Wilted Flower

After changing his diaper, I laid his weak, bony body on a blanket on the floor. We will have to rearrange kids again to make a bed available for him in the ICU. He blinks ever so slowly, exhausted from his day of travel to Cazale and being shuffled around through the admission process. His parents are dead, his aunt and uncle care for him. But they have 5 other mouths to feed first. This little guy...he's withering away, like a wilted flower. Without the right foods, he will die. The aunt says they don't have enough money to travel each week to bring him here for Medika Mamba and the required check-ups. The decision was made to admit him. So he won't die. 

So.  He.  Won't.  Die.

Life and death here....the line between the two is something as simple as nutritious food. Food, for goodness sakes.

I kiss him on the cheek and tell him to sleep. He's safe here. And will eat here. Lord see these children in this broken world. Come quickly.

Good Stuff

We head back to KY for a break in 3 weeks. I find myself fantasizing about Alice Springs chicken and chocolate milk. (I can almost hear the sound of the spoon clanging gently against the glass of cold deliciousness as I stir it.) I think about the leisurely walk down Broadway, soaking in the familiarity of my beloved downtown. Hugs from family and friends are soon to be had. Kicking back on my Mom and Dad's couch, listening to the hum of the air conditioner. Driving on smooth roads with the sunroof open and radio cranked up.

Good stuff.

But I treasure every minute of changing nasty diapers on precious babies, plugging numbers into Excel spreadsheets to document weigh gain, holding a kid tight while sweat trickles down my back, and looking people in the eye -as my own body feels yucky- and being able to honestly tell them "our problems are big, but God is bigger."

Chocolate milk is good, but this stuff is incredible.

 

 

I am Nothing, He is Everything

I haven't blogged in six months.  The reason?  Take your choice:
  -My brain is tired when I have down time, and I just don't want to write.
  -I have lots of subjects that I could blog about, but I'm still working through my thoughts and feelings on these subjects.  Some are very deep and tricky subjects, and I'm just not ready to open up to the world about them yet. 
  -I'm too lazy to pack my laptop home with me, and when I'm in the office, I can't get my writing groove on.
  -Have I mentioned my brain is tired?

I was just thinking about my blog this week, how I've let it go.  I have shared lots of insight, fun stuff, hard stuff, and everything in between via Facebook.  FB status updates allow me to keep things brief, to the point.  I like that discipline of getting my point across (or sharing a story) with limited words.  I can be really wordy, as if you haven't already figured that out about me. 

I realize, though, that not everyone that might want to read my words is my Facebook friend.  So it occurred to me this week that I ought to start posting my juicier FB status updates on my blog.  Let's just see how it goes.

Last night I was up with tummy troubles.  Again.  I'm fairly certain there are some mean cooties living in my gut, and they aren't my friends.  I noticed it was a beautiful night, so I sat out on my staircase under our mango tree in the backyard.  A gentle breeze was blowing, the moon was shining bright through the coconut tree leaves.  I sat there for a few hours.  I hung out with God.  We talked.  It was good.

(In your face, intestinal cooties.  I enjoyed my middle-of-the-night time despite you!) 

So at around 3:00am, this was my FB post I wrote as I wrapped it up and headed back inside, finally ready to sleep again.  I hope it speaks to you...and you don't have to be up all night with a tummy bug to hear it.  :)

I have no degree, no certifications, no credentials, no titles. I'm a nobody; a nothing. 

But I have small gifts and talents given to me by my Father. These gifts of mine may not seem like much, but I know deep in my heart that if these gifts are from God, then they're pretty darn special. 

So I say to you, my brothers and sisters reading this, don't ever trivialize what God has called you to do. You may feel as insignificant as a speck of dust, but if you are living your life for The Lord - no matter where you are at or what you are created to do - know that He sees your value. Even if no one else (including yourself) does. 

We all have God-given gifts and talents. Dig in and use them. And savor the joy that results from it.

 

 Today. Live it fully. For Him. 

 

 

I’m Missing Thanksgiving at Home, and I’m Okay With That

It’s the week of Thanksgiving.  And it doesn’t feel any different than last week.  Or the week before.  It’s mid-November and I’m still sweating every day as if it was summertime.  Because we live on a tropical Caribbean island.  In my neighborhood, there has been no mention of turkey or cranberry sauce.  Well, there are a few turkeys at the house down the road, but no one has mentioned them in conversations that I’ve been involved with.  No one is decorating their front door with fall foliage, because everything is still green.  I haven’t seen any caricatures of Indians and pilgrims.  Probably because the settlement of Haiti involved the genocide of the indigenous people and there wasn’t a big happy celebratory meal that would make a love mural to reenact by children in costume.  Then the slaves were shipped in.  Oppression is a real downer.

So, um, it just doesn’t quite feel like Thanksgiving to us.  But that’s okay. 

I have spent some time reflecting this weekend, trying to sort out how I feel about this Thanksgiving thing while living here in Haiti.  Last week I was having some mixed feelings, but I’m pleased to report that I’ve gotten a grip on it.

On my food shelf is a little stash of Thanksgiving-ish food that I have been saving for this upcoming Thursday.  A box of Stovetop stuffing (because I do not have the time or energy to make stuffing from scratch), a can of sweet potatoes (the fresh sweet potatoes here don’t taste like American sweet potatoes), and two cans of cranberry sauce (found a buy-one-get-one-free sale at the store last month).  No turkey, though we do have some canned turkey meat that is pretty good. 

I thought it was important.  Now, I realize, it’s just food.  Let me explain.

Thanksgiving – what is its purpose?  To take time to be thankful.  To recognize how we’ve been blessed and to appreciate those blessings.  To spend time with family.  To cook lots of really yummy food and eat until we might just pop.

Wait.  What?  The thankful part – yes.  The family part – yes.  The eating part – well…. That’s just what it ends up being.  The heritage part of the holiday is basically just for nostalgia and a theme for décor, or so it seems.  When it comes right down to it, our focus is just on the food.  The menu planning.  The days beforehand of cooking.  The table setting.  The cleanup. 

What about the thankfulness part?  Well, that’s covered in the prayer we have before we devour the food.  It is a lot of fun to catch up with all those cousins while we eat, though!  And there are always opportunities to chat while waiting in line at the desert table.  So, that covers it, right?  As pathetic as it sounds, that’s what Thanksgiving usually ends up being for me, no matter how much I aspire to make it something special and pure. 

So this week I will spend Thanksgiving in Haiti.  No one will be celebrating Thanksgiving here.  Thursday is Clinic day.  There will be work to do.  Tasks to complete.  Life as usual. 

But wait!  We ought to take time to be thankful.  Prepare a traditional holiday meal.  Gather around the table and make it something special.   

Here’s the kicker – every single day living here in Haiti I AM thankful.  I can’t help but to be.  We have food, more than we need.  We have shelter, and it’s spacious and comfortable.  We have good health, and medicine when we are sick.  We have clean drinking water, and indoor plumbing (thank you, Jesus!).  We have electricity.  Electricity!  That enables us to have a refrigerator and fans, unlike the majority of our neighbors.  We have everything we need and more.  LOTS more. 

Living here, EVERY SINGLE DAY is filled with thankfulness.  If you open your eyes and see, really see the people around you, it is absolutely impossible to not be thankful for all the blessings in your life.  The depravity and suffering is abundant.  People here are just surviving.  Surviving.  Some families don’t have as many disadvantages as others, but life here is hard.  Gritty, simple, and hard. 

So I don’t really need a special day set aside to be thankful this year.  I’ve been relentlessly hit in the gut with realization of my blessings for five straight months.

I am thankful.       

Family – now that’s a kicker.  We are here, they are not.  It sucks.  But I’m not bummed too much because I am soooo excited to be home in just three weeks.  Just three weeks!  Holy cannoli!  That’s nothing! 

Food – yes, I’ll fix the food.  We have to eat a meal anyway Thursday evening, so why not fix dressing with turkey, some sweet potatoes and cranberry sauce?  It will be tasty and make us feel like we are somewhat connected to the holiday.  But food here, well, it’s a sensitive subject for me.  I spend time with kids every day that are recovering from starvation.  Not, “Mom, I’m starving,” but real, hardcore, heartbreaking STARVATION. 

I don’t know that right now I could even look at a Thanksgiving meal spread without crying.  The abundance.  The excess.  The memory of the babies I have held that are now dead, simply because of lack of food. 

Wow, I just went there.  Sorry about that.  It just spilled out.  Now I’ll lighten the mood a bit.            

When I miss something from home, or really wish I had a ______ , God has given me a fantastic coping mechanism.  He urged me to savor all the stuff I really love before we left home.  He showed me the scenery, the feel of the air, the smell of the grass, the sound of the laughter of people I love. 

He gave me so many details and knit them in my heart and mind. 

The coldness of my favorite milkshake.  The fizz of Dr. Pepper.  The serenity of my favorite coffee shop.  The comfort of the seat in my Honda Pilot, driving down smooth roads so familiar that I could navigate them with my eyes closed.  My niece’s voice saying, “I love you, Allison!”  My Mom’s warm hug that still makes me feel safe and loved.

So missing out on a fantastic Thanksgiving meal isn’t going to be too hard.  I can close my eyes and remember the taste of my mother-in-laws incredible coconut cake, the heavenly smell of my mom’s green bean casserole.  I can imagine the smiles and many hugs that would take place on this upcoming Thursday. 

Just three weeks.  I don’t care about the cake or the casserole, just save me some hugs.    

For that I am very, VERY thankful. 

Therapy: In Poem and Photos

Please allow me this opportunity to work through some emotions.  To process some sorrow. To remember a few of the children that have died since we arrived. To share with you some sweet babies that touched my heart. To prepare myself for the deaths the are to come. And come, they will. Until the day Jesus returns. Come, Lord Jesus. The Christian's "Good-Night"  ("Sleep on, beloved") By Sarah Doudney (1841-1926) SLEEP on, beloved, sleep on and take thy rest,
Lay down thy head upon thy Saviour’s breast;
We love thee well, but Jesus loves thee best;—
Good-night! Marie Denise
Calm is thy slumber as an infant’s sleep;	5
But thou shalt wake no more to toil and weep;
Thine is a perfect rest, secure and deep;—
Good-night! Phara
Until the shadow from this earth is cast,
Until He gathers in His sheaves at last,	10
Until the Lenten gloom is overpast;—
Good-night!
Darlens
Until the Easter glory lights the skies,
Until the dead in Jesus shall arise,
And He shall come—but not in lowly guise;—	15
Good-night!
Lucianne
Until, made beautiful by love divine,
Thou, in the likeness of Thy Lord, shalt shine,
And He shall bring that golden crown of thine;—
Good-night!	20
Rojidner
Only “Good-night,” beloved, not “Farewell”!
A little while, and all His saints shall dwell
In hallowed union, indivisible;—
Good-night! Chimene
Until we meet again before His throne,	25
Clothed in the spotless robe He gives His own;
Until we know, even as we are known;—
Good-night! Malange

Love & Joy Are Always Here

God is love.

God is joy.

God is here, so also is love and joy.

Every day.  Even on hard days.

In the midst of sadness and suffering, I can always see love and joy.

What a gift.  What a blessing.

They are nannies.  Caregivers.  Friends.  Prayer warriors.  My sisters in Christ.



Lunchtime at the Rescue Center. 

No bellies continually aching with hunger.

They will be fed, they know.  They trust as they wait. 

 

Food for their bellies.

Love for their hearts.

Both are essential to fill a child.

Thank you, Lord, for all the good you give. 

In all the trials we find ourselves in, we know You are right here with us.   

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."  Romans 8:28

Focus

Sometimes the smell of a dead rat from downstairs in the garbage room fills my nostrils.  So thick is the smell that it seems I can almost taste it.  Makes me almost wish the rodent hadn't died. But then that rat would be scurrying all over the house, eating the loosely-covered leftover cake we left on the table after dinner.  

Diarrhea, out of nowhere (well, metaphorically speaking).  No warning, just BAM and it's here.

Beans and rice again.  Again.  And again.  And again.

Itching for no particular reason except that it's hot and my body is sick of sweating.  Itching so much that I wish I could just unzip my skin and take it off like a mechanic's jumpsuit.  Itching in places that are totally unladylike to scratch....in public, at least.

Cockroaches the size of a Chihuahua.  And some of them fly, which is always an added bonus when you happen upon one during a middle-of-the-night jaunt to the bathroom. 

Uplifting, huh?  
No, not at all.  
But I know where it's coming from.

The enemy.

These are some of the things that the enemy uses to chip away my joy,
to distract me from my work,
to fluster me,
to flare my self-pity,
to so easily get me to focus on myself.

Let me tell you how God reminded me today of what matters most.
How He got my attention.
How He flooded my heart so full of His Spirit that I almost couldn’t breathe.

Mid-morning today I went to the Rescue Center to do some paperwork.  I had just finished up and was spending a few minutes visiting with the kids.  I can go days without going to the RC, but I am so glad I was there….at that exact time.

After a knock at the gate and a brief conversation, in walked a group of a dozen or more men and women, along with one preteen boy.  They were dressed in their best Sunday attire.  Men in crisply pressed white shirts.  Women with flowing, pretty skirts.  One lady had on a big, floppy straw hat.  The boy was wearing his nice jeans with his shirttail tucked in.  Most of them were carrying a Bible.  And in just a couple of seconds, this group of Jesus followers filed into the main room where I, a few nannies, and lots of kids were at. 

And then they began to sing.

The room that was just seconds before filled with so many kids’ voices and a few unhappy toddlers’ cries was now silent.  The only sound was that of the group of Christians singing praise to the Lord.
Every single child stopped and watched in awe, listening intently, eyes wide with wonder.

Such beautiful singing.  Real.  From the heart.

As the song concluded, the leader of the group began to pray.  It was a passionate prayer.  As he prayed, the other group members disbursed around the room.  Every little cluster of children had someone standing near them. 
Arms outstretched to the heavens.
And then they all began to pray.
Loud.  Unashamed.  Bold.

Such beautiful prayers.  Real.  From the heart.

The room was full of prayers.  The room was full of the Spirit.

Everyone in the room prayed over these children.  The nannies were praying.  Me, with tears streaming down my cheeks, I was praying. 

The children just sat and watched.  And listened.
Quiet.
Content. 
Like the arms of Jesus were wrapped around every child in that room.     
Because they were.

The group wrapped it up with a closing prayer by one of the men.  Then every group member went around and shook the hands of each adult in the room, including myself. 

I thanked each one as they shook my hand.
They have no idea how God used them to minister to my heart in that moment.

Then they made their way out the door, and the day returned to normal. 

But my heart will never be normal, at least I hope not.

Because when I take my focus off my Lord, He has beautiful ways of reminding me
who I am
and Whose I am
and the work He has invited me to do.

Mesi, Jezi.