Two Thumbs Up

Alex and the girls! What would we do without him?

 Baby Elijah who was resuscitated for more than an hour with compressions and mouth-to-mouth and survived. He's currently in a NICU in a Port Au Prince hospital

 Baby M who weighs under 4 lbs and is fighting for her life

 Debi with a coke that couldn't describe her any better

 Two thumbs up Miguelson

 Big baby boy we delivered!

Tonight marks the first 24 hours in more than a week that a lady doesn't scream out in labor pains inside the Hope Center walls. Yesterday another baby came out in distress. The interesting story is that last Tuesday we didn't have what we needed (an ambu bag) to resuscitate a baby and so we did compressions and mouth-to-mouth for over an hour and made it to the hospital with a baby fighting for his life. While there, we saw a Canadian nurse who Debi knew who had doubted the baby's odds when she heard about our lack of resuscitation equipment. She gave us an ambu bag as a gift. (Small things go a long way in Haiti - or anywhere). Yesterday the baby girl born in distress had lost oxygen from a tight cord. Debi pulled out the ambu bag and the resuscitation was much quicker. Both babies survived. Hallelujah, Praise God! We lost count on babies delivered this week but it was enough to satisfy statistics on babies in distress.

Friday we rode into town with the team. Ava looks a little green. She gets carsick with every ride in. It's bumpy and no air conditioning. Carsick and Haiti go hand in hand for Ava. Alex offers a seat by him and fans her off. Alex is so happy to have his little buddy. She gives him a half smile. Who else can my kids be friends with when the 20 people who get off the bus on Saturdays get right back on a few days later? They learn like we do to invest in the constant and consistent.

We dropped the team off and went to a nearby hotel. Lunch with kelly, our current intern, and Debi who made it out of the clinic long enough to get dressed and enjoy some time outside the walls. Cheese pizza and sodas all around. Laughter and fast internet. A break. Sigh. Time in the pool. Blond hair turns to green streaks from the chlorine. Two happy little girls squeal with delight over the freedom in the water and the sunshine on their faces. Charles and I take a breath. No crisis, no gas leaks, missed flights, hospital breakdowns. Just an afternoon off. Miguelson walks in. I think to myself it's good Charles has a buddy to talk to. A little later Ava comes out with her cover up and shoes on the wrong feet. She's fretting about not being able to zip up the cover up. Miguelson squats down to her level and says, "come here, Doctor." She turns around and he zips it up for her and gently switches her shoes around. She gives two thumbs up and says it out loud. "Two thumbs up, Guelson." There is this one special second between these two. I think how fortunate that my girls see these men who are treating them well. Especially as their skin colors are a stark contrast and their ages lend a wide gap. Lilly hugs Miguelson's leg and they laugh over making him walk when they are hanging on him with their weight. All three laugh. Miguelson's smiles enough that his dimples show.

The girls spread out on the bus seat and snooze all the way back in. Meresse talks Creole to Alex and I watch the trucks play chicken in the bumpy road. Straight to bed after a quick dinner. It's good to have a break. I shed tears recently over having to share the girls with strangers every week who have an edge about them, a newness that draws Lilly and Ava right in. It's hard to compete with a 20 something who arrives with wonder and has never seen their trampoline or the pet turtle around the corner. So much discovery Lilly wants to share that I've already seen.

But outside the walls when it's just us, I see the discovery in their eyes and I sing and play with them. We connect. I struggle myself with wanting to give in to the team members - letting them take on a parenting role for the afternoon while I read my book or talk to a friend. But I know I can't collect the time back later.

Saturday we get ready to ride back in to get the next team. Has it already been 24 hours? We walk into the clinic in time to help a laboring mama get on the table and push. A big baby boy comes out and the clinic is filled with tiny cries and a weary mama.

It's time to go get the team. Dispute breaks out among staff and real life shines through. Not the pretty parts. The sinful, I-don't-want-to parts. I see Charles' anxiety grow and a tense walk up the steps of the bus. Running two teams 24-7 has its ups and downs. This is summer's end of non-stop pick up and drop off and knocks on the door at all hours. Hosting is a big job. Nights in clinic delivering babies, interpreting, hospital runs, etc. It's a broad job description that stretches all of us.

I realize by the time we are back on the bus we're tired and it's only noon. Ava cried in the night. Fever. Stomach ache. Same story since May. Just repeats now and again. I rest in her bed. Watch her sleep. It's peaceful but I'm not sleeping. She lays out on the bus again. Her head rests in Miguelson's lap and she's snoozing the whole way in. I can't help but take a picture. Black arm bracing a head full of blond hair from all the bumps in the road. The first team lands and we spend the afternoon waiting for the second before a long 2 hours of Port Au Prince traffic. Saturday dinner starts a new week of learning names, sharing space and a dusty country with new eyes.

A Sunday afternoon and I feel the wind in my hair on the rocky road. Another team member joins me and Mack for a quick loop. Bonswa. We greet those around us. We see a group of three Haitians walking with suitcases balanced on their heads and I say what if the airport looked like this. We would all be on our cell phones with suitcases on our heads. We laugh and go back to watching our feet and exchanging English words. We walk through the village after that. I stop at the orphanage and take four along with us. Hands held, big smiles. Stephenson can't hide a tooth because his heart is overflowing. We love him so much we thought to take him along. Christana and Edna ask in their best English, "What is your name?" and they giggle that they know the hand-locked team member understands them. After the walk we return to the orphanage and the other nine are filling the swings and slides on the playground. They run to Tony with arms open to embrace "Papa Tony" after his time in the States. The playground is so full and so happy with these 13. Their contentment overflows and my heart is convicted.

I just really like it here. I like the hard. I like that tears come because God didn't call us to easy or comfortable and lessons don't come that way. I look at the half built homes and know they ran out of money. Somehow that is more raw and honest than a house on credit. The kids ride back and forth to church today on donkeys and I think we barely get to church with a gas-filled car. It's so simple here. It's organic. No sugar coating. Hard. One team member says a girl just held my hand as we walked in the village and it was so tough. I told him we have to use more force to inject vaccines or start IVs because their skin is weathered and tough. It's a reflection of their life here. I hope I can learn something while I'm here. I want to learn contentment without all the American fill-ins I left behind.

I tell Charles I thought we were coming here to make an impact on Haitians. Of course I knew they would be making the bigger impact on me. What I didn't necessarily count on was that we would be impacting the lives of the team members who have an immeasurable capacity to take it back to the States and make an impact there. I'm not sure why I saw that as a secondary ministry but I'm continuing to see it as equally important. Lilly hears me say this to Charles and says ... remember, Mama, to Him who is able to more than all we ask or imagine ....

Wise beyond her years sometimes.