Whistleblower.

I bought a whistle yesterday to become a Whistleblower for Peace.

If you haven't heard of this, Falling Whistles is a non-profit organization fighting to end war in Congo. It all started with a journal entry and the newfound knowledge that children are abducted and forced to fight. And not only that: the ones too young and small to carry and operate a gun are given only a whistle and sent to the front lines of battle. Their sole responsibility is to use that whistle to make enough noise to scare away the enemy. If they don't succeed, they are the ones hit with the first round of bullets. They are the sacrifice for the rest of the army.

Basically, blow this whistle until you die.

So, from this the idea was born that "Their weapon could be our voice." Whistles are sold online or at retail stores including Lolabella and JMR. 100% of the proceeds go to help rehabilitate and educate the children that have escaped from the war. The question is, can this little whistle be the symbol that helps end war in Congo? Buy a whistle and spread the word.

Click on the picture to see the Falling Whistles website and find out more.

The Circus.

Once when I was a teenager, my father and I were standing in line to buy tickets for the circus. Finally, there was only one family between us and the ticket counter. This family made a big impression on me. There were eight children, all probably under the age of 12. You could tell they didn't have a lot of money. Their clothes were not expensive, but they were clean. The children were well-behaved, all of them standing in line, two-by- two behind their parents, holding hands. 

They were excitedly jabbering about the clowns, elephants and other acts they would see that night. One could sense they had never been to the circus before. It promised to be a highlight of their young lives.

The father and mother were at the head of the pack standing proud as could be. The mother was holding her husband's hand, looking up at him as if to say, "You're my knight in shining armor." He was smiling and basking in pride, looking at her as if to reply, "You got that right."

The ticket lady asked the father how many tickets he wanted. He proudly responded, "Please let me buy eight children's tickets and two adult tickets so I can take my family to the circus."

The ticket lady quoted the price.

The man's wife let go of his hand, her head dropped, the man's lip began to quiver. The father leaned a little closer and asked, "How much did you say?"

The ticket lady again quoted the price.

The man didn't have enough money.

How was he supposed to turn and tell his eight kids that he didn't have enough money to take them to the circus?

Seeing what was going on, my dad put his hand into his pocket, pulled out a $20 bill and dropped it on the ground. (We were not wealthy in any sense of the word!) My father reached down, picked up the bill, tapped the man on the shoulder and said, "Excuse me, sir, this fell out of your pocket."

The man knew what was going on. He wasn't begging for a handout but certainly appreciated the help in a desperate, heartbreaking, embarrassing situation. He looked straight into my dad's eyes, took my dad's hand in both of his, squeezed tightly onto the $20 bill, and with his lip quivering and a tear streaming down his cheek, he replied, "Thank you, thank you, sir. This really means a lot to me and my family."

My father and I went back to our car and drove home. We didn't go to the circus that night, but we didn't go without.

Dan Clark

A 2nd Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul