McCall Connection: 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.