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. 

A Glimpse into the ICU

Hurting

Healing

Hoping

Happy



Worth every effort.

To God be the glory.

So much, yet so little to say

I really thought I'd blog more than I have.  It's been a month since my last post, and it's not like I don't have plenty of experiences and thoughts to share.  In fact, there is so much stuff rumbling around inside of me (and I'm not referencing to my intestines) that I just simply don't have much to say.  Does that make any sense?

I sit quietly with my thoughts regularly here.  Processing.  Stretching.  Searching for wisdom and understanding.  I spend time just soaking in my feelings.  It's not a new concept for me; I'm one who likes to take quiet walks or sit on the porch swing and just think about stuff.  But this is different.

Here, everything is so raw.  So in your face.  So hard.  So simple.  So complicated.  So ugly.  So absolutely beautiful.

I will admit this, even though most people that read it probably won't understand the depths of it:

I love feeling alive.
Eyes opened.  Heart aching.  Body challenged.  Selfish wants restricted.
Living for others first, actually putting myself at less of a priority.
Struggling with the internal battle of self vs. living for my Lord.
Peeling away layer after layer of pride and self-righteousness.
Appreciating things that I've always taken for granted.
Learning not to judge.
Loving justice, and knowing Who the Judge is.
Mourning with those who mourn, rejoicing with those who rejoice.
Engaging with those around me.
Loving.   Actively loving.  Putting 100% of myself into loving others.
Being loved.  Actually allowing others to love me.  And savoring it when they do.
Watching this crazy world around me, wondering where God is in all of it, and then finding Him.
Doing what I can, and being satisfied when there's nothing else I can do.  Just trusting.
Recognizing beauty in imperfections, even in defects.
Discovering some amazing everyday works of the Lord, and realizing I am only seeing a drop in the bucket compared to how amazing His works truly are.
Begging for mercy on behalf of those who can't.
Laughing deeply.  Smiling often, even when I really don't want to.
Getting over myself.
Getting over myself.
Getting over myself.

I am alive.  I knew it was possible.  I knew it would be good.          
But this is beyond great.

Alive......... not just existing.
Actively living.

The more I give, the more I receive.  The more I give OF MYSELF, the more I grow INSIDE.
Watching God work.  Being still and knowing that it is Him.

Living.  This is living.  It's not for everyone.  It's actually not for most.  But that's okay.
It's for me.  And I feel alive like never before.

Undeservedly blessed.  Extravagantly blessed.
Learning what being thankful really feels like.
 
No, I'm not just feeling alive....I am alive.  Actively living.  And it is good.  So good.

Less of me, more of Thee.  I am learning that is the only way to truly living.
I feel alive, because finally, genuinely, I am.

To God be all the glory.

What a Tuesday....

Tuesday morning started out with my cellphone ringing.  It’s unusual, since I don’t chat on the phone with many folks here in Haiti.  I was in a deep sleep, even though the world outside was already awake and in full swing.  That is not unusual, though, as I am unfortunately not a morning person.  So like a bear coming out of hibernation, I grabbed my phone to see what craziness must be going on.  Was I ever in for a wake-up call.

Brennon was on the other end of that call, and he was speaking to me in his “I’m being calm, so you need to be, too” voice.  I was wide awake in less than a second of hearing that voice.  It’s never good.  He called to let me know that he was on the scene of a terrible accident that had occurred a mile down the road from RHFH, just minutes earlier, involving a tap-tap.  A tap-tap is a Haitian taxi, and in this case, it was a pickup truck with built-up sides around the bed in order to hold a ridiculous amount of people.  One common factor about tap-taps: they are horribly crowded and nearly always over-capacity.  This tap-tap’s brakes had failed – yet another common trait – and in the driver’s best effort to crash gently, it overturned.  Over thirty people were riding on this pickup truck, on their way to market in Cazale.  Many of the passengers were vendors, hauling bags of rice and other goods to sell. 

Brennon’s call was to tell me to get ready, it was bad.  Dead bodies.  People trapped underneath the truck.  The injured would be heading our way to the clinic soon.  Get ready!  As my adrenaline began to kick in, and hearing the hopelessness in my husband’s voice, I told him I loved him.  I always do.  No matter what the context of the conversation, it’s important to me for him to know I love him.  But especially in those dark, hard times, I want him to feel me with him.  Because I am. 

Everyone was scurrying around the yard, preparing as best we could for the unknown.  I couldn’t even count the times I said to myself, “What should I do?”  Knowing a tidal wave was about to hit, the likes of which I have never seen, was very surreal.  It was intimidating.  As we could hear the motos (motorcycle taxis) pulling up with the first injured to be treated, I grabbed my 17 year old daughter, hugged her tight, and we prayed.  The two of us felt so underequipped and useless, but we prayed to just let Jesus be seen through us and RHFH this day.  If nothing else, let these people see You, Lord.

Twenty-seven injured people came to RHFH.  A few had only minor injuries, many had non-life threatening injuries that were substantial, and some were fighting to stay alive. 

Blood.  Contorted limbs.  Moaning. 

The quietness of the unconscious. 

A couple of really horrific injuries….the kind that the sight of them will forever be engrained into my memory.  “Graphic” doesn’t even begin to describe it. 

Two traumatized children, banged up and hurting, who feared their grandmother was dying. 

Tears. 

Strength unlike any I’ve ever seen.  An elderly woman who chose to walk to the ambulance rather than be carried, despite her substantial loss of blood.  A man that silently grimaced in pain, lying on the concrete with broken bones, without complaint or demanding help, patiently waiting, grateful for a drink of water. 

The crowd gathering outside the gate, filled with anxiety and emotion.  Some just wanting to get a peek.

The ambulances, what a miracle!  We hoped for two, but five showed up in an incredible response time of just an hour and a half (remember, we are deep in the mountains).

Despite the odds, every injured person that entered the yard at RHFH left here alive.  Incredible.

Like a hurricane, the casualties came in.  And in a blur, we looked up and it was over. 

I managed to find my place to lend a hand throughout that crazy morning.  Handing out ice packs, distributing water to patients and staff, wiping up blood and disinfecting, keeping communication rolling, and lots of comforting.  Lesley photographed patients, documenting injuries and ambulance loadings, cleaned up used supplies lying in the yard, and assisted staff putting i.v.’s in patients. 

The noon hour rolled in.  The regular Tuesday Clinic, with 216 scheduled appointments, resumed….like nothing extraordinary ever happened.     

Dejage.

The Lord was with us in this yard Tuesday.  No doubt.  He's always here.... but I tell ya, He was HERE that morning. 

The Most Beautiful Woman

Today I met the most beautiful woman. 

She has deep wrinkles from many years of living a hard life deep in the mountains of Haiti.

She is slender and muscular, because she doesn’t get to eat much food and has to work hard.

She is a great-great grandmother.  She is a widow.    

She isn’t sure of her age, because they just didn’t keep up with the years back when she was young.

She believes in Jesus.  She knows He takes care of her. 

She has faith in her loving, always-present Father.  She sings His praises.  She shares her stories of how the Lord is always watching over and blessing her.

Her only support comes from her church, a little meeting place up in the mountains.  The poorest of the poor, following the Word, they sacrifice and share so that this widow is taken care of.  The purest example of the Church.  True worship (James 1:27). 

Today she followed what Jesus told her to do.  She brought her granddaughter’s son, a little boy two years of age, to Real Hope for Haiti.  On her own, she has cared for this child, abandoned by his mother, for the past year.  It has been difficult, and she needs help. 

Her words:

Nourishment she cannot provide him.  That she needs help with.

Jesus, she has plenty of Jesus to share with him, though. 

This wise woman of many years is a wonderful example of what a beautiful woman of faith looks like. 

Strength.  Not of her own, but fully from Jesus.

Faith.  In all things, believing He is in control.

Worship.  In the moment He blesses, that is the time to sing His praises, proclaim His name, and dance with joy for the grace He provides. 

What an honor I had today to kiss the cheek of such a beautiful woman of God.