t speak the same language, these children have taught me so much. They have taught me that hope is there - no matter how unreachable it may seem. They have taught me what strength really looks like, and - most importantly -  the people here have taught me compassion. I am so excited to keep learning from these amazing people, and to play with them, seeing the world through their eyes.

~Brittany, Hero Holiday Thailand Participant

Hey Everyone! We are here! After leaving Vancouver, flying to Shanghai, transferring to Bangkok, staying overnight, flying to Chiang Rai and driving an hour to Chiang Saen, we are finally here! And, we are excited to see what kind of adventures and incredible moments we are about to be a part of.
This week we will be working at the VCDF children’s home (www.yourbuddies.org), helping to construct a kitchen and build a recycle centre at a home that helps to take care of over 130 orphaned and rescued kids ages 1-16. It is a place of hope and we are so honored to be able to come and work alongside of them and learn about their lives.
Stay tuned for all the news on how our projects are going and all of our adventures as we work and experience this incredible area of Thailand called the “Golden Triangle”, where Thailand, Laos and Burma all converge together at one point along the Mekong River.
Sawa-dee-ka!

One moment is all that it takes. One moment where you breathe in, breathe out, and realize that life is never going to be the same. From that point forward, things are irrevocably beyond your control and you are waiting for the world to stop spinning - only it never does. The sun rises and it sets without your permission. The rain comes and goes and you have no say in it. The world keeps moving forward, but you are frozen in time, fully aware that you are hurting, but not knowing what to do to make it stop.

Miguelina was someone whom I have grown to love over my brief time with her. We first met beside a dusty open-backed truck on a piece of property tucked back at the base of a mountain range. From where we stood I could see the span of the Atlantic Ocean over the treetops of the coconut palms. We were standing in a garbage dump, and though all around us was beautiful, the beauty was overshadowed by the stench of the garbage, the buzz of the flies, the roar of the trucks unloading, and the constant, choking dust from the filth.

Miguelina is a very young mother. She has a two year old and is very pregnant with twins. I am trying to get to know her and find out how long she has been here. I don’t remember her from last year, and I am fearing the reason why I am finding her here now. She confirms it with tears in her eyes: her husband was crushed in the earthquake, and she found out after his death that she was pregnant. Scared, alone, broken, pregnant with twins and starving, she brought her child with her, walking across the border and continuing on foot for a few days until she arrived here. She has nothing. Nothing except her child, the two on the way, and the will to survive.

As I stand there and talk with her, I think about how different our worlds have been since that day in January. I think of where I have gone, what I have done, the people I have had the chance to spend time with, the work that I have been blessed to be a part of, and most of all, I think of the security that I have had knowing that I am loved, provided for and safe. But not Miguelina - her world has been frozen in time.

I watched as other Hero Holiday people with me would chat with her, compassionately helping her collect as many bottles as possible. She needed all the help she could get, and was grateful for the attention and concern. But I wanted to know how we could help her in particular. Surely someone like her would have a running list of everything they would ask for if given the opportunity. I know many who, if they were in her place, would be able to rattle off a long, growing list of what they would need or want if given the opportunity. Our time has run out for the day and we need to leave. As we are loading everyone on the truck, I see Miguelina talking with one of the girls with us. They are speaking French and she looks up shyly as I approach them. “Migelina, is there something we can do to help you? Is there something you need?” Thoughtfully touching her belly, as if to caress her twins, she smiles shyly. “Perhaps new blankets would be nice for the babies.”

New blankets are easy: they can be bought and delivered. They are tangible and can offer proof that something has been done to help her - that someone cares. Stopping the pain of loss and the ache of loneliness is not so easy. We each hug Miguelina as we get ready to leave, and I wait until the end. I hug her one more time and hold her close. For that brief moment as she clings to me, almost desperately, I feel the sharp ache of her loss and her fear of what tomorrow holds. As we let go, I touch her face and kiss her cheek. “We will not forget you,” I promise. And it’s true. This week, one of our Hero Holiday friends is delivering some supplies to her in her village and checking to make sure she is okay. Because sometimes we just need to know that someone has reached out, touched our lives, and they are not going to forget.

Absolute’s Hero Holiday projects are continually growing and always exciting! We would love to have you join us and be a part of touching lives like Miguelina’s. Check out www.absolute.org.

We meet a lot of people - too many to be able to recount or remember. Some of them are with us for a good time, some are with us for a long time and some of them leave an imprint on us for a lifetime. Cassie is like that for me.

There is something very deflating when you feel like you are just another face, another story or another number to contend with. One of our desires in Absolute is for each person that we work with and for knows that they are invaluable; no one can take their place. We believed this in theory, but Cassie has helped me to better understand what that can look like in reality. Cassie has traveled with us to Dominican Republic and Thailand, as well as interning with us in the summer of 2008. Always, she has been an incredible encouragement to those around her. Last week, a hand written letter showed up in the mail addressed to me; it was from Cassie. Within that envelope was incredible insight into what motivated her to be a part of Hero Holiday. But, even more than that, it gave me insight into who she truly is.

Cassie grew up on the West Coast of Canada. Like many Canadian teenagers, she struggled with who she was and where she fit in in the world around her. Unlike many of her counterparts, she decided to see what she could do to change where she found herself. The first time we met her was in 2005 at the Canadian Student Leadership Conference (CSLC). We were the ones on the stage and she was one of the hundreds of faces in the crowd.

The first time I saw you speak was in 2005 at CSLC. I was in a really rough place at the time, fighting with an eating disorder and extremely low self esteem. Your presentation was one of the highlights of that week and really did make me feel like I had a purpose. When I got back to school I started slipping again, but then the real turning point came when I went on my first Hero Holiday in the summer of 2006 to Dominican Republic. Four years later, that is still one of the best weeks of my life. I felt strong, capable, and like I really could make a difference.

I wanted to take the time to thank everyone at Absolute for the amazing amount of effort and passion you put in every day. In the three years I went on Hero Holidays, I never once felt unsafe and always felt like I had lots of people I could turn to for support of any kind.

To everyone at Absolute, thank you for everything. You are some of the best, most caring people I have ever met. I hope you know this and that you hear it enough.

Why does her letter mean so much to me? Because Cassie’s story has been one I have encountered over and over again across Canada and around the world. It is the story of hope, freedom, and ultimately, the realization that there is so much more to live for when we are willing to believe in what we can become. Today, Cassie is finishing up university and getting ready to go out into the world to continue to change it from another angle, and we are proud to know her for who she truly is: a young woman of incredible purpose.

Life is a gift and each of us, like Cassie, has the opportunity to decide what to do with that gift. Thanks, Cassie, for being so honest with us and for being willing to allow the truth of who you are outshine everything else.

To find out more about Absolute and our programs, check out www.absolute.org.

Miracles are cool. I don’t mean the Jesus-in-a-Taco style of miracle or the miracle that comes when you order the Holy Water from the televangelist with a bad hairpiece that’s on TV at 3:00 AM. I mean the kind of miracle that makes you wonder and marvel at the incredible gift of being alive; one that truly makes you want to keep going and believing that there is more.

Mari-Terése might fall under the miracle category - at least according to Megan, one of our Hero Holiday interns in Dominican Republic.

She had no money, barely an education, but enough passion and determination to change the world. She was fifteen when I first met her. We were walking through a Dominican village, the road was rugged and dusty, but she was barefoot. I noticed her right away for two reasons: she looked almost my age with a glowing smile - and she was pregnant.

We started talking. Her words resonate in my head to this day, and I can’t bring my thoughts away from her will and raw desire to learn and thrive into the world where she was born. She explained, in the simplest way she could, that she wanted to help. This astonished me: the ‘helped’ was wanting to help in return. Heavily pregnant, she was going to night school every day in hopes of one day becoming a teacher and sharing her wisdom with her community. I was, and continue to be, unbelievably inspired by her maturity and consciousness of everything around her. Although I only knew her for a day, I could already see right into her selfless heart through the words that she spoke. I felt as though we had known each other for a life time.

We continued to talk, and the conversation led us to where she called home. We sat down, and if you could just hear us, you would think that we were two teenagers chatting over a cup of coffee! But when the lights of reality sunk in, you could see the walls of her house eaten away by termites, bug carcasses scattered across the dirt floor, and the table that was laden with a single basket of food that was meant to feed a family of over ten for possibly a week.

Inevitably, it was eventually time to leave. As she stood up from the table, I was suddenly reminded of yet another burden that she carried that was unlike mine: she was about to become a mother.

Now, over a year later, I saw her. The brightness in her eyes drew me instantly and once again, I couldn’t help but notice her maturity and sense of purpose. I watched in awe as she balanced a healthy looking baby in her arms. Although she may not reach her potential in terms of an education, a miracle had occurred: her baby made it! Her safety, and that of the baby was extremely uncertain due to her limited access to health care, and the disease rate that could easily have terminated her pregnancy. But a sigh bigger than words can describe what was let out when I knew that she was okay. Currently sixteen, she continues to go to school, pursue her dreams, and now, care for another life.

The idea of miracles happening in everyday life can come about in unexpected situations, but in a way, it can bring us back down to where we really are. I am now content in the fact that she is safe. I know now that my year of endless worrying and constant fear is now over - at least for the time being.

Life is fragile and we live in the unexpected every moment of every day. Somehow, once you have been exposed to the extreme inequities of the world, you understand that on a whole different level. Each day is a gift and nothing is taken for granted. Birth is often the only true separation between those who have plenty and those who go without. Right now, as you read this, Megan is witnessing that reality firsthand on Hero Holiday, as together with the team of over one hundred participants, we work to bring hope and help build a future for the community that Mari -Terése is a part of. To find out more about how you can be a part of Absolute’s Hero Holiday programs, check out www.absolute.org.

I am totally addicted to seeing people happy. I know, I know - happiness is an emotion, joy is a state of being, blah blah blah. But doesn’t it feel good to be happy? To feel that rush of good endorphins bubble up in your stomach, threatening to make you giggle or burst out laughing - even at the most awkward of times. Happiness is a commodity that only seems to grow when you give it away: it’s meant to be shared. One of the greatest compliments you could ever receive is when someone tells you, “You make me smile”.

“Happy” means to be delighted, pleased, or glad about a particular thing. In it’s European origins, the concept of the word “happy” actually meant lucky. I like that. I like to think that every time I feel happiness, I am reminded of how lucky or fortunate I am to be able to experience it, no matter how long or short the feeling lasts.

If we understand the concept of happiness, then we can better understand what motivates us as humans. Some people are happy when they buy nice things, obtain financial security, have good health, travel, or get new opportunities in life. All of those things make all of us happy to a certain degree and that is part of the gift of living life. But I have found something else that has made me infinitely happier than what I can reach out and touch and feel. It’s more tangible than something I can see and more powerful than something I can use my tactile senses on. It is the reality of watching hope and love in action. And, to be honest, I don’t know how I ever lived without it before I started to experience it firsthand.

I remember the first Hero Holiday we ever did. It is still so vivid in my mind because of all that it did - both in us and in the participants. It was the summer of 2005, we were in Dominican Republic and every day of that trip brought new heartbreaks, new challenges, and new memories. However, one moment stands out like no other. We were far back among the cane fields, in a small village hidden from the rest of the world. It was called Villa Ascención and we had been building houses, working with both impoverished Dominicans and stateless Haitians. One of our projects that came up last minute was the chance to dig a trench to bring fresh water to that village for the first time. The only water that the residents had access to was in a river far below, where they did everything from washing their motorbikes and kids, letting their livestock drink, and even obtaining their own drinking water. This trench would mean that for the first time ever, these people would have access to clean, fresh water and that meant hope for the future.

The trench stretched a long ways back up over the mountain, and looking at the new pipe that now laid in the trench we had just built, we embraced a feeling of accomplishment and pride - we actually did what we set out to do!

But for me, the moment that I will always remember was when we stood among the people in the village, staring at the end of this hose, waiting in anticipation for the gift that it could hold. I was the one standing there holding onto the pipe when it gushed out. As we grabbed it and began to spray the water into the air, all the kids began to laugh, clap, dance and sing with the excitement of this moment. Little arms threw themselves around our legs and waists, thankful faces kissed our cheeks and hugged our shoulders. And in that moment, I didn’t just feel happy or lucky or even warm and fuzzy. I felt completely alive. Never had I been so aware of how blessed I was to be there at that moment, and never had I had such an appreciation for the chance to be a part of this.

Each person that stood there with us that day will remember what it felt like to know true happiness. We had been part of something beautiful and it was the thread that ties us all together in humanity: the ability to reach out and offer hope. To all of you that were a part of that special day, thank you. You make me smile.

Absolute is back in Dominican Republic right now and we invite you to follow our adventures and the people that are a part of it all. We have numerous trips to Dominican Republic throughout the year and we would love to have you join us! www.absolute.org

For many people, a job is a means to an end. They do what they do so they can afford to do what they want to do. There is nothing wrong with that. We all need to eat and live, and we need to have a way to finance that life. Zig Ziglar, one of the world’s top motivators, was once quoted as saying, “Money isn’t the most important thing in life, but it’s reasonably close to oxygen on the ‘gotta have it’ scale.” I couldn’t agree more. Except that I would say that hope is kind of like that too - you gotta have it. But fulfilling a job can be about so much more than money. It can also be about changing the world, one life at a time.

If you know me, then you probably already know about Kru Nam. I love this woman. Her passion and her guts really set her apart among the people I work with all over the world. It isn’t that she is forceful - it’s that she is a force to be reckoned with.

I needed to know what it was like to be where she is at. I needed to find out what kept her going, so I figured the best way was to just come out and ask her to share it herself:

“Why do I do what I do? I help these street kids because no one else is helping them and it is hard to find people to help them. There are too many people who take advantage of their innocence and steal their dreams, using them to traffic drugs, selling their bodies, enslaving them and doing almost anything you could imagine to them. We have to take advantage of this opportunity to rescue them while they are young, because when they grow up it will be too late. They will become the ones who are causing the problems in society.
Of course, there are victories in what we do; moments where you remind yourself that you can keep going. When we have government officials begin to accept these kids as human beings and recognize that they need a future like every other child then we know we have had a victory. Or even when the kids see themselves as being worth the fight, it’s a victory. It’s like planting a seed that will grow into a tree, it’s a long process; but it feels good when people can see the tree.
Recently, we were able to help a mother and child. The mother has mental disabilities, and her child was begging for money on the streets. She wouldn’t let me help them for over two years, and just recently we were able to bring the girl into one of our children’s homes. It makes me happy to know that I can keep the mother and daughter together and yet help them both at the same time.
At the same time, there are too many heartbreaks to count. Moments like where I helped a 16 year old girl escape prostitution. We gave her vocational training skills and helped her get a new job and attend school. However, once she finished her vocational training, she returned to prostitution. She said she felt more beautiful than before and more confident. It broke our hearts to see her return to the very thing that was destroying her life.
If we only ever focused on the setbacks, we wouldn’t be able to carry on. But every human walking on the earth was born in the same way. Everyone has a life that was given to them by God: the rich, the poor, the black, the white - this is what makes up the world. If we want the world to be in peace and have meaning, we have to see everyone as equals. We each have to do our parts, and this is mine.”

Over the past four years, I have watched and learned from her about what it is to hang on and see the bigger picture, no matter how discouraged you may get. Along with the incredible men and women who stand alongside of her, Kru Nam has helped to see hundreds of stateless kids rescued out of slavery, prostitution, and exploitation. Through constant challenges, setbacks, and perseverance, they are helping to shape the future for kids around the world - one life at a time. They are not rich - in fact there are seasons when they themselves struggle to survive - but they are full of hope and that hope is what keeps them going.

This summer, we are returning to Thailand with Hero Holiday. We are working with Kru Nam, JK, and many other unsung heroes, helping to build a better future, one life at a time. You can join us! Check out www.absolute.org.

“It’s not what you’ve got, it’s what you use that makes a difference.” ~ Zig Ziglar

Ernest Hemingway once described courage as “grace under pressure”. I like that. Especially because I think it describes Iveta’s life.

The first time Cole saw her, he was making his way through one of the nameless tent cities within Port Au Prince. When you are driving by them on the street they are only a blur of mud, smoke, tiny kids in threadbare clothing, and endless empty eyes. Every hour of every day is needed for survival, and if you stop to think about it too long, it can threaten to completely overwhelm you with hopelessness and grief. But compassion says to those who need it, ‘ I want to understand you. I want to see life from where you stand.’

That’s why he got out of the car that day and because of that, his life collided with Iveta’s…

She only looked me in the eye and pierced me with the intensity of her struggle. She didn’t ask for a single thing. Not once. I will never forget that.
No tent, no dry tarp, only the relentless struggle to survive one more day.
A tattered sheet covered her bed of sticks, rocks and gravel; a meager effort to stay above the puddles that would inevitably collect. She couldn’t wait in the food lines because of the constant, desperate struggles that would break out. She missed out on the tents and tarps because she couldn’t risk the jostling line ups with her baby. He was not well.
At close to a year old, his emaciated skin hung from his thin, fragile frame. She had walked almost two miles for her baby to receive medical attention, yet there was nothing that anyone could do. Clearly, this child was dying and there was nothing more that could be done.
As she stood there, gravely looking me in the eye, I realized that thousands around her had dry tents - and each other. All she could do was hope and believe that there could be something tomorrow.
Each time we returned we brought supplies to her: food, toiletries, candles, dry tarps. And still, she asked for nothing from me. When I asked if I could take her picture, she graciously conceded.
I can’t ever forget her face. She was more than a young mother without a home or any support - she was a woman with an unshakable resolve.

Iveta was famous and didn’t even know it. Through a random series of events and the gift of social networking through Twitter, Cole’s photo of Evita ended up on the Ellen Degeneres Show, featured by Eva Langoria in an interview. Eva was talking about the plight of Haiti and found his photo. Despite all of the sincerity and compassion that was felt around the continent, it never had the chance to reach Iveta. This past week, Cole returned to Port Au Prince to find Iveta and see what could be done to help her further. It was too late. Poverty’s death grip had struck quietly again - unknown to the rest of the world. Her quiet struggle was over and there was nothing he could do to change it. Iveta died from lack of nutrition and health care.

This is the double edged sword of compassion. Compassion cannot exist without love, and love is the one thing that runs deeper than words. Philosophers, poets, and preachers from all over the world have tried to help us define love. It is deep, it is complex, and it can seem to be a dangerous place to live, when you consider it from the perspective of self preservation. Iveta had nothing in this world except the love that she had for that baby and in the end, from a limited perspective it might seem that not even that love was enough. But I cannot accept that: love and compassion are powerful. You don’t stop trying or believing because of loss or heartbreak. Instead, you keep on believing that it can get better. That you can be a part of making it better. That was what defined Iveta’s courage: she kept putting one foot in front of the other. I have never met her, but I cannot ever forget her. Her story is now part of my own.

The world will miss your quiet voice, Iveta. Your story and your courage mattered to us. Because of your dignity and resolve, I type these words - in honour of your courage.

In the year ahead, Absolute will be returning to Haiti and Dominican Republic, experiencing the power and strength of compassion as we work with Haitian people. When you reach out to the unknown, it can be scary, but it is never without effect. Join us and find out for yourself! www.absolute.org

“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it is the quiet voice at the end of the day, saying ‘I will try again tomorrow.’” ~ Mary Ann Radmacher

If you are like me, math is not on your grid: numbers float around, but you avoid them like the plague if at all possible. To those of us on this side of the debate, numbers are cold, harsh, and uninspiring. But many people reading this may be the total opposite: numbers give you a warm fuzzy and their linear definition makes you feel safe and secure. Numbers can paint a picture, but they can never completely tell a story. In the end, above all, numbers don’t lie.

Frantzo found Marcelin one day last summer, as he was showing some friends of Absolute around his village. Marcelin is a very positive, upbeat guy, and he is not that different from many other Haitian dads in his village: he hopes that his kids can get an education, he hopes that his wife is well provided for, and he hopes to live long enough to see his kids grow up. He is a kind, gentle man and he and his wife are always welcoming people into their home. But there is one thing that is different about Marcelin from most other dads in his village because Marcelin lost the use of his legs through a tragic accident. In our world, an accident such as his would have resulted in a long but affordable hospital stay, followed by extensive physical therapy, and resulting in eventually getting his life back. But in his world, medical care was beyond his grasp, physical therapy is something he has never even heard of, and the only place he has known since that fateful day was the dirt floor of his house that is sandwiched to the side of the mountain that looks out over Cap-Haitian, Haiti. Sadly, Marcelin, his wife, and their children are global health statistics, and in fairness to the rest of us, sometimes it can be hard to remember that lives such as theirs are not statistics.

Marcelin is unable to do anything for himself or his family - yet. When our friends found him on the floor of his house, confined to a dirty, disintegrating mattress, they were moved to action. A quick trip to the market changed the immediate situation, but Marcelin and his wife needed more. They needed help to build a future for their family and it was here that life began to take on hope. A small financial gift from a Canadian friend helped Marcelin’s wife to start a small business to provide for their family. A sponsored trip down the mountain to the closest hospital helped give Marcelin access to medical care, therapy and medications. Over the past few months, he is starting to feel the return of feeling in his legs and doctors are hopeful that he may one day be mobile. Now, with the help of a Hero Holiday group from Canada that is arriving next week, Marcelin’s kids are going to have a school to go to in the coming months. Hope showed up at his door, and hope is what is going to change his family’s future.

If you look at the numbers, in Marcelin’s world, it is pretty easy to think you understand: 1 in 2 people in Haiti live on less than a dollar a day, 40% of Haiti doesn’t have access to basic health care, and 80% of Haitians are unemployed. But if you look at Marcelin’s world with the possibilities of hope, the story is very different. The numbers stay the same, but hope is the wild card in the equation. Hope allows for all things to be possible, and for people like Marcelin to not give up.

I used to think that hope was a feeling, a good wish or even a desperate emotional appeal. Sometimes it can be unrealistic and sometimes it can be almost nonexistent. But hope is more than these things - hope is about recognizing today’s reality in light of tomorrow’s possibilities. And as long as you have hope you have enough to hang on to for today.

Next week, Absolute is going to be in Cap-Haitian, Haiti, building a school near to where Marcelin lives. Schools change lives and communities because they provide an opportunity for a future that did not exist before. A school may be the result of the Hero Holiday participants’ work in Haiti, but the full effect of what they are going to do is going to echo in years to come. Their lives are changing things in Haiti, but when they return home, Haiti is going to change them.

Absolute exists because of hope. You can join us! To find out more about how to get involved financially, how to be a part of a Hero Holiday, or how to have us in your community, check out www.absolute.org.