Wednesday, May 20, 2015
Praying for Feeling
As I washed dishes tonight and replayed conversations and moments from the day in my head, I heard the words of the song playing on my phone. Not sure what made me key into it but it was a Kim Walker-Smith song that says, "Let the light of your face, shine down on my heart and let me feel it." I may have referenced it before but tonight I just really prayed that one line. First, that his face would shine down on my heart and secondly, that I would feel it. Praying the numbness turns to feeling. Sometimes I am confident he sees me and hears me and knows the craziness swirling around in me but I pray these next 48 hours I feel his face shining. Feeling and knowing are so different. Praying for both currently. Please pray with me.
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
Happy Sardines
I hop in the truck and honk for the security guards to open the gate. We get half a truck outside the gate and Bicly looks in the back seat and suddenly looks back at me. He asks in broken English, "You have no bag?" I laugh to myself. How do I not have a bag? Maybe because when we buy bread in the States, it comes in a bag. I'm not used to providing my own. So he hops out and comes back with a bag. And soon it's full of warm bread that will be part of the fellowship at the study later today. Bicly giggles and says, "You drive good. Better than me. You learn to drive in the USA?" I laugh because I drove for 15 years before I moved to Haiti but most Haitians don't drive when they turn 16 or 60. They walk. It was a giggly trip to buy bread.
I come back to a quiet house. It was a late night for the girls with 3 friends from the orphanage spending the night. I woke up to the giggles before daybreak. Edna saw me start the treadmill and was amazed at the moving machine. My girls started a warm bath and before I knew it, all five girls were in the warm water. Madride said she had never been in a warm bath. Eight years old and no idea of a warm bath!! They were in there like sardines, happy sardines. They had stayed up watching a movie in bed - another new concept, and eating a late night mango snack. This morning I made oatmeal with insane amounts of sugar since that's the Haitian way and breakfast burritos and mangoes. I figured they would find something they liked. I borrowed plates and silverware since I continue to open drawers in the kitchen only to find empty space. We are down to smoothies and eggs for the most part.
We finished off breakfast and spent the morning at the orphanage making flags to celebrate Flag Day together. They waved their homemade flags with pride and sang the anthem for me. We were back on the playground and soccer field getting wiggles out all before lunch. The afternoon slipped away just as quick as the morning had. It was almost time for Bible study ...
...
As I walk down to the church, they are lining the walls, waiting for the church meeting to end so we could go in. The chairs are already in a circle but I add more to it. I know it will be a big group today. Maybe because it's the last or maybe because I've promised food or maybe because it's Flag Day and no one is in school or working. I will never understand why most of the ladies wait until about 4:15 to bathe for a 4pm Bible study but they all come pretty clean and late.
We start off talking about what God's taught us. How he has been working on us this last year and a half. The transformation that takes place inside the walls on Monday afternoons between us ladies. It was a sweet time of swapping growth stories. I heard a few similar ones about that neighbor yelling at me or that family member yelling this and instead of yelling back, I prayed for her. And the walls have slowly come down and relationships have formed. These women are living out the evidence of their faith one prayer at a time. I love that they have absorbed the stories of the Holy Scriptures and are retelling them to those around them. One lady said now she knows not to ever name her babies Achan, Samson or Saul. I laugh. We review the stories we've learned together and I pass out 1 and 5 gourdes coins. It's like handing out quarters for right answers. They start getting competitive, shouting answers before the question's asked. I love that they know the answers. Their proud they know. Frantz is just there to interpret but he's proud he knows too. I dole out all the golden coins and we laugh over who said the answers first and who's buying a soda after the study.
The laughter dies down and they burst into song. Mensia's voice starts them and I hear her all the way through. They sing one familiar song after another. I love it. I try to video it and yet I can't absorb it all in the moment if I'm recording it. I put the camera down and sing with them. Eyes closed. Praying I can relive the moment in my mind when I miss it. I smile at their open mouths and pretty voices. The ladies have given over their Monday mornings and their songs give way to their joy. We hold hands one last time and sing Bondye ka fe. I squeeze the hands. I know I won't be holding them long. I miss them already and I can still feel them. We pray all in one voice and then the hush. I pray for each one and the ones they represent and the retelling of the stories they now know. They each get a packet of seeds and we talk about what seeds need to grow. I pray they take the visual home with them and grow something .... something they can see and eat and replant and they can tell their kids the stories and their neighbors and their friends. The stories of the One. I explained that we never know the impact of the seeds we plant on this side of heaven.
We snap some photos and pray a blessing. The food is off the table faster than I can say Amen. They smile at warm bread with Nutella and peanut butter. It's drippy and sweet. Their all visiting now. The room is so loud. I know there are more than 40 present because we came up short on bread. I announce I have pictures of the baptisms and they rush to me to see their new life on photo paper. I rearrange chairs and it's over. I hug necks and thank God. I only see a few tears from ladies filing out. I praise God for the laughter. The victory of studying together for more than a year. For sticking it out. For praying for one another. God is so good all the time and all the time He is so good.
I walk back up the hill and I see them all chatting - they've just moved locations. I love their little circles and comparisons of seeds. Even Felancia is standing there chatting after the study and she told me she couldn't come today. Too much laundry. She put the soap down and came. God does that. He makes us set the soap down and go listen.
I change into my sneakers and take off over the rocks. I love a good run after a personal victory. I sling sweat and turn a corner where I see the sunset meet the mountains. I'm in awe. A big God who can shape a group of women, make us put down our soap and pick up our Bibles. A God who plans our steps beyond what we know is best. One who gives us treasures and victories in the "lasts." I stop at the orphanage on my way back in. I walk in and the children are clean and ready for bed. I hug them and say goodnight. I do the same for my own girls. Our last Monday, Lilly says. I say what treasure did you find in the last Monday here. She tells me a little highlight and kisses my cheek. Some days are one foot in front of the other and some are victory-filled.
I come back to a quiet house. It was a late night for the girls with 3 friends from the orphanage spending the night. I woke up to the giggles before daybreak. Edna saw me start the treadmill and was amazed at the moving machine. My girls started a warm bath and before I knew it, all five girls were in the warm water. Madride said she had never been in a warm bath. Eight years old and no idea of a warm bath!! They were in there like sardines, happy sardines. They had stayed up watching a movie in bed - another new concept, and eating a late night mango snack. This morning I made oatmeal with insane amounts of sugar since that's the Haitian way and breakfast burritos and mangoes. I figured they would find something they liked. I borrowed plates and silverware since I continue to open drawers in the kitchen only to find empty space. We are down to smoothies and eggs for the most part.
We finished off breakfast and spent the morning at the orphanage making flags to celebrate Flag Day together. They waved their homemade flags with pride and sang the anthem for me. We were back on the playground and soccer field getting wiggles out all before lunch. The afternoon slipped away just as quick as the morning had. It was almost time for Bible study ...
...
As I walk down to the church, they are lining the walls, waiting for the church meeting to end so we could go in. The chairs are already in a circle but I add more to it. I know it will be a big group today. Maybe because it's the last or maybe because I've promised food or maybe because it's Flag Day and no one is in school or working. I will never understand why most of the ladies wait until about 4:15 to bathe for a 4pm Bible study but they all come pretty clean and late.
We start off talking about what God's taught us. How he has been working on us this last year and a half. The transformation that takes place inside the walls on Monday afternoons between us ladies. It was a sweet time of swapping growth stories. I heard a few similar ones about that neighbor yelling at me or that family member yelling this and instead of yelling back, I prayed for her. And the walls have slowly come down and relationships have formed. These women are living out the evidence of their faith one prayer at a time. I love that they have absorbed the stories of the Holy Scriptures and are retelling them to those around them. One lady said now she knows not to ever name her babies Achan, Samson or Saul. I laugh. We review the stories we've learned together and I pass out 1 and 5 gourdes coins. It's like handing out quarters for right answers. They start getting competitive, shouting answers before the question's asked. I love that they know the answers. Their proud they know. Frantz is just there to interpret but he's proud he knows too. I dole out all the golden coins and we laugh over who said the answers first and who's buying a soda after the study.
The laughter dies down and they burst into song. Mensia's voice starts them and I hear her all the way through. They sing one familiar song after another. I love it. I try to video it and yet I can't absorb it all in the moment if I'm recording it. I put the camera down and sing with them. Eyes closed. Praying I can relive the moment in my mind when I miss it. I smile at their open mouths and pretty voices. The ladies have given over their Monday mornings and their songs give way to their joy. We hold hands one last time and sing Bondye ka fe. I squeeze the hands. I know I won't be holding them long. I miss them already and I can still feel them. We pray all in one voice and then the hush. I pray for each one and the ones they represent and the retelling of the stories they now know. They each get a packet of seeds and we talk about what seeds need to grow. I pray they take the visual home with them and grow something .... something they can see and eat and replant and they can tell their kids the stories and their neighbors and their friends. The stories of the One. I explained that we never know the impact of the seeds we plant on this side of heaven.
We snap some photos and pray a blessing. The food is off the table faster than I can say Amen. They smile at warm bread with Nutella and peanut butter. It's drippy and sweet. Their all visiting now. The room is so loud. I know there are more than 40 present because we came up short on bread. I announce I have pictures of the baptisms and they rush to me to see their new life on photo paper. I rearrange chairs and it's over. I hug necks and thank God. I only see a few tears from ladies filing out. I praise God for the laughter. The victory of studying together for more than a year. For sticking it out. For praying for one another. God is so good all the time and all the time He is so good.
I walk back up the hill and I see them all chatting - they've just moved locations. I love their little circles and comparisons of seeds. Even Felancia is standing there chatting after the study and she told me she couldn't come today. Too much laundry. She put the soap down and came. God does that. He makes us set the soap down and go listen.
I change into my sneakers and take off over the rocks. I love a good run after a personal victory. I sling sweat and turn a corner where I see the sunset meet the mountains. I'm in awe. A big God who can shape a group of women, make us put down our soap and pick up our Bibles. A God who plans our steps beyond what we know is best. One who gives us treasures and victories in the "lasts." I stop at the orphanage on my way back in. I walk in and the children are clean and ready for bed. I hug them and say goodnight. I do the same for my own girls. Our last Monday, Lilly says. I say what treasure did you find in the last Monday here. She tells me a little highlight and kisses my cheek. Some days are one foot in front of the other and some are victory-filled.
Sunday, May 17, 2015
A Week of Lasts
Ann Voskamp, whom I highly respect, says, "You're meant to do hard and holy things because they are the next thing - to get you to the best thing."
The next gets us to the best. And there's no other way to get there but holy and hard.
This week has been hard and holy. It's been one of packing and crying and a heck of a lot of other things. We have waited in great expectation for an answer to a prayer and it wasn't the answer we hoped for but it was an answer. This week was full of victory and disappointment. Hellos and goodbyes. Junior rode in the car yesterday and said, "I don't have any words. I'm just sad you're leaving." It's kind of like that. No words this week. I did have some words with a leader that I wished had not been building up but I had an opportunity to share and did so. Glad I have the words when I need them. I also heard from several other women leaving the field and thank God for putting us all together in this season. We serve a good God. Re-entry was so hard last time. We base our fears on past experiences and pray this time will be different. I text a missionary friend in a weak moment and she agrees, children not wanting to leave the field tugs at a unique place in a mother's heart that makes her have to decide again that what God calls us to he will carry us through despite our emotions or those of our children. Amen and another step forward, another item in the suitcase, another room swept.
This is the week of "lasts." This is the week I'll say yes to Chi Chi when she asks if we're leaving, the week I'll finish women's Bible study, children's church, playground time with our friends, last diri ak pwa, last hugs, last English tutoring, last mountain run, last week of school, last team, last everything here.
I'm praying the "next" will take us to the best and the lasts won't linger. The next will be a new adventure, a start and not an end.
This morning we went to church for our last Sunday here. We were met with words of encouragement and blessings from the pulpit. I especially appreciated when Coach (Pastor Mickenson as he should be called on Sunday morning) said, "I love Lilly and Ava ... and they love me too. I am sure." The numbness I wrote about before seems to come and go and today seemed more present than the last few days. We woke up to generator problems and no power. Coffee was set down. Prayers ended early and Farmer was off to fix the generator since he is the only one on the compound who knows how. Lights came back on and the fans started moving. He walked in the house and smiled. A job well done. No surprise. Probably not a "last" yet. Next week he won't be called in with tools and jumper cables. He won't be here.
A friend stands up to say we will be leaving soon and I see the faces of our friends in the orphanage. There smiles drop and their tears well up. What? I can see the confusion and Lilly makes eye contact with me and comes running to my arms with tears. She says, "Now they know, mom." We've been waiting to tell them. Hoping that would make the goodbyes a little shorter and the sadness linger less.
I walk up to Hope Center and take Aves to the potty. We are met with Guelson's car. Aves goes running to him and says see you later mom. He walks down to church and my girl's arms are wrapped around his neck. He says he's missed those arms around his neck and he loves her. In a minute I turn around and Coach is singing Because He Lives and Guelson's arms are raised high and I am so thankful I can face tomorrow.
Mary passes the offering plate and leans down to kiss me and Charles and sweet, teary Lilly in my lap. She says she is going to miss us and keeps passing the plate. The team behind us sees the interaction and I feel a hand on my shoulder. Tears want to trickle over but I try my best to stop them. So many people in the room I want to say thank you to and hug one more time.
Soon Coach sings the song Ava refers to as the "pa bon" song and I smile. Ava smiles too. We sing along. I make eye contact and I know he knows we like that one and he sang it for us. We stand and the kids file out for childrens' church. About 50 of them. We sing about God's love for us and about Father Abraham all lined up in their Sunday best. Mensia feels bad but she says she wants to teach with me today no matter what. The kids listen to the story and before long it's over. I collect books and they walk out humming under their breath and talking to their buddies.
I return the books and smile walking out of the church. Last Sunday church.
But Bible study is tomorrow and more to look forward to in the days ahead. There is a treasure in the lasts that doesn't come with any other. I am elated when I hear people's expressions of love for us that go far beyond anything I knew.
I can bravely do the next thing because God's got this thing. Thank you, God I can move to the next thing. You had this thing before I ever took a breath.
One step in front of the other.
For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let me then, with CONFIDENCE, draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive MERCY and find grace to help in time of need. Hebrews 4:15-16
The next gets us to the best. And there's no other way to get there but holy and hard.
This week has been hard and holy. It's been one of packing and crying and a heck of a lot of other things. We have waited in great expectation for an answer to a prayer and it wasn't the answer we hoped for but it was an answer. This week was full of victory and disappointment. Hellos and goodbyes. Junior rode in the car yesterday and said, "I don't have any words. I'm just sad you're leaving." It's kind of like that. No words this week. I did have some words with a leader that I wished had not been building up but I had an opportunity to share and did so. Glad I have the words when I need them. I also heard from several other women leaving the field and thank God for putting us all together in this season. We serve a good God. Re-entry was so hard last time. We base our fears on past experiences and pray this time will be different. I text a missionary friend in a weak moment and she agrees, children not wanting to leave the field tugs at a unique place in a mother's heart that makes her have to decide again that what God calls us to he will carry us through despite our emotions or those of our children. Amen and another step forward, another item in the suitcase, another room swept.
This is the week of "lasts." This is the week I'll say yes to Chi Chi when she asks if we're leaving, the week I'll finish women's Bible study, children's church, playground time with our friends, last diri ak pwa, last hugs, last English tutoring, last mountain run, last week of school, last team, last everything here.
I'm praying the "next" will take us to the best and the lasts won't linger. The next will be a new adventure, a start and not an end.
This morning we went to church for our last Sunday here. We were met with words of encouragement and blessings from the pulpit. I especially appreciated when Coach (Pastor Mickenson as he should be called on Sunday morning) said, "I love Lilly and Ava ... and they love me too. I am sure." The numbness I wrote about before seems to come and go and today seemed more present than the last few days. We woke up to generator problems and no power. Coffee was set down. Prayers ended early and Farmer was off to fix the generator since he is the only one on the compound who knows how. Lights came back on and the fans started moving. He walked in the house and smiled. A job well done. No surprise. Probably not a "last" yet. Next week he won't be called in with tools and jumper cables. He won't be here.
A friend stands up to say we will be leaving soon and I see the faces of our friends in the orphanage. There smiles drop and their tears well up. What? I can see the confusion and Lilly makes eye contact with me and comes running to my arms with tears. She says, "Now they know, mom." We've been waiting to tell them. Hoping that would make the goodbyes a little shorter and the sadness linger less.
I walk up to Hope Center and take Aves to the potty. We are met with Guelson's car. Aves goes running to him and says see you later mom. He walks down to church and my girl's arms are wrapped around his neck. He says he's missed those arms around his neck and he loves her. In a minute I turn around and Coach is singing Because He Lives and Guelson's arms are raised high and I am so thankful I can face tomorrow.
Mary passes the offering plate and leans down to kiss me and Charles and sweet, teary Lilly in my lap. She says she is going to miss us and keeps passing the plate. The team behind us sees the interaction and I feel a hand on my shoulder. Tears want to trickle over but I try my best to stop them. So many people in the room I want to say thank you to and hug one more time.
Soon Coach sings the song Ava refers to as the "pa bon" song and I smile. Ava smiles too. We sing along. I make eye contact and I know he knows we like that one and he sang it for us. We stand and the kids file out for childrens' church. About 50 of them. We sing about God's love for us and about Father Abraham all lined up in their Sunday best. Mensia feels bad but she says she wants to teach with me today no matter what. The kids listen to the story and before long it's over. I collect books and they walk out humming under their breath and talking to their buddies.
I return the books and smile walking out of the church. Last Sunday church.
But Bible study is tomorrow and more to look forward to in the days ahead. There is a treasure in the lasts that doesn't come with any other. I am elated when I hear people's expressions of love for us that go far beyond anything I knew.
I can bravely do the next thing because God's got this thing. Thank you, God I can move to the next thing. You had this thing before I ever took a breath.
One step in front of the other.
For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let me then, with CONFIDENCE, draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive MERCY and find grace to help in time of need. Hebrews 4:15-16
Friday, May 08, 2015
A Well That Never Runs Dry
Sometimes things slowly unravel and other times they come crashing down. Somehow we've experienced both in this season and the ultimate outcome is us transitioning back to the States next month.
I could write a long post about the details but as our pastor said, the details don't really change the outcome at this point and they are unlikely necessary for everyone to know. Those who should know, will.
The bottom line is we're leaving. And we wish things were different.
It's easier to write than say out loud. The inhaler makes the oxygen flow better and a deep breath come with more ease. The anxiety and this truth go hand in hand.
Lilly climbed in my lap this morning and asked if she could pray that God changes his mind and we stay longer. I said of course she could. God can do all things. But in my heart I know that none of us on earth can see through his eyes and what we see is just a small sliver of the entire story. Today is barely more than nothing in the grand span of time. Heaven is for eternity.
Her warm tears hit my shirt and mine started spilling over. Why do we try so hard to avoid the struggle? I want the easy road, God. Please. I just finished reading the day's devotion that says shining is costly. A candle has to burn to give off light and the burning is the way in which light comes. And so our struggles are the burn and the light it brings about is what gives way to growth and ultimate glory to the light creator. But it's costly.
Today we took no steps forward and several steps back. Instead of accomplishing any of the hundred things on my to do list, I walked around the half-packed stacks of books and movies in a daze of where do I start. I didn't do a single subject with Lilly in school and I overlooked more than one episode of Ava's tantrums. I didn't wash dishes or fold clothes or make dinner or return the phone to its rightful place. I can't handle the mess but I couldn't seem to clean it today. I'm praying tomorrow is better.
The last few weeks or so have been kind of similar. A numbness I don't recognize. We talked about leaving Haiti and we've cried over it but we haven't moved toward it really. We've fasted and prayed for trust in the process. Now the grit comes to grind and we have to face the unknowns with trust. He parted the Red Sea and he knows our future. Some days the trust comes easy and some days I find myself talking to God like the father of the sick child when he asks Jesus, "If you can ...?" Of course he can. And he does. He already promises to love us and make all things come together for good. How come it wavers? The wax and wane of my faith shows me the vast gap in me and God and my immeasurable need for him. We haven't told many people, we haven't written about it, announced it, etc. I'm usually on the ball with communication but today I avoided about 40 phone calls and emails regarding our decision to leave. It's surprising to many and yet I can't seem to explain to that many people all the things leading up to the decision. Ironically, it wasn't our decision in the end. It was someone else's with a time stamp on it. Lilly wants to know why I am not answering the phone and Ava wants to know why I'm in pajama pants at 2pm and I am honestly trying to do my best to get through the things on my list and move us to a different country. School is winding down and we have gone from routine to the absence of one. One friend asked me recently if I was packing and if we had sold everything to which I answered both with a no. Then she asked if we were really moving. I guess there is a part of me that feels like if I don't pack, we don't have to move. There is also a big part of me that doesn't want to have to go through the transition to get to the other side. I am procrastinating and avoiding change at this point. Ava asks every day if today is the day we are moving and I know that although I keep saying no to her that there will soon be a day the answer is yes. I am praying that God will spring me into action any day now as well as hold our hearts close. We have reminders all over to finish this journey well and sometimes that stretches us. I heard a song while on the treadmill today that said,
And I can see the light that is coming for the heart that holds on,
A glorious light beyond all compare,
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
We'll live to know you here on the earth
And I think to myself I can't change the situations I'm in. But I can lean in. Hold on. Dig deep. Bow low and shine forth. I can. I am praying God will help me hold on. This hard and good lends to more hard and good and ultimately it is all for the long-term good. I repeat Galations 6:9 under my breath that says, "If we do not grow weary in doing good, in due season we will reap the harvest if we do not give up." I can't afford to give up or give in and I want to do both. I start leaning a little harder and repeating out loud. These days are full of overwhelming, tired toddlers, uneven stacks, open suitcases, stressed farmers, and a lot of uncertainties in our future. I question God and then question my own trust. Where is the box neatly wrapped with a pretty bow on top and my planned life inside? I ask Lilly to repeat her verses as she goes through them ... For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a hope and a future. I thank her for saying it twice and pray that it's where my mind goes when it drifts to the anxiety. I reach for the inhaler and thank God for a deep breath. I am grateful God has a plan so much better than mine. Sometimes I think we would otherwise stay in the easy and avoid any change. My thoughts drift to the future. I spend energy trying to imagine it. Where we will be, what life will look like. It makes me antsy and excited God has closed a door and another one is opening. Farmer smiles at new chapters of life before hand. I think I'll smile more when I can see it for myself and not have to guess. All the same, we know more adventures lie ahead and God is good. My thoughts are interrupted by the whining and crying from two little people and one beater with batter. I tell the girls we can't stay in melt down mode. Gideon couldn't stay on his face. May God's goodness move us into faith and action.
So today I made three reservations in French, Spanish and English in three different countries all for events happening in the next month. It seems wild that we will be in transition so soon and things are so sedentary here at the moment. Post lunch nap time, a cool breeze, the familiar rocky roads and yet no push or urgency to the next thing.
A friend comes to help and no boxes are needed, just suitcases. She asks, "where do we start?" I laugh. Good question. When you have to go and you don't know where to start, where do you find the starting point? And even then, where is the ending point? It's a little uncanny I have had asthma attacks and trouble breathing this week. Maybe it's the dust and wind or maybe it's the anxiety. I put three things away and the girls unpack a dozen. I can't keep up. We eat on mangoes all morning and Farmer walks in with a Haitian coke. One with the sugar cane that makes it so much sweeter than American coke. I hug Vierge in the kitchen and turn to a friend with an intentional "mwen remnen ou" to tell her I really do love her. I'm going to miss the relationships. The fact that we can't pick up the phone and call people who don't have electricity, much less a phone number means the relationships in general spread apart like a dissolving tablet in my water bottle until the fizz is gone and the tablet has totally disappeared.
I ask Farmer, will they remember us? How do we stay in touch? Farmer talks to a team member who says, "well it sounds like you don't really want to leave." A Haitian friend pipes up and says, "we don't want him to go." A couple of Haitian friends are moving away when we do. I'm not sure if that's allegiance to us or easier to all have new starts together. The whole process is bitter sweet.
I tell the women in my Bible study that one of the ladies I've been discipling will start teaching and that I am returning to the States. I see tears well up and I am caught off guard. Haitian women are tough and they don't shed tears often. I see a tender side I haven't seen. I hear a few offer up a Bondye konnen that expresses God knows better than us. I nod in agreement. Trying to reject my own tears, I try to move on but they all have questions. Ones I try to avoid because my answers don't solve these problems. We close the study holding hands and I squeeze a hand knowing I may not be squeezing these hands much longer. I look up and fight tears. I realize I love these women. Not like I have kind of loved them but I love love them (as Ava says). I love them so much the tears roll off my lids and down they go like a waterfall. I realize the depth of love and we all have a moment of tender sadness together before we all started laughing at a Haitian joke and moved right out of that moment as quick as we moved into it.
Farmer and I talk about loving people well and being loved in return. We see it on other's faces. I see it when my girls spring into the arms of Haitians who want to hold and love them and tickle them til they giggle. Our coffee and prayer time come to a close and I ask Farmer what's on his plate for the day. He has a team here who has been a vital part of the project he's been working on. Five seasoned men and Mrs. Elaine. Farmer says he's trying to get the well finished before they leave. They raised all the money for it and want to see it come to fruition together. He says he is trying to get Blue Ridge out to help him get it going. It's a complicated project that's been in the works a long time and has many intrical parts to it.
For well over a year I have heard Farmer say he can't do much of anything without water. No water, no agriculture. I get it. The rainy season isn't enough for the plants to survive the intense heat. There are 43 houses on the hill and more than 43 people in them. The water is a crucial piece to anyone hauling buckets from a well to their front door. Water for bathing, cooking, drinking, watering, etc.
This week he is working alongside the other men toward getting those houses access to water and if everything goes well, there will be water to them before our exit date. He tells me while I'm schooling the girls that Blue Ridge can't come. I hear him on the phone with Kevin that they are already booked this week and Farmer's cancellation last week lends itself to the availability of the crew. Sometime early afternoon he comes in with a big grin on his face to say they are coming out this evening to help him. Change of plans for the better. Farmer hugs me and I can tell he is bubbling with excitement on the inside and he might see water sooner than later.
I pass the time by helping Ydalia in the orphanage with her new sewing machine that Mrs. Elaine has brought her. Now Ydalia will be able to sew again for herself and the 13 children in the orphanage. Her machine is a Brother and so is mine so I show her some tricks. I love teaching someone who wants to learn and Mrs. Elaine is elated to see her face as she practices on the new machine. She says my Sunday School class will be so glad to hear she likes it.
The sun starts going down and I sit in on a marriage conference with Pastor Mickenson and about 40 members of the church asking this and that. The conference is all week and proves to be helpful to many. Married and single alike are present. As the conference ends, I yell to Coach that Farmer should see water soon at the well. He comes down with both girls in tow to look on. The crowd has grown and the community members, like us, were all holding their breath to see this work. The team, the community, the kids, all of us were hoping. Everyone bows in prayer and we're all keeping fingers crossed. The pump goes down and all kinds of equipment Farmer has ordered across the US and has had sent on a number of flights. Every item arrived. Even one FedEx'd to the wrong location made it. A God thing. For the last few months, every night Farmer is on the computer looking at parts that look like they come from outer space but really fit together in his mind to give these people water where they need it. And last night in the dark with flashlights shining the way, it came down to a switch. I could hear the hush. Our two girls were up past bedtime and on the shoulders of Haitian friends so they too could see the outcome. Ava yells out, "Hey Papi, where is the water?" And he flips the switch and we all wait with anticipation to see what happens. I feel like no one is taking a breath and then water comes out of the pipe and everyone erupts with applause and excitement. It was so thrilling!!!! Lots of jumping up and down and an outpouring of the water. I could barely stand the joy that I felt. Farmer and the Blue Ridge guys hi five and smile. A job well done. A long time coming and a big victory! It was a miracle in itself. It was like a newborn baby. New life. New hope. Liquid gold.
I think about how the women gather around the well and gossip. How my children and their friends wash clothes together around a basin. I picture the soccer players huddled around the water during a break. I know water creates a gathering place, a fellowship, a source of life and community here.
I fell asleep last night before I could really congratulate Farmer. He was still at the well until after 9pm. I heard one of the guys from the house say the most sincere thank you I've ever heard. He barely said anything but the light of his face said it all and I wish I could have captured it. And the water poured out with abundance, overflowing the bucket at 110 gallons per minute. Kevin says this is one of the best outcomes of any of the wells we've seen. Farmer and I smile at each other, we've been praying for water and praying for abundance. I walk home and think our community will remember that moment and they will remember us. And I will forever remember them. I miss them already and I'm still here. I just know the heartache of missing them and know it's coming for the four of us.
I closed my eyes last night thinking, may they know the fountain of life, the giver of all life and may they be ever reminded of the abundance of water they have seen tonight. There is a song we sing in Haiti about the well that never runs dry. Oh that we would leave a visual of that unlimited supply.
Fill me up, God. Fill me up, God. Fill me up, God. Fill me up, overflow. Permeate all my soul ...
I could write a long post about the details but as our pastor said, the details don't really change the outcome at this point and they are unlikely necessary for everyone to know. Those who should know, will.
The bottom line is we're leaving. And we wish things were different.
It's easier to write than say out loud. The inhaler makes the oxygen flow better and a deep breath come with more ease. The anxiety and this truth go hand in hand.
Lilly climbed in my lap this morning and asked if she could pray that God changes his mind and we stay longer. I said of course she could. God can do all things. But in my heart I know that none of us on earth can see through his eyes and what we see is just a small sliver of the entire story. Today is barely more than nothing in the grand span of time. Heaven is for eternity.
Her warm tears hit my shirt and mine started spilling over. Why do we try so hard to avoid the struggle? I want the easy road, God. Please. I just finished reading the day's devotion that says shining is costly. A candle has to burn to give off light and the burning is the way in which light comes. And so our struggles are the burn and the light it brings about is what gives way to growth and ultimate glory to the light creator. But it's costly.
Today we took no steps forward and several steps back. Instead of accomplishing any of the hundred things on my to do list, I walked around the half-packed stacks of books and movies in a daze of where do I start. I didn't do a single subject with Lilly in school and I overlooked more than one episode of Ava's tantrums. I didn't wash dishes or fold clothes or make dinner or return the phone to its rightful place. I can't handle the mess but I couldn't seem to clean it today. I'm praying tomorrow is better.
The last few weeks or so have been kind of similar. A numbness I don't recognize. We talked about leaving Haiti and we've cried over it but we haven't moved toward it really. We've fasted and prayed for trust in the process. Now the grit comes to grind and we have to face the unknowns with trust. He parted the Red Sea and he knows our future. Some days the trust comes easy and some days I find myself talking to God like the father of the sick child when he asks Jesus, "If you can ...?" Of course he can. And he does. He already promises to love us and make all things come together for good. How come it wavers? The wax and wane of my faith shows me the vast gap in me and God and my immeasurable need for him. We haven't told many people, we haven't written about it, announced it, etc. I'm usually on the ball with communication but today I avoided about 40 phone calls and emails regarding our decision to leave. It's surprising to many and yet I can't seem to explain to that many people all the things leading up to the decision. Ironically, it wasn't our decision in the end. It was someone else's with a time stamp on it. Lilly wants to know why I am not answering the phone and Ava wants to know why I'm in pajama pants at 2pm and I am honestly trying to do my best to get through the things on my list and move us to a different country. School is winding down and we have gone from routine to the absence of one. One friend asked me recently if I was packing and if we had sold everything to which I answered both with a no. Then she asked if we were really moving. I guess there is a part of me that feels like if I don't pack, we don't have to move. There is also a big part of me that doesn't want to have to go through the transition to get to the other side. I am procrastinating and avoiding change at this point. Ava asks every day if today is the day we are moving and I know that although I keep saying no to her that there will soon be a day the answer is yes. I am praying that God will spring me into action any day now as well as hold our hearts close. We have reminders all over to finish this journey well and sometimes that stretches us. I heard a song while on the treadmill today that said,
And I can see the light that is coming for the heart that holds on,
A glorious light beyond all compare,
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
We'll live to know you here on the earth
And I think to myself I can't change the situations I'm in. But I can lean in. Hold on. Dig deep. Bow low and shine forth. I can. I am praying God will help me hold on. This hard and good lends to more hard and good and ultimately it is all for the long-term good. I repeat Galations 6:9 under my breath that says, "If we do not grow weary in doing good, in due season we will reap the harvest if we do not give up." I can't afford to give up or give in and I want to do both. I start leaning a little harder and repeating out loud. These days are full of overwhelming, tired toddlers, uneven stacks, open suitcases, stressed farmers, and a lot of uncertainties in our future. I question God and then question my own trust. Where is the box neatly wrapped with a pretty bow on top and my planned life inside? I ask Lilly to repeat her verses as she goes through them ... For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a hope and a future. I thank her for saying it twice and pray that it's where my mind goes when it drifts to the anxiety. I reach for the inhaler and thank God for a deep breath. I am grateful God has a plan so much better than mine. Sometimes I think we would otherwise stay in the easy and avoid any change. My thoughts drift to the future. I spend energy trying to imagine it. Where we will be, what life will look like. It makes me antsy and excited God has closed a door and another one is opening. Farmer smiles at new chapters of life before hand. I think I'll smile more when I can see it for myself and not have to guess. All the same, we know more adventures lie ahead and God is good. My thoughts are interrupted by the whining and crying from two little people and one beater with batter. I tell the girls we can't stay in melt down mode. Gideon couldn't stay on his face. May God's goodness move us into faith and action.
So today I made three reservations in French, Spanish and English in three different countries all for events happening in the next month. It seems wild that we will be in transition so soon and things are so sedentary here at the moment. Post lunch nap time, a cool breeze, the familiar rocky roads and yet no push or urgency to the next thing.
A friend comes to help and no boxes are needed, just suitcases. She asks, "where do we start?" I laugh. Good question. When you have to go and you don't know where to start, where do you find the starting point? And even then, where is the ending point? It's a little uncanny I have had asthma attacks and trouble breathing this week. Maybe it's the dust and wind or maybe it's the anxiety. I put three things away and the girls unpack a dozen. I can't keep up. We eat on mangoes all morning and Farmer walks in with a Haitian coke. One with the sugar cane that makes it so much sweeter than American coke. I hug Vierge in the kitchen and turn to a friend with an intentional "mwen remnen ou" to tell her I really do love her. I'm going to miss the relationships. The fact that we can't pick up the phone and call people who don't have electricity, much less a phone number means the relationships in general spread apart like a dissolving tablet in my water bottle until the fizz is gone and the tablet has totally disappeared.
I ask Farmer, will they remember us? How do we stay in touch? Farmer talks to a team member who says, "well it sounds like you don't really want to leave." A Haitian friend pipes up and says, "we don't want him to go." A couple of Haitian friends are moving away when we do. I'm not sure if that's allegiance to us or easier to all have new starts together. The whole process is bitter sweet.
I tell the women in my Bible study that one of the ladies I've been discipling will start teaching and that I am returning to the States. I see tears well up and I am caught off guard. Haitian women are tough and they don't shed tears often. I see a tender side I haven't seen. I hear a few offer up a Bondye konnen that expresses God knows better than us. I nod in agreement. Trying to reject my own tears, I try to move on but they all have questions. Ones I try to avoid because my answers don't solve these problems. We close the study holding hands and I squeeze a hand knowing I may not be squeezing these hands much longer. I look up and fight tears. I realize I love these women. Not like I have kind of loved them but I love love them (as Ava says). I love them so much the tears roll off my lids and down they go like a waterfall. I realize the depth of love and we all have a moment of tender sadness together before we all started laughing at a Haitian joke and moved right out of that moment as quick as we moved into it.
Farmer and I talk about loving people well and being loved in return. We see it on other's faces. I see it when my girls spring into the arms of Haitians who want to hold and love them and tickle them til they giggle. Our coffee and prayer time come to a close and I ask Farmer what's on his plate for the day. He has a team here who has been a vital part of the project he's been working on. Five seasoned men and Mrs. Elaine. Farmer says he's trying to get the well finished before they leave. They raised all the money for it and want to see it come to fruition together. He says he is trying to get Blue Ridge out to help him get it going. It's a complicated project that's been in the works a long time and has many intrical parts to it.
For well over a year I have heard Farmer say he can't do much of anything without water. No water, no agriculture. I get it. The rainy season isn't enough for the plants to survive the intense heat. There are 43 houses on the hill and more than 43 people in them. The water is a crucial piece to anyone hauling buckets from a well to their front door. Water for bathing, cooking, drinking, watering, etc.
This week he is working alongside the other men toward getting those houses access to water and if everything goes well, there will be water to them before our exit date. He tells me while I'm schooling the girls that Blue Ridge can't come. I hear him on the phone with Kevin that they are already booked this week and Farmer's cancellation last week lends itself to the availability of the crew. Sometime early afternoon he comes in with a big grin on his face to say they are coming out this evening to help him. Change of plans for the better. Farmer hugs me and I can tell he is bubbling with excitement on the inside and he might see water sooner than later.
I pass the time by helping Ydalia in the orphanage with her new sewing machine that Mrs. Elaine has brought her. Now Ydalia will be able to sew again for herself and the 13 children in the orphanage. Her machine is a Brother and so is mine so I show her some tricks. I love teaching someone who wants to learn and Mrs. Elaine is elated to see her face as she practices on the new machine. She says my Sunday School class will be so glad to hear she likes it.
The sun starts going down and I sit in on a marriage conference with Pastor Mickenson and about 40 members of the church asking this and that. The conference is all week and proves to be helpful to many. Married and single alike are present. As the conference ends, I yell to Coach that Farmer should see water soon at the well. He comes down with both girls in tow to look on. The crowd has grown and the community members, like us, were all holding their breath to see this work. The team, the community, the kids, all of us were hoping. Everyone bows in prayer and we're all keeping fingers crossed. The pump goes down and all kinds of equipment Farmer has ordered across the US and has had sent on a number of flights. Every item arrived. Even one FedEx'd to the wrong location made it. A God thing. For the last few months, every night Farmer is on the computer looking at parts that look like they come from outer space but really fit together in his mind to give these people water where they need it. And last night in the dark with flashlights shining the way, it came down to a switch. I could hear the hush. Our two girls were up past bedtime and on the shoulders of Haitian friends so they too could see the outcome. Ava yells out, "Hey Papi, where is the water?" And he flips the switch and we all wait with anticipation to see what happens. I feel like no one is taking a breath and then water comes out of the pipe and everyone erupts with applause and excitement. It was so thrilling!!!! Lots of jumping up and down and an outpouring of the water. I could barely stand the joy that I felt. Farmer and the Blue Ridge guys hi five and smile. A job well done. A long time coming and a big victory! It was a miracle in itself. It was like a newborn baby. New life. New hope. Liquid gold.
I think about how the women gather around the well and gossip. How my children and their friends wash clothes together around a basin. I picture the soccer players huddled around the water during a break. I know water creates a gathering place, a fellowship, a source of life and community here.
I fell asleep last night before I could really congratulate Farmer. He was still at the well until after 9pm. I heard one of the guys from the house say the most sincere thank you I've ever heard. He barely said anything but the light of his face said it all and I wish I could have captured it. And the water poured out with abundance, overflowing the bucket at 110 gallons per minute. Kevin says this is one of the best outcomes of any of the wells we've seen. Farmer and I smile at each other, we've been praying for water and praying for abundance. I walk home and think our community will remember that moment and they will remember us. And I will forever remember them. I miss them already and I'm still here. I just know the heartache of missing them and know it's coming for the four of us.
I closed my eyes last night thinking, may they know the fountain of life, the giver of all life and may they be ever reminded of the abundance of water they have seen tonight. There is a song we sing in Haiti about the well that never runs dry. Oh that we would leave a visual of that unlimited supply.
Fill me up, God. Fill me up, God. Fill me up, God. Fill me up, overflow. Permeate all my soul ...
Farmer and the Blue Ridge guys
We love Junior
Ydalia and her new machine
He doesn't leave her side
Washing clothes with friends
Friends!
The water miracle!
God is good all the time. All the time God is good.
Monday, May 04, 2015
Tiny Slice of Heaven
I can't stop thinking about this mama putting her crying toddler on a motorcycle taxi this morning and walking away. The toddler was being held on the moto by one of the four other people on the taxi despite his arms held out and his efforts to once again reach his mother. He was in full uniform and off to school at the age of maybe 3. She walked away without blinking but I know she felt the tug on her heart. Some mamas are tougher than others but we all have tugs on our hearts when it comes to our children.
I openly admit I am not as tough as these mamas here. They are hard core and endure much more than I can imagine.
It's been a couple of weeks since I have written, not because I don't have the words but it's the time I haven't wanted to give up. It's been a busy few weeks between school wrapping up and time with people we love who we won't be with for long.
For two weeks now the girls and I have been on the move. Tuesday night we were up late with Coach and Jasmine eating brownies and laughing over silly topics. I praised God for the return of laughter in the midst of a season of tears. It was a short night and we rose early on Wednesday to get Jasmine to a doctor's appointment. She asked me to go to the doctor with her. I was a little skeptical since Haitian hospitals and I don't mix well. I overrode the past experiences and sat with her chatting while we waited to see an ultrasound of little Mr. In a couple of hours she was called back and I loved seeing him on that screen!!! Pickle and Chi Chi went with Coach to the office while I was at the hospital. One thing we all agree on is that Haitian hospitals are no place for children, especially blancs. When we arrived at Coach's office, it was covered in red glitter and two girls at work with paper, glue and glitter. He was a good sport to take on such a task and still attempt to work. He ended up with some office art and extra glitter for the next time.
We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting around eating green mangoes, playing guitar, watching soccer and taking naps. I love love being at their house. (We say love love when one love isn't enough. In the Bible Jesus repeats words for emphasis so we do it too.) It's so normal to be in a Haitian neighborhood sitting on the porch shooting the breeze and living among them. It's so abnormal to live inside the walls of a compound that require a physical barrier between us and guards to keep us from them at times. The freedom at their house is so refreshing. The girls played until sunset with Akhim and the neighbors in the back of the truck and in the yard. No one wanted to leave but that was the agreement. We returned at dark and our hearts were full. The pressure of entertaining my two littles had been lifted for the day.
It just so happened we had rides the next morning in and out of town and were invited to go to a friend's house for a play date. For the second day in a row we aborted school and went to town to play with friends. It was great to see friends and sit and talk under the mango trees about life in Haiti with friends who understand. Dawn talked about turning 40 and God's blessings of provision in the midst of a hard season. We swapped stories of struggle and victory. We rode out with Coach to Hope Center and the rest of the day was in meetings with those interested in getting baptized. I sat beside several church leaders. Members walk in one by one and answer the why questions and the what does this look for you in the future. I catch most of the Creole and love to see their expressions as they talk about the Jesus they know.
It was oh so rare but we took a third opportunity in a row to ride in and go to the beach for the day. Farmer was too busy but the girls and I spent the morning with Coach and Jasmine and were dropped off at Wahoo Bay for the afternoon. We laughed that I forgot swimsuits for the girls and that they would be swimming in oversized tshirts. They managed and we all had a good time. Jasmine and I talked about life in all its aspects. We chatted with some other Americans and even ran into friends there. We have so few friends here that running into them is more of a miracle than it would be in your hometown in the States.
We were worn out from an afternoon in the sun and three days out of the house. It was unusual and fantastic! Julienne kept the house clean and missed us badly she said. She wanted to know why we couldn't stay home more so she could play with the girls. Sometimes we gotta get out, I told her.
The weekend was full and fun. On Saturday afternoon we celebrated two beautiful girls in the orphanage with a birthday party. It was especially celebratory since it was Helene's birthday and we almost lost Helene to Cholera earlier this year. She turned six on Saturday and we were grateful for the time God extended in her life here on earth. It's a reminder not to take lives for granted when one is almost lost. She opened movies, hair accessories, new clothes, art supplies and a few more items that made her lips shift to a big smile. She and Madride blew out candles well before the Happy Birthday tune had even ended. The bright pink and bright purple cakes were the finished product of our own little art class at home with frosting the Harris Creek team brought to decorate. My girls were enthralled that cake icing could be the same colors as their brightly tie-dyed shirts. The celebration continued through the evening because Ydalia, the main care giver of the thirteen children, had invited us to come for dinner. She was there alone taking care of all of them and made us a special dinner. I spend a lot of time at the orphanage but rarely eat there. All the children are peeking around the corner and smelling the fried chicken. They are giddy and giggly. They make me smile. I see Lovenica's toothless smile and hug her tight. I know the hugs won't last as long as I want them to but I take advantage of the moment.
We sit down to a special dinner of fried chicken, french fries, salad, rice and a shrimp sauce. I'm impressed with Ydalia's cooking. She is up and down from the table, finishing up the fried chicken for the kids. They are already drooling! After dinner we serve their plates and they go from giggles to silence in the matter of seconds when they pick up their forks. Usually the children eat some crackers or cookies in the evening with juice since their main meals are breakfast and lunch (around 2pm). I hear nothing but crunching and clanging of forks. They are consuming chicken and bones. There will be nothing left in their little bowls. I love seeing their greasy smiles. We get the dishes clean and Ydalia and I chit chat about the upcoming plans. I know her sad eyes when she speaks of this summer. She applies lotion on a few of the children still suffering from Chicken Pox and quick Creole comes off her lips as Kristana helps brush the others' teeth. They get into bed and say prayers. I hug Ydalia's neck and we head back to Hope Center. I love her. Immensely. I respect anyone who can raise 13 children but I love her for who she is too. She is tender, soft-spoken, quick to love, wise and compassionate. She is on around the clock and she still wanted to fry chicken for us. No words for that kind of love.
We spent the rest of the evening with two friends. Guelson and Coach come in and they are at home. They pour themselves something to drink and eat the cookies off the cookie sheet. It's home to them and they love us. Coach slides his shoes off and stretches across the floor. They swap words in Creole. We love them both. Guelson has to get to studying. Coach peeks in on the girls already sleeping. Bea quietly gets into Lilly's bed and turns over to start dreaming. Coach and Jasmine's adopted daughter, she has been sick and is now starting an antibiotic that promises to help. The night ends late but the morning starts early.
My alarm goes off at 5am on Sunday morning. It's somewhat unusual to push myself on a Sunday morning but this is no ordinary Sunday morning. This is a morning of water and new life. Coach is ready and turned Pastor with his bleached white shirt. He goes ahead and I grab my camera. I walk down with the girls. It's barely 6. Mickie and Tony are in clinic with a mama about to give birth to a different kind of new life. But in all cases it's a spiritual life we pray they all have in the days to come. We watch as Pastor Mickenson walks into the baptismal and his clothes go from dry to wet and he holds out his hand for the first member to receive the washing of the water. Towel ready, we receive them as new creations. They are clean. Their sins are washed away. Praise God. We watched 22 men and women in the water come out clean as snow. Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
We continued the celebration after church. Farmer helped cook while I taught Sunday School. Soon we were sitting down to Sunday lunch. It was perfect. A number of Haitians and our family around the table. I wanted to freeze the clock and linger over BBQ chicken and rice and all the hands held during prayer. We love the people around the table. Odlin knocked and he joins us. The table was full of loved ones and the color didn't make any difference at all. It was a tiny slice of heaven in our house that day.
Sunday afternoons lend themselves to sitting on the porch with our Haitian friends and shooting the breeze. Watching one do another's hair and listening to the latest gossip on who's doing what. I don't have enough French to gossip nor does it seem like the right thing to do but the leisure of being with them in their element is priceless and will be missed.
Monday morning came and my stomach turned. Sour stomachs are like falling mangoes here, overkill and way too often. I want to overcome it but even Monday afternoon I physically want to lie down but instead get to church to open the doors for Bible study. I can't bring myself to cancel even though Frantz is a no show and I am at a place of having to give my best Ruth edition in Creole/French without sure translation. The ladies pray for healing and we discuss redemption. It's good and tiring. My brain wants to shut down and my heart kind of wants to break in pieces. They sing and we hold hands. My hands full of their hands and I squeeze at the end of the prayer. It's like manna for the hungry.
I get a text from a friend asking how I'm holding up. I say digging deep and leaning in. Can't go any other way I say. I thank God in that moment for friends who hold me up when my feet slip.
On Tuesday morning I had a very specific thought about staying the night at Jasmine's. I call and ask, "Can we come?" They say yes and we plan on it. After church I pack a bag and we get in the car. Farmer stays for meetings. We get to Croix de Bouquet and it feels like home again. We get girls to bed. Coach sings them a song and once again we are stretched out on the floor processing life together. Coach sleeps and Jasmine and I talk into the night. It was good. We have become fast friends and see things somewhat alike given our different backgrounds. She refuses to let me sleep on the floor and says she did it too many nights growing up. I love her. She sees me different and I see her different. We are both the exception to what we know. Isn't that what friends are about? Seeing the other as compatible, a fit, complementary. Jas talks about the first year of marriage and the little guy on the way and all the in between. All stretched out on the floor sweating except for the occasional breeze coming through the window.
We woke up to dogs barking and babies crying. Everything is transparent in this little neighborhood. I run around, praying circles, exchanging Bonjours. The morning transpires at one of Coach's friend's house where we eat Kalalou and talk about their house search. The girls play and adults chat. I love the value of relationship here. The stop by and say hi and eat and stay awhile leisure to the relationship here. In the States, we plan, reschedule, meet at a restaurant and stay for our appointed 60 minutes until we go to the next scheduled event. No taps on the door, no time to sit and chat. We grocery shop and then return home to more green mangoes and Bea cooking legim over a hot fire. We meet Meresse and Junior on the bus to catch a ride back. Junior holds my sleeping Chi Chi in his arms and I hold Lilly Cruz. We don't exchange too many words. We just ride and watch sleeping babies. Junior is a hard working, right hand man to Farmer. He is dependable (a rare quality in Haiti) and he is joyful (another rare quality). Dependable and joyful. Dependably joyful. A lot in those two qualities make Farmer sure of Jesus in his heart. His wife is the same. I love Mensia. She is able and willing and ready to lead. She sets a high standard. Her laugh is contagious and she loves well.
Last week I sat with her as we visited and discipled one another through encouraging words. I tell her what saddens me and she laughs. Haitians always surprise me when they laugh to keep from crying. I wish that coping mechanism came natural for me.
Thursday morning Farmer planned a day of planning. It was a day of dropping off girls and buying tires and plane tickets. It was a day in the sun with the Farmer I never see anymore. It was good and hard. We bought plane tickets back to the States and returned to get the girls one shade darker. We also planned a quick trip back to the rooftop of Gonaives friends. Thursday night we arrived home with girls and sunscreen in tote. Coach, Jasmine, Bea and Akhim were right behind us. A little party with people on the couch and in all the beds in our house. We love a full house!
Friday morning started early with meetings and packing and eight people showering for a quick road trip. We set out around the working hour Friday morning and got to Gonaives in time for an afternoon nap. I spent the afternoon visiting with Jasmine and friends while Coach and Farmer hit the road again to see Coach's grandparents and Jasmine's parents. It was a rocky trip with a lot of good Haitian food and coffee, Farmer said. The evening was spent on top of the roof and under the stars. It was magical how laughter came easy and the praise music came off the lips of our mouths. It was sweet fellowship that we long for. It was people who love and embrace us in this hard season of transition. It was early morning hours when we put the skittles away and packed up the guitar and called it a night. We're family. Two twin beds and six of us sleeping for a few hours. The girls in their gowns were up and out painting faces with Chloe with barely any daylight. I love my kids playing with other kids and enjoying the parents at the same time. It's like puzzle pieces that fit together for the whole family. Saturday was a lot of porch sitting, coffee drinking and pool splashing with people we love and who love us. Thoroughly enjoyable. We had one small glitch We hit the road and ate more Haitian food on the way out. Our crew barely got out of town before we pulled up to Mickenson's mama's house with a flat tire. The trip just extended a couple of hours but we welcomed the laid back, hot afternoon. We rode into the night stopping for melon and lumbi. We laughed and slept and planned and absorbed the time together as another experience in the books. It was good. We arrived to Hope Center by 10pm and put the littles to bed. Green mangoes are our favorite and we returned with about 40. Dinner was mangoes and smoothies. Coach and I talked about the upcoming marriage conference and the struggles while I washed dishes and dirty clothes. We talked about our own marriages and the cultural differences and the work relationships take.
I wake before everyone Sunday morning to get a mango galette in the oven so we can all sit down for breakfast before church. We sang the doxology and each thanked God for a few things that came quickly to mind. Farmer thanked God for sleep, Jasmine seconded that. There are always things for which to be thankful. Always.
I walk into church and the people can't help but moving as they sing. There's that much joy coming not just out of their mouths but out of their entire bodies. They are moving to the tune and I love seeing their enthusiasm. We praise God in song. When you can't pray, sing. Our family takes that saying on very often with a four-year-old little who tends to have her mother's strong will. When I don't know the words of a song in Creole I sometimes sing it in English. I'm overpowered by those sitting around me but God hears my English words in song. Mensia sits by me. She's permed her hair. She giggles as she sits. Tickled there's an empty chair by me. I love it. I giggle too. Farmer walks in behind us and sits with his sunglasses still on. I hug Mensia because I can't not. I love her too much not to squeeze her and tell her. I love the ones around us. I love their dark skin, their wide smiles, their Sunday dress up clothes, their humble spirits and their sheer zeal to serve our one and only God. I hug other's necks and thank God as I do that I know them and love them and they hug my neck back.
I walk out with several of the ladies to go teach the 50 or so children. We sing about David and tell the Moses In the River story. The children twitch and wiggle in their seats but they repeat the Bible verse and soon say it from memory. We go a little overtime and parents are looking for their singing toddlers. I see them line up to leave and I pray they teach their older siblings and their parents. Please teach your parents what you learned today. That helps them remember and their parents learn. It's good to see these kids every week. I love them too. I hear them singing the little tunes during the week or asking questions about the story and I know they long to call God their own Savior and not just the one of the Bible.
Sunday afternoon comes easy with a quick trip into town and a team on it's way. We played with the girls and took naps. Jasmine and Coach stuck around. Farmer went in to get the team. It was slow and relaxing. I hit tired after a run on Sunday afternoon that left me once again a little labored in my breathing. Saturday I had run sprints after a long run and had a little trouble breathing. I tried to catch my breath but the labored breathing turned into an all out asthma attack and thankfully I got to an inhaler before a hospital and caught my breath. Coach gave me a look that needed no words. It said, "seriously, you gotta slow down ... " There was more to it but that was the gist. The attack left me with chest pains on the way back and a sore chest the following days. I couldn't go 100% today either. All that to say, Sunday afternoon gave way to ease and open suitcases. A lot of intention and very little implementation. I did, however, pack and unpack some suitcases, wash clothes, cook lunch, and do lesson plans for Lilly's school week. We sat around laughing and eating Lalo, a Haitian dish with spinach and you guessed it, rice. The team arrived and blessed us with a room full of gifts and items for those in our community. And they brought some specific items we requested for our family and friends. We were excited a big item made it for little Mr. Gilbrun, our little Haitian guy. We gave Coach and Jasmine a couple of things they weren't expecting and praised God for provision. It was a happy ending to a happy weekend together.
The team hit Monday morning ready to go. Lilly, Ava and I did school and Julienne took on the mess of the house. Mondays are always a let down when we've had such a good weekend. It's been so good to thank God for both. That's life. The good weekend with friends and the hard Monday mornings without them. We praise you in the sunshine and in the storm. Walking in the Spirit, expecting great things.
I openly admit I am not as tough as these mamas here. They are hard core and endure much more than I can imagine.
It's been a couple of weeks since I have written, not because I don't have the words but it's the time I haven't wanted to give up. It's been a busy few weeks between school wrapping up and time with people we love who we won't be with for long.
For two weeks now the girls and I have been on the move. Tuesday night we were up late with Coach and Jasmine eating brownies and laughing over silly topics. I praised God for the return of laughter in the midst of a season of tears. It was a short night and we rose early on Wednesday to get Jasmine to a doctor's appointment. She asked me to go to the doctor with her. I was a little skeptical since Haitian hospitals and I don't mix well. I overrode the past experiences and sat with her chatting while we waited to see an ultrasound of little Mr. In a couple of hours she was called back and I loved seeing him on that screen!!! Pickle and Chi Chi went with Coach to the office while I was at the hospital. One thing we all agree on is that Haitian hospitals are no place for children, especially blancs. When we arrived at Coach's office, it was covered in red glitter and two girls at work with paper, glue and glitter. He was a good sport to take on such a task and still attempt to work. He ended up with some office art and extra glitter for the next time.
We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting around eating green mangoes, playing guitar, watching soccer and taking naps. I love love being at their house. (We say love love when one love isn't enough. In the Bible Jesus repeats words for emphasis so we do it too.) It's so normal to be in a Haitian neighborhood sitting on the porch shooting the breeze and living among them. It's so abnormal to live inside the walls of a compound that require a physical barrier between us and guards to keep us from them at times. The freedom at their house is so refreshing. The girls played until sunset with Akhim and the neighbors in the back of the truck and in the yard. No one wanted to leave but that was the agreement. We returned at dark and our hearts were full. The pressure of entertaining my two littles had been lifted for the day.
It just so happened we had rides the next morning in and out of town and were invited to go to a friend's house for a play date. For the second day in a row we aborted school and went to town to play with friends. It was great to see friends and sit and talk under the mango trees about life in Haiti with friends who understand. Dawn talked about turning 40 and God's blessings of provision in the midst of a hard season. We swapped stories of struggle and victory. We rode out with Coach to Hope Center and the rest of the day was in meetings with those interested in getting baptized. I sat beside several church leaders. Members walk in one by one and answer the why questions and the what does this look for you in the future. I catch most of the Creole and love to see their expressions as they talk about the Jesus they know.
It was oh so rare but we took a third opportunity in a row to ride in and go to the beach for the day. Farmer was too busy but the girls and I spent the morning with Coach and Jasmine and were dropped off at Wahoo Bay for the afternoon. We laughed that I forgot swimsuits for the girls and that they would be swimming in oversized tshirts. They managed and we all had a good time. Jasmine and I talked about life in all its aspects. We chatted with some other Americans and even ran into friends there. We have so few friends here that running into them is more of a miracle than it would be in your hometown in the States.
We were worn out from an afternoon in the sun and three days out of the house. It was unusual and fantastic! Julienne kept the house clean and missed us badly she said. She wanted to know why we couldn't stay home more so she could play with the girls. Sometimes we gotta get out, I told her.
The weekend was full and fun. On Saturday afternoon we celebrated two beautiful girls in the orphanage with a birthday party. It was especially celebratory since it was Helene's birthday and we almost lost Helene to Cholera earlier this year. She turned six on Saturday and we were grateful for the time God extended in her life here on earth. It's a reminder not to take lives for granted when one is almost lost. She opened movies, hair accessories, new clothes, art supplies and a few more items that made her lips shift to a big smile. She and Madride blew out candles well before the Happy Birthday tune had even ended. The bright pink and bright purple cakes were the finished product of our own little art class at home with frosting the Harris Creek team brought to decorate. My girls were enthralled that cake icing could be the same colors as their brightly tie-dyed shirts. The celebration continued through the evening because Ydalia, the main care giver of the thirteen children, had invited us to come for dinner. She was there alone taking care of all of them and made us a special dinner. I spend a lot of time at the orphanage but rarely eat there. All the children are peeking around the corner and smelling the fried chicken. They are giddy and giggly. They make me smile. I see Lovenica's toothless smile and hug her tight. I know the hugs won't last as long as I want them to but I take advantage of the moment.
We sit down to a special dinner of fried chicken, french fries, salad, rice and a shrimp sauce. I'm impressed with Ydalia's cooking. She is up and down from the table, finishing up the fried chicken for the kids. They are already drooling! After dinner we serve their plates and they go from giggles to silence in the matter of seconds when they pick up their forks. Usually the children eat some crackers or cookies in the evening with juice since their main meals are breakfast and lunch (around 2pm). I hear nothing but crunching and clanging of forks. They are consuming chicken and bones. There will be nothing left in their little bowls. I love seeing their greasy smiles. We get the dishes clean and Ydalia and I chit chat about the upcoming plans. I know her sad eyes when she speaks of this summer. She applies lotion on a few of the children still suffering from Chicken Pox and quick Creole comes off her lips as Kristana helps brush the others' teeth. They get into bed and say prayers. I hug Ydalia's neck and we head back to Hope Center. I love her. Immensely. I respect anyone who can raise 13 children but I love her for who she is too. She is tender, soft-spoken, quick to love, wise and compassionate. She is on around the clock and she still wanted to fry chicken for us. No words for that kind of love.
We spent the rest of the evening with two friends. Guelson and Coach come in and they are at home. They pour themselves something to drink and eat the cookies off the cookie sheet. It's home to them and they love us. Coach slides his shoes off and stretches across the floor. They swap words in Creole. We love them both. Guelson has to get to studying. Coach peeks in on the girls already sleeping. Bea quietly gets into Lilly's bed and turns over to start dreaming. Coach and Jasmine's adopted daughter, she has been sick and is now starting an antibiotic that promises to help. The night ends late but the morning starts early.
My alarm goes off at 5am on Sunday morning. It's somewhat unusual to push myself on a Sunday morning but this is no ordinary Sunday morning. This is a morning of water and new life. Coach is ready and turned Pastor with his bleached white shirt. He goes ahead and I grab my camera. I walk down with the girls. It's barely 6. Mickie and Tony are in clinic with a mama about to give birth to a different kind of new life. But in all cases it's a spiritual life we pray they all have in the days to come. We watch as Pastor Mickenson walks into the baptismal and his clothes go from dry to wet and he holds out his hand for the first member to receive the washing of the water. Towel ready, we receive them as new creations. They are clean. Their sins are washed away. Praise God. We watched 22 men and women in the water come out clean as snow. Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
We continued the celebration after church. Farmer helped cook while I taught Sunday School. Soon we were sitting down to Sunday lunch. It was perfect. A number of Haitians and our family around the table. I wanted to freeze the clock and linger over BBQ chicken and rice and all the hands held during prayer. We love the people around the table. Odlin knocked and he joins us. The table was full of loved ones and the color didn't make any difference at all. It was a tiny slice of heaven in our house that day.
Sunday afternoons lend themselves to sitting on the porch with our Haitian friends and shooting the breeze. Watching one do another's hair and listening to the latest gossip on who's doing what. I don't have enough French to gossip nor does it seem like the right thing to do but the leisure of being with them in their element is priceless and will be missed.
Monday morning came and my stomach turned. Sour stomachs are like falling mangoes here, overkill and way too often. I want to overcome it but even Monday afternoon I physically want to lie down but instead get to church to open the doors for Bible study. I can't bring myself to cancel even though Frantz is a no show and I am at a place of having to give my best Ruth edition in Creole/French without sure translation. The ladies pray for healing and we discuss redemption. It's good and tiring. My brain wants to shut down and my heart kind of wants to break in pieces. They sing and we hold hands. My hands full of their hands and I squeeze at the end of the prayer. It's like manna for the hungry.
I get a text from a friend asking how I'm holding up. I say digging deep and leaning in. Can't go any other way I say. I thank God in that moment for friends who hold me up when my feet slip.
On Tuesday morning I had a very specific thought about staying the night at Jasmine's. I call and ask, "Can we come?" They say yes and we plan on it. After church I pack a bag and we get in the car. Farmer stays for meetings. We get to Croix de Bouquet and it feels like home again. We get girls to bed. Coach sings them a song and once again we are stretched out on the floor processing life together. Coach sleeps and Jasmine and I talk into the night. It was good. We have become fast friends and see things somewhat alike given our different backgrounds. She refuses to let me sleep on the floor and says she did it too many nights growing up. I love her. She sees me different and I see her different. We are both the exception to what we know. Isn't that what friends are about? Seeing the other as compatible, a fit, complementary. Jas talks about the first year of marriage and the little guy on the way and all the in between. All stretched out on the floor sweating except for the occasional breeze coming through the window.
We woke up to dogs barking and babies crying. Everything is transparent in this little neighborhood. I run around, praying circles, exchanging Bonjours. The morning transpires at one of Coach's friend's house where we eat Kalalou and talk about their house search. The girls play and adults chat. I love the value of relationship here. The stop by and say hi and eat and stay awhile leisure to the relationship here. In the States, we plan, reschedule, meet at a restaurant and stay for our appointed 60 minutes until we go to the next scheduled event. No taps on the door, no time to sit and chat. We grocery shop and then return home to more green mangoes and Bea cooking legim over a hot fire. We meet Meresse and Junior on the bus to catch a ride back. Junior holds my sleeping Chi Chi in his arms and I hold Lilly Cruz. We don't exchange too many words. We just ride and watch sleeping babies. Junior is a hard working, right hand man to Farmer. He is dependable (a rare quality in Haiti) and he is joyful (another rare quality). Dependable and joyful. Dependably joyful. A lot in those two qualities make Farmer sure of Jesus in his heart. His wife is the same. I love Mensia. She is able and willing and ready to lead. She sets a high standard. Her laugh is contagious and she loves well.
Last week I sat with her as we visited and discipled one another through encouraging words. I tell her what saddens me and she laughs. Haitians always surprise me when they laugh to keep from crying. I wish that coping mechanism came natural for me.
Thursday morning Farmer planned a day of planning. It was a day of dropping off girls and buying tires and plane tickets. It was a day in the sun with the Farmer I never see anymore. It was good and hard. We bought plane tickets back to the States and returned to get the girls one shade darker. We also planned a quick trip back to the rooftop of Gonaives friends. Thursday night we arrived home with girls and sunscreen in tote. Coach, Jasmine, Bea and Akhim were right behind us. A little party with people on the couch and in all the beds in our house. We love a full house!
Friday morning started early with meetings and packing and eight people showering for a quick road trip. We set out around the working hour Friday morning and got to Gonaives in time for an afternoon nap. I spent the afternoon visiting with Jasmine and friends while Coach and Farmer hit the road again to see Coach's grandparents and Jasmine's parents. It was a rocky trip with a lot of good Haitian food and coffee, Farmer said. The evening was spent on top of the roof and under the stars. It was magical how laughter came easy and the praise music came off the lips of our mouths. It was sweet fellowship that we long for. It was people who love and embrace us in this hard season of transition. It was early morning hours when we put the skittles away and packed up the guitar and called it a night. We're family. Two twin beds and six of us sleeping for a few hours. The girls in their gowns were up and out painting faces with Chloe with barely any daylight. I love my kids playing with other kids and enjoying the parents at the same time. It's like puzzle pieces that fit together for the whole family. Saturday was a lot of porch sitting, coffee drinking and pool splashing with people we love and who love us. Thoroughly enjoyable. We had one small glitch We hit the road and ate more Haitian food on the way out. Our crew barely got out of town before we pulled up to Mickenson's mama's house with a flat tire. The trip just extended a couple of hours but we welcomed the laid back, hot afternoon. We rode into the night stopping for melon and lumbi. We laughed and slept and planned and absorbed the time together as another experience in the books. It was good. We arrived to Hope Center by 10pm and put the littles to bed. Green mangoes are our favorite and we returned with about 40. Dinner was mangoes and smoothies. Coach and I talked about the upcoming marriage conference and the struggles while I washed dishes and dirty clothes. We talked about our own marriages and the cultural differences and the work relationships take.
I wake before everyone Sunday morning to get a mango galette in the oven so we can all sit down for breakfast before church. We sang the doxology and each thanked God for a few things that came quickly to mind. Farmer thanked God for sleep, Jasmine seconded that. There are always things for which to be thankful. Always.
I walk into church and the people can't help but moving as they sing. There's that much joy coming not just out of their mouths but out of their entire bodies. They are moving to the tune and I love seeing their enthusiasm. We praise God in song. When you can't pray, sing. Our family takes that saying on very often with a four-year-old little who tends to have her mother's strong will. When I don't know the words of a song in Creole I sometimes sing it in English. I'm overpowered by those sitting around me but God hears my English words in song. Mensia sits by me. She's permed her hair. She giggles as she sits. Tickled there's an empty chair by me. I love it. I giggle too. Farmer walks in behind us and sits with his sunglasses still on. I hug Mensia because I can't not. I love her too much not to squeeze her and tell her. I love the ones around us. I love their dark skin, their wide smiles, their Sunday dress up clothes, their humble spirits and their sheer zeal to serve our one and only God. I hug other's necks and thank God as I do that I know them and love them and they hug my neck back.
I walk out with several of the ladies to go teach the 50 or so children. We sing about David and tell the Moses In the River story. The children twitch and wiggle in their seats but they repeat the Bible verse and soon say it from memory. We go a little overtime and parents are looking for their singing toddlers. I see them line up to leave and I pray they teach their older siblings and their parents. Please teach your parents what you learned today. That helps them remember and their parents learn. It's good to see these kids every week. I love them too. I hear them singing the little tunes during the week or asking questions about the story and I know they long to call God their own Savior and not just the one of the Bible.
Sunday afternoon comes easy with a quick trip into town and a team on it's way. We played with the girls and took naps. Jasmine and Coach stuck around. Farmer went in to get the team. It was slow and relaxing. I hit tired after a run on Sunday afternoon that left me once again a little labored in my breathing. Saturday I had run sprints after a long run and had a little trouble breathing. I tried to catch my breath but the labored breathing turned into an all out asthma attack and thankfully I got to an inhaler before a hospital and caught my breath. Coach gave me a look that needed no words. It said, "seriously, you gotta slow down ... " There was more to it but that was the gist. The attack left me with chest pains on the way back and a sore chest the following days. I couldn't go 100% today either. All that to say, Sunday afternoon gave way to ease and open suitcases. A lot of intention and very little implementation. I did, however, pack and unpack some suitcases, wash clothes, cook lunch, and do lesson plans for Lilly's school week. We sat around laughing and eating Lalo, a Haitian dish with spinach and you guessed it, rice. The team arrived and blessed us with a room full of gifts and items for those in our community. And they brought some specific items we requested for our family and friends. We were excited a big item made it for little Mr. Gilbrun, our little Haitian guy. We gave Coach and Jasmine a couple of things they weren't expecting and praised God for provision. It was a happy ending to a happy weekend together.
The team hit Monday morning ready to go. Lilly, Ava and I did school and Julienne took on the mess of the house. Mondays are always a let down when we've had such a good weekend. It's been so good to thank God for both. That's life. The good weekend with friends and the hard Monday mornings without them. We praise you in the sunshine and in the storm. Walking in the Spirit, expecting great things.
Friends!
Beach Friday at Wahoo!
a Saturday afternoon nap for all of us but Lilly
Coach at the dance party
Baptism Sunday
We love Miguelson!!
me and jas
coach and green mangoes
Junior holding Chi Chi in the bus
Lil doing Julienne's hair
Children's church
Sunday afternoon reading and relaxing
Snoozers
our papayas out back
where Farmer incubates the chicks
Our feathered friends
A full table and a full heart
our papayas out back
where Farmer incubates the chicks
Our feathered friends
A full table and a full heart
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