Haiti provided several new awarenesses. Like, the excessive amounts of food that gets wasted and thrown away. We often pause before throwing things away, asking ourselves, "Can we use this in some way?" Because I think of those precious faces of our friends who scarfed down peanut butter tortillas- our leftovers.
Or as I'm doing loads of laundry. My first inclination is to complain about how tiny my washer is, hence the number of loads I have to do. But then as I fold, iron, and put away our clothes, I'm kind of embarrassed at the quantity of our clothes. I mean, honestly, we have enough t-shirts to dress the country of Haiti. Yes, an exaggeration, but you get the idea.
As I flew from Miami to Dallas on our 3 part journey back to Seattle, I was listening to my ipod and journaling. The song, Awakening, came on. I sat there and listened to the words. And prayed. Asking the Lord to awaken our hearts. My heart. For the world. That His will would be done in me. I prayed that Haiti would be awakened. That out of the darkness would come a Light, just like the rising sun.
And since Haiti, my heart for adoption has been awakened, yet again. Over a year ago, I posted about adoption. To be honest, I don't remember what provoked it. Or everything I said. Just that I felt strongly that adoption was for me. And at that point it was just me. Now, it's us.
Since returning, I've spent hours researching, reading blogs, and thinking through it all. I go in circles in my thought process. Asking myself, "Are we too young?" Because people still ask if I'm in high school. But people wouldn't say I was too young if I was pregnant. "Can we afford the process?" Probably not. But I wholly trust God to be faithful. "Can I handle the heartache of the possible missteps, the waiting, etc?" Surely not on my own.
We've heard so many times to enjoy these times because we'll never get them back. No kids, two jobs, and a carefree life. Nothing holding us down- no house payment, no debt. We're living large, right? All that changes when you add kids to the mix. And I admit, it was nice to just pack up and go to Haiti for a week. [We even said how grateful we were for that liberty.] In fact, we've heard, "Wait, wait, wait," so many times that surely it's wisdom, right? Jesus didn't start ministry until He was 30. Maybe that's a good age to start parenting.
There's got to be a reason that some countries require you to be married for 5 years, even 10 years before adopting. Because it's hard. And it's serious. These kids have already seen unbelievable brokenness. The last thing these adoption agencies want is for these kids to be placed in a different devastating experience.
And I'm left confused about it all. Because I thought part of following Jesus was dying to yourself and living out a sacrificial love. Which contradicts the "live carefree and enjoy the simplicity of your life" advice we keep getting. Ya, we can be living sacrificially in a different way. There are plenty of ways we can practice dying to ourselves. I'm not saying adoption/parenting is the only way for us to be those things right now.
I've been reading through the numerous places in the Bible that talks about the poor and the fatherless. I've read about how God has given us a spirit of adoption by calling us His sons and daughters through Jesus. No longer a slave but a child of the most high God. We now have an inheritance because we have been adopted into His Kingdom.
It's powerful. And I'm still working through it, wanting to grasp my own adoption through Christ.
What I can't deny is the way my heart is stirred for "the least of these." The way I'm so drawn to adoption, and I'm convinced it's part of our calling. I know it'll never be convenient or easy. But I'm so willing and eager to see God move in the "impossible" of it all. I'm prayerfully asking God to guide our hearts and order our steps. Not wanting to rush ahead or be lulled into a comfortable lifestyle. I don't know what's best.
But I want to be completely surrender to what God has for us, fully aware that it could look nothing like I imagine it. And I keep my eyes fixed on Him.
"Defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed." Psalm 82:3
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
So, So Good For My Heart
7 days never felt so fast!
My brother, sister-in-law, and two nieces came for a whole week. NO ONE has ever come to visit for an entire week. But you gotta figure, flying 4.5 hours each direction with a 4 year old and a 9 month old, you have to stay for a week.
Back in March, when my brother sent me a copy of the flight receipt, I nearly cried to find out that all 4 of them were going to make the journey out here. I know all of the arguments. "It makes more sense for you and Adam to come East." Or, "You'll be able to see so many people." Or, "There's only two of you as opposed to 3, 4, 5, etc, of us." Which, I totally get.
But it's incredibly meaningful when people choose to enter into our world. Because when we go home, we're pulled so many directions to try to visit everyone, spend equal amounts of time with two families, and somehow, we leave feeling like we didn't get quality time with anyone.
But for 7 days, my house was filled with laughter, endless babbling from Ryann, and the chaos of 6 people sleeping in a small, 2 bedroom apartment. I loved that we didn't all fit comfortably. I loved getting up at 7 to make sure I could spend as much time as possible with my family. I loved the hours upon hours in the car, the sharing of meals, the new experiences, and the concentrated time with them. I'm so thankful that Adam is even more connected to them now. And I'm so thankful they got a glimpse into our lives.
We are the recipients of a lot of generosity. But perhaps the best way to love us right now is the visiting. It's not always easy being so far from home and so far from family. There are days when I very much long to be within driving distance of our families. When we miss birthdays, recitals, graduations, and family gatherings, we certainly feel the cost of living out here.
But for one whole week, I got to live life with family near by, as in, under my roof. It was wonderful. And refreshing. And very, very fun.
Ryann would often stop and say, "Blue! I love you!" And she would just go on with her previous activity. I'll miss her slipping her hand in mine. I'll miss Alee's little tongue sticking out when she's really happy. I'll miss Anthony and Erin's banter, and their unbelievable ability to jam pack a week with adventures.
My parents gifted this trip, in theory, to Anthony for graduating from seminary. But really, it was a priceless gift to me. An extravagant outpouring of love by enabling quality time with family that I never see enough of. For a week of near constant companionship. For new memories with my adorable nieces. For an opportunity to further embrace Adam in our family.
The past 7 days were so good for my heart.
My brother, sister-in-law, and two nieces came for a whole week. NO ONE has ever come to visit for an entire week. But you gotta figure, flying 4.5 hours each direction with a 4 year old and a 9 month old, you have to stay for a week.
Back in March, when my brother sent me a copy of the flight receipt, I nearly cried to find out that all 4 of them were going to make the journey out here. I know all of the arguments. "It makes more sense for you and Adam to come East." Or, "You'll be able to see so many people." Or, "There's only two of you as opposed to 3, 4, 5, etc, of us." Which, I totally get.
But it's incredibly meaningful when people choose to enter into our world. Because when we go home, we're pulled so many directions to try to visit everyone, spend equal amounts of time with two families, and somehow, we leave feeling like we didn't get quality time with anyone.
But for 7 days, my house was filled with laughter, endless babbling from Ryann, and the chaos of 6 people sleeping in a small, 2 bedroom apartment. I loved that we didn't all fit comfortably. I loved getting up at 7 to make sure I could spend as much time as possible with my family. I loved the hours upon hours in the car, the sharing of meals, the new experiences, and the concentrated time with them. I'm so thankful that Adam is even more connected to them now. And I'm so thankful they got a glimpse into our lives.
We are the recipients of a lot of generosity. But perhaps the best way to love us right now is the visiting. It's not always easy being so far from home and so far from family. There are days when I very much long to be within driving distance of our families. When we miss birthdays, recitals, graduations, and family gatherings, we certainly feel the cost of living out here.
But for one whole week, I got to live life with family near by, as in, under my roof. It was wonderful. And refreshing. And very, very fun.
Ryann would often stop and say, "Blue! I love you!" And she would just go on with her previous activity. I'll miss her slipping her hand in mine. I'll miss Alee's little tongue sticking out when she's really happy. I'll miss Anthony and Erin's banter, and their unbelievable ability to jam pack a week with adventures.
My parents gifted this trip, in theory, to Anthony for graduating from seminary. But really, it was a priceless gift to me. An extravagant outpouring of love by enabling quality time with family that I never see enough of. For a week of near constant companionship. For new memories with my adorable nieces. For an opportunity to further embrace Adam in our family.
The past 7 days were so good for my heart.
Monday, July 16, 2012
It's the Little Things in Life...
There's some stuff from Haiti that was really heavy and really sad. And those images and stories will stay with us. But there was also some really funny events, and Adam and I frequently talk about those.
We lived on a compound while we were there. SMI built a really big house for teams to stay in when they come. The Guitton school is within the compound walls, and there's also a basketball goal and soccer goals. They play soccer a lot. And they often play barefoot. On rocks. It looks so painful.
Anyways, there's lots of open space for these kids to come hang out with us while we're there. One evening in particular, the kids were crazy! I mean, kids everywhere and running around like circus performers. The sun was well on its way down, we had already eaten dinner, and the whole team went back out to hang with these attention starved kids.
There were two boys in particular, running around uncontrollably, with NO pants and NO underwear. Just a long t-shirt and their sneakers. Adam chased and chased them, and he got tired long before they did. They were probably 3 or 4 years old. And they. were. trouble.
That's the little boy- rocking the same type of outfit. Long t-shirt, but no pants and no underwear. Note: this picture is from a different day and inside the school.
So, after Adam gave up, chasing these 2 energizer bunnies (more like monkeys!), I started playing with them. They love to be chased. Love to never be caught. But at one point this little guy, yanked on my arm.
I looked down at him, and he stood there with his legs shoulder width apart, picked up his right leg, and slammed it down. Then he very proudly, pointed down at this shoe. Which just happened to be a light up shoe. So, naturally, the little red lights were flashing. And a smug grin filled this guys face.
Of course, I praised his awesome shoes, which I then realized, only the 1 still lit up. But I watched him go person after person, pulling the same stunt. Leg slam, point, and nod. He knew he had awesome shoes.
I smiled because my preschoolers do their own version of showing off their light up shoes (genius invention- by the way!).
To this day, Adam and I will occasionally stomp our own foot and point down at our shoe. Because it was so cute when he did it. And SO dramatic. And he took such delight in his one light up shoe. I wish that I could give him a pair of light up shoes that actually fit. That both shoes actually lit up. But I know he's thrilled with the one he has. And that challenges me to be content and glad with what I have.
We lived on a compound while we were there. SMI built a really big house for teams to stay in when they come. The Guitton school is within the compound walls, and there's also a basketball goal and soccer goals. They play soccer a lot. And they often play barefoot. On rocks. It looks so painful.
Anyways, there's lots of open space for these kids to come hang out with us while we're there. One evening in particular, the kids were crazy! I mean, kids everywhere and running around like circus performers. The sun was well on its way down, we had already eaten dinner, and the whole team went back out to hang with these attention starved kids.
There were two boys in particular, running around uncontrollably, with NO pants and NO underwear. Just a long t-shirt and their sneakers. Adam chased and chased them, and he got tired long before they did. They were probably 3 or 4 years old. And they. were. trouble.
So, after Adam gave up, chasing these 2 energizer bunnies (more like monkeys!), I started playing with them. They love to be chased. Love to never be caught. But at one point this little guy, yanked on my arm.
I looked down at him, and he stood there with his legs shoulder width apart, picked up his right leg, and slammed it down. Then he very proudly, pointed down at this shoe. Which just happened to be a light up shoe. So, naturally, the little red lights were flashing. And a smug grin filled this guys face.
Of course, I praised his awesome shoes, which I then realized, only the 1 still lit up. But I watched him go person after person, pulling the same stunt. Leg slam, point, and nod. He knew he had awesome shoes.
I smiled because my preschoolers do their own version of showing off their light up shoes (genius invention- by the way!).
To this day, Adam and I will occasionally stomp our own foot and point down at our shoe. Because it was so cute when he did it. And SO dramatic. And he took such delight in his one light up shoe. I wish that I could give him a pair of light up shoes that actually fit. That both shoes actually lit up. But I know he's thrilled with the one he has. And that challenges me to be content and glad with what I have.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Being Visible
A huge part of what SMI does is build relationships with people in Guitton. One way they do this is have teams walk through the village and go door to door passing out rice and beans to families. But first we take as much time as possible getting to know them, asking questions, and hearing their story. We offer them the gift of rice and beans and ask if we can pray for them.
Adam was so good at this. People on the team were genuinely anxious about having conversations with strangers through a translator. But if you know Adam at all, you know that he's just naturally so good at connecting with people.
Anyways, one of the first houses we went to was actually the grandmother of our translator, Mackenzie, who happens to be the principal of the school in Guitton. He told us that she's been sick for months, and she can't talk. But he assured us that she'd be blessed by us coming in to talk to her.
We make our way to the back of the house, which mind you, is not even 20 steps from the front door. We find a woman, laying on a mattress on the ground that's probably 4 inches thick. To describe her as frail doesn't even begin to scratch the surface. She looks 80 easily, but she's only 65. She's been laying on this mat for nearly 7+ months. She's in too much pain to talk or move, really. She did sit up at one point, so she could spit up into a bucket.
A medical team came through back in April. They think she has a urinary tract infection. That's it. But the infection hasn't been treated, and the pain is literally crippling this woman. They gave her an IV, and that did alleviate the pain for a little bit. But it wasn't enough to rid her body of the infection. So, all to quickly, she found herself in pain again.
As we started to pray for this woman, I couldn't hold back the tears. Why is this woman bedridden for over 7 months because of a urinary tract infection? How is this possible? I wanted to sit with this woman the rest of the day. She reminded me of my Abuela when she was sick with cancer. That kind of frailty. That kind of pain. Because of a urinary tract infection.
Thankfully, we had a doctor on our team. Later in the week, she was able to give this precious grandmother another IV and enough antibiotics for 2 months.
Hers is one of the faces I see often when I think about Haiti. Hers is one of the ones that makes me so confused and try so hard to come up with a solution to all of the problems facing Haiti. She shouldn't have to suffer like that.
Yesterday at church, our pastor was teaching from Colossians 1. About how we were delivered from darkness and brought into a new Kingdom. Verses 15-20 talk about the preeminence of Christ, the image of the unseen God. And I kept thinking about these people in Haiti. Who many would probably agree that God is not visible, not tangible and perhaps even not present. When you're in the midst of that kind of suffering and desperation, I would imagine it could be hard to see God in your circumstances.
But we are the ones who should be making God visible. Not just in Haiti. But right here in Seattle. We are image bearers. We are a representation of this Kingdom. We're the ones called to make the reign of Christ seen in this world, in our love, and in our service to one another. Through our compassion and our kindness. It's not enough to live by some moral code; we are to be making God visible through our lives.
As I pondered these things throughout the day, my prayer was that God would make Himself visible in me. That compassion would move me to action. In all things, Christ preeminent.
Adam was so good at this. People on the team were genuinely anxious about having conversations with strangers through a translator. But if you know Adam at all, you know that he's just naturally so good at connecting with people.
Anyways, one of the first houses we went to was actually the grandmother of our translator, Mackenzie, who happens to be the principal of the school in Guitton. He told us that she's been sick for months, and she can't talk. But he assured us that she'd be blessed by us coming in to talk to her.
We make our way to the back of the house, which mind you, is not even 20 steps from the front door. We find a woman, laying on a mattress on the ground that's probably 4 inches thick. To describe her as frail doesn't even begin to scratch the surface. She looks 80 easily, but she's only 65. She's been laying on this mat for nearly 7+ months. She's in too much pain to talk or move, really. She did sit up at one point, so she could spit up into a bucket.
A medical team came through back in April. They think she has a urinary tract infection. That's it. But the infection hasn't been treated, and the pain is literally crippling this woman. They gave her an IV, and that did alleviate the pain for a little bit. But it wasn't enough to rid her body of the infection. So, all to quickly, she found herself in pain again.
As we started to pray for this woman, I couldn't hold back the tears. Why is this woman bedridden for over 7 months because of a urinary tract infection? How is this possible? I wanted to sit with this woman the rest of the day. She reminded me of my Abuela when she was sick with cancer. That kind of frailty. That kind of pain. Because of a urinary tract infection.
Thankfully, we had a doctor on our team. Later in the week, she was able to give this precious grandmother another IV and enough antibiotics for 2 months.
Hers is one of the faces I see often when I think about Haiti. Hers is one of the ones that makes me so confused and try so hard to come up with a solution to all of the problems facing Haiti. She shouldn't have to suffer like that.
Yesterday at church, our pastor was teaching from Colossians 1. About how we were delivered from darkness and brought into a new Kingdom. Verses 15-20 talk about the preeminence of Christ, the image of the unseen God. And I kept thinking about these people in Haiti. Who many would probably agree that God is not visible, not tangible and perhaps even not present. When you're in the midst of that kind of suffering and desperation, I would imagine it could be hard to see God in your circumstances.
But we are the ones who should be making God visible. Not just in Haiti. But right here in Seattle. We are image bearers. We are a representation of this Kingdom. We're the ones called to make the reign of Christ seen in this world, in our love, and in our service to one another. Through our compassion and our kindness. It's not enough to live by some moral code; we are to be making God visible through our lives.
As I pondered these things throughout the day, my prayer was that God would make Himself visible in me. That compassion would move me to action. In all things, Christ preeminent.
Friday, July 6, 2012
DIY #2
I don't think I've ever posted three times in a week.
In an effort to put off all of the things I should be doing, I've been doing quite a bit of crafting. And painting and creating is good for me right now.
I made a painting this week that is currently framed and hanging over our kitchen table, but it's not that great. So, no need to show a picture of it today.
Remember our door that we turned into a headboard? Well, I bought a smaller door the same day, knowing I could create a decorative item with it. Adam helped me think through how to hang it, and then naturally, he executed the actual mounting process.
So, this is hanging over our fireplace. And yes, I adjust it quite frequently because it always looks crooked to me.
But we love it.
I have another project idea, so I experimented with chalkboard paint to make that chalkboard sign. I'm a fan! And I have A LOT of chalkboard paint left.
And that little boy in the middle of the line up? That's Ovens. We want him to be a Tomberlin. Desperately.
DIY Project Numero Dos: Success!
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Stories And More Stories
I wanted to wait to post again until one more person from the team posted their pictures because Adam and I know he has pictures that we really want to see. But he's taking his sweet time to do that.
We've spent time each day talking about Haiti. About the stuff that's not sitting well with us. The stuff we come back to each time our thoughts wonder to our new friends. And my sweet husband just so badly wants to "fix" it, but he can't.
SMI is set up in Guitton. We spent a lot of time there, but they have projects in 2 other villages. Nawash is one of them. And all of my stories and pictures today are from there.
The first morning we went to Nawash, Monday, I met this little boy.
His name is Sadio. Or something close to that. They say he's 6, but he looks 3 or 4. He crawled into my lap and hung out with me for a while. He's about as cute as they come. I wanted to take him home. He's small enough to sit on my lap on the plane, right?
When we came back that next day, all of the kids were much more comfortable with us being there, and they all flooded the church as soon as we arrived. We had the music on, and the kids were all helping us as we poured concrete. In fact, our assembly line was too crowded, so I started dancing and encouraging all of the little kids as they carried the empty buckets back to the pile of concrete. My little man, Sadio, would carry the bucket and dance the whole way back. He'd bounce with it, nodding his head, and confident he was cute. Because he is.
There were so. many. kids. While the men were mixing more concrete, 2 of the girls on the team decided to try to get a duck, duck, goose game going. Of course, these kids didn't know how to play. So, they showed them how to play. Someone interpreted for them.
When everyone was "clear" on how to play, Heather started it off. She chose Sadio as the goose, and he chased her but she made it back to his spot. His turn now. He walked around the circle and finally said "goose" to a little girl, and he bolted for the plantain fields. I mean, took. off. All of the kids were cheering for him, too. The little girl chased him as hard as she could. That round ended when she tackled him to the ground. So...I'd say they did a great job explaining the game. Best game of duck, duck, goose EVER!
But this is the little boy who really stole my heart.
His name is Beasone. Pronounced Bee-uh-sone. He's 10. And if I could've picked one little person to bring home, it would've been Beasone. We were quick friends. By Tuesday, he was by my side at all times. He wanted to be holding my hand or hugged or anything. There seemed to be a sadness in his eyes, and he didn't talk much. And I can't explain much about our connection, but I wanted to scoop him into my arms and hold him as long as I could. He wasn't one that the whole team flocked too, like Sadio. He was quiet and quite honestly, a wallflower for the first several hours we were there. But his smile is heartwarming. He was just a little boy that wanted some lovin'.
On Tuesday afternoon, we were about to leave with no assurance that we'd be back in Nawash. And I was already thinking that this good-bye was going to hurt. When it was time to go, I was hugging him close, and he looked at me, asking if I was coming back tomorrow. Tim told him that he didn't know if we'd be back at all, but definitely not tomorrow. Maybe later. But maybe not. So his grip tightened, and I rested my head on his head. In this moment, I really, really hated that I didn't know Creole. Because I wanted him to know that I cared, that I loved him. But that Jesus loves him more than I ever could.
So, I walked away, praying for my new friend, and then I started crying the second I sat on the bus. Maybe before I made it to the bus. I don't know what his life has looked like. I don't know who he lives with. I don't know if his Mama hugs him everyday or if he eats more than 1 meal a day. But something about sweet Beasone just broke my heart.
Something I forgot to tell Adam... I get attached quickly.
Thankfully, we got to go back on Friday morning to paint the church. And what do you know? My husband "accidentally" started a dance circle with about 15 Haitian kids. To which, I got pulled into the circle.
And pretty quickly, Adam and I were in the middle of this mass, dancing while everyone clapped and shouted and probably laughed. We then convinced everyone (tried to) that they, too, had to dance.
And just like that, Nawash became a part of our hearts forever. And it reaffirmed that Adam and I are perfect for each other.
Sometimes when I'm trying to fall asleep, I think about my friends in Nawash. I think about where those kids are sleeping. If they went to bed hungry. If they had any water that day. I wonder if a team has finished the church. If that team also fell in love with those kids. If someone held Beasone and made sure he got some hugs even though he's not an attention grabber.
And I wonder what we're supposed to do with all of this.
But one thing I definitely walked away from Haiti with is that I'm incredibly thankful for Adam. I'm thankful for his protective nature (umm...WOW!! we experienced this on a whole new level in Haiti). I'm thankful for his companionship, his questions, his listening ears, his heart for people, and his dancing abilities. Duh! I'm forever grateful that we're on this journey together. That we get to wrestle with all of this together, and we get to see God work in each other's lives through this.
We've spent time each day talking about Haiti. About the stuff that's not sitting well with us. The stuff we come back to each time our thoughts wonder to our new friends. And my sweet husband just so badly wants to "fix" it, but he can't.
SMI is set up in Guitton. We spent a lot of time there, but they have projects in 2 other villages. Nawash is one of them. And all of my stories and pictures today are from there.
The first morning we went to Nawash, Monday, I met this little boy.
When we came back that next day, all of the kids were much more comfortable with us being there, and they all flooded the church as soon as we arrived. We had the music on, and the kids were all helping us as we poured concrete. In fact, our assembly line was too crowded, so I started dancing and encouraging all of the little kids as they carried the empty buckets back to the pile of concrete. My little man, Sadio, would carry the bucket and dance the whole way back. He'd bounce with it, nodding his head, and confident he was cute. Because he is.
There were so. many. kids. While the men were mixing more concrete, 2 of the girls on the team decided to try to get a duck, duck, goose game going. Of course, these kids didn't know how to play. So, they showed them how to play. Someone interpreted for them.
When everyone was "clear" on how to play, Heather started it off. She chose Sadio as the goose, and he chased her but she made it back to his spot. His turn now. He walked around the circle and finally said "goose" to a little girl, and he bolted for the plantain fields. I mean, took. off. All of the kids were cheering for him, too. The little girl chased him as hard as she could. That round ended when she tackled him to the ground. So...I'd say they did a great job explaining the game. Best game of duck, duck, goose EVER!
But this is the little boy who really stole my heart.
His name is Beasone. Pronounced Bee-uh-sone. He's 10. And if I could've picked one little person to bring home, it would've been Beasone. We were quick friends. By Tuesday, he was by my side at all times. He wanted to be holding my hand or hugged or anything. There seemed to be a sadness in his eyes, and he didn't talk much. And I can't explain much about our connection, but I wanted to scoop him into my arms and hold him as long as I could. He wasn't one that the whole team flocked too, like Sadio. He was quiet and quite honestly, a wallflower for the first several hours we were there. But his smile is heartwarming. He was just a little boy that wanted some lovin'.
On Tuesday afternoon, we were about to leave with no assurance that we'd be back in Nawash. And I was already thinking that this good-bye was going to hurt. When it was time to go, I was hugging him close, and he looked at me, asking if I was coming back tomorrow. Tim told him that he didn't know if we'd be back at all, but definitely not tomorrow. Maybe later. But maybe not. So his grip tightened, and I rested my head on his head. In this moment, I really, really hated that I didn't know Creole. Because I wanted him to know that I cared, that I loved him. But that Jesus loves him more than I ever could.
So, I walked away, praying for my new friend, and then I started crying the second I sat on the bus. Maybe before I made it to the bus. I don't know what his life has looked like. I don't know who he lives with. I don't know if his Mama hugs him everyday or if he eats more than 1 meal a day. But something about sweet Beasone just broke my heart.
Something I forgot to tell Adam... I get attached quickly.
Thankfully, we got to go back on Friday morning to paint the church. And what do you know? My husband "accidentally" started a dance circle with about 15 Haitian kids. To which, I got pulled into the circle.
And just like that, Nawash became a part of our hearts forever. And it reaffirmed that Adam and I are perfect for each other.
Sometimes when I'm trying to fall asleep, I think about my friends in Nawash. I think about where those kids are sleeping. If they went to bed hungry. If they had any water that day. I wonder if a team has finished the church. If that team also fell in love with those kids. If someone held Beasone and made sure he got some hugs even though he's not an attention grabber.
And I wonder what we're supposed to do with all of this.
But one thing I definitely walked away from Haiti with is that I'm incredibly thankful for Adam. I'm thankful for his protective nature (umm...WOW!! we experienced this on a whole new level in Haiti). I'm thankful for his companionship, his questions, his listening ears, his heart for people, and his dancing abilities. Duh! I'm forever grateful that we're on this journey together. That we get to wrestle with all of this together, and we get to see God work in each other's lives through this.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Where To Begin
"I want to warn you all, Haiti will mess you up. In the most beautiful way possible."
This was one of the first things Tim told us upon our arrival in Haiti. And it's true. But it hurts. And it's confusing.
It's only Monday, but I already feel a little frantic to make sure the faces, the experiences, the realness of what we saw stays fresh. Because those experiences are stories that need to be told over and over and over again. Adam and I spent a lot of time yesterday looking at the hundreds of pictures that have already been posted to facebook by other members of our team. And though we love looking at them, those pictures will never add up to our experience. And we know this. And we knew that going into it, but there's an urgency to remember what we saw. To remember their names. To remember what we felt. To tell their stories. Because their stories matter.
So, over the next few posts, I'll be telling stories, or trying to. Because a lot happened, and I'm a slow processor.
Once we arrived in Port Au Prince, we loaded a bus that belongs to the organization we were there with and headed on an hour long ride to get to the village we would be staying in for the next week. We were so tired, but I was forcing myself to look out the window and see this country. This poverty stricken land that is dry and desolate. Where four posts and a tarp draped over it is considered a house for some people. Where people walk around on very rocky terrain barefoot because they don't have shoes. And where one meal a day is enough.
I've seen extreme poverty before in El Salvador, but Haiti is different. Because the whole country suffers from it. In El Salvador, there's stores and city and restaurants. But not in Haiti. There is no "middle class." There is nothing but the wealthy 5-10% (that I saw no traces of) and then poor and extremely poor.
We stopped at the mass gravesite for 196,000 people who were buried after the earthquake. They were literally buried into this hill, and we stood on a plateau nearby. It was a surreal moment, and I wanted to weep for this country. Such a devastating loss for these people.
We drove through the market where people were desperately needing to sell their goods- whatever it was- to be able to feed their families. It was chaos.
And we drove up on a woman wailing on the side of the road, on the ground, clutching her abdomen. I thought she was miscarrying a baby the way she was holding herself. We had to slow down because the road is really tight and people were coming to a stop. We drove slowly by, and then we saw it. A truck had driven into a ditch, and right beside the truck was a little girl's body covered by a towel. She was probably 9 years old.
And I grasped Adam's hand tighter and wanted to get out of the bus.
We have no way of knowing what happened, but we later found out that things like this happen in Haiti all the time. Roads are dangerous. Medical help is non existent. Taking her to a hospital was not an option. Children already have malnourished, weak bodies, so recovering from trauma is practically impossible. And this took my breath away.
I know car accidents happen all over the world. But the pain in that mother's cry was too much for me to handle. In what appears to be a hopeless land, what do you say to a woman who just had her daughter die due to probably reckless driving? Who's coming along side of her to hold her? Who dares to tell her everything will be okay?
And this was our introduction to Haiti.
Our trip was filled with a lot of laughter, a lot of sweat, and a lot of hard work. But it had it's fair share of heartache, too. Because no one should live like the people in Haiti do. And it's literally painful to see kids be hungry and stare at you longingly as you drink water. Because I never saw a kid drinking water unless we gave it to them.
The whole time I was there, and even now, I wrestle with what the hope is for Haiti. They lack so much. They have no clean water source. There's not good vegetation. They lack education. They don't have the resources to bring about significant change, and generation after generation is living the same way. Sounds hopeful, right? No.
For a couple of days while we were there, we went to a neighboring village to lay a concrete floor in a recently built church. This meant, mixing rocks, sand, water, and cement mix and carrying bucket after bucket into the church, dumping it on the ground, and someone smoothing it out. For hours. With very little progress. We literally did this for 3-4 hours straight on Monday morning, and we finished about a sixth of the floor. You do the math. The whole village came out to watch these white people do this. The organization (SMI Haiti) is building this church when there's currently no church body in this village. No group of people asked for this church. It's kind of a, "If you build it, they will come," type of thing.
We made significant progress Monday after lunch as we introduced an assembly line. So, we returned Tuesday morning to lay more floor in this church that we're not even sure the people of Nawash even want. But Adam and I fell in love with the kids here, and we were pumped to be going back.
Within minutes of our arrival in Nawash, easily 25 kids were scampering around us. The men were mixing the concrete, and so we had to wait to start the physical labor. But the kids were elated we were back. Someone brought their ipod speakers, and the first song playing was the song All To Us by Chris Tomlin. Which, if you don't know that song, look it up on youtube. But the words seemed so right as we were literally laying the foundation for this church. With kids helping and playing eagerly around us, I felt like I had a brief glimpse of God's heart for these kids.
The hope is Jesus. The hope is that this church is passionate about God's glory. That these kids would measure their lives by the saving love of Christ. And God's righteousness would be a burning holy flame in Haiti. But it starts in these kids in this one village.
And each time people who love Jesus interact with them, they get glimpses of hope- Christ within us. We deposit hope into their lives, and we desperately pray they know the love of Jesus. And for that reason alone, Adam and I want to go back. To see the kids of Nawash and Guitton (where we stayed) experience Jesus and know the hope of Christ.
Our hearts were impacted deeply by the people of Haiti. And I have plenty of stories to tell. And I will tell them. And I pray that Adam and I are forever changed by the people we encountered. By the kids who captured our hearts. By the need for Jesus. And by the glimpses of hope for these people.
Haiti is messing us up in a beautiful way.
This was one of the first things Tim told us upon our arrival in Haiti. And it's true. But it hurts. And it's confusing.
It's only Monday, but I already feel a little frantic to make sure the faces, the experiences, the realness of what we saw stays fresh. Because those experiences are stories that need to be told over and over and over again. Adam and I spent a lot of time yesterday looking at the hundreds of pictures that have already been posted to facebook by other members of our team. And though we love looking at them, those pictures will never add up to our experience. And we know this. And we knew that going into it, but there's an urgency to remember what we saw. To remember their names. To remember what we felt. To tell their stories. Because their stories matter.
So, over the next few posts, I'll be telling stories, or trying to. Because a lot happened, and I'm a slow processor.
Once we arrived in Port Au Prince, we loaded a bus that belongs to the organization we were there with and headed on an hour long ride to get to the village we would be staying in for the next week. We were so tired, but I was forcing myself to look out the window and see this country. This poverty stricken land that is dry and desolate. Where four posts and a tarp draped over it is considered a house for some people. Where people walk around on very rocky terrain barefoot because they don't have shoes. And where one meal a day is enough.
I've seen extreme poverty before in El Salvador, but Haiti is different. Because the whole country suffers from it. In El Salvador, there's stores and city and restaurants. But not in Haiti. There is no "middle class." There is nothing but the wealthy 5-10% (that I saw no traces of) and then poor and extremely poor.
We stopped at the mass gravesite for 196,000 people who were buried after the earthquake. They were literally buried into this hill, and we stood on a plateau nearby. It was a surreal moment, and I wanted to weep for this country. Such a devastating loss for these people.
We drove through the market where people were desperately needing to sell their goods- whatever it was- to be able to feed their families. It was chaos.
And we drove up on a woman wailing on the side of the road, on the ground, clutching her abdomen. I thought she was miscarrying a baby the way she was holding herself. We had to slow down because the road is really tight and people were coming to a stop. We drove slowly by, and then we saw it. A truck had driven into a ditch, and right beside the truck was a little girl's body covered by a towel. She was probably 9 years old.
And I grasped Adam's hand tighter and wanted to get out of the bus.
We have no way of knowing what happened, but we later found out that things like this happen in Haiti all the time. Roads are dangerous. Medical help is non existent. Taking her to a hospital was not an option. Children already have malnourished, weak bodies, so recovering from trauma is practically impossible. And this took my breath away.
I know car accidents happen all over the world. But the pain in that mother's cry was too much for me to handle. In what appears to be a hopeless land, what do you say to a woman who just had her daughter die due to probably reckless driving? Who's coming along side of her to hold her? Who dares to tell her everything will be okay?
And this was our introduction to Haiti.
Our trip was filled with a lot of laughter, a lot of sweat, and a lot of hard work. But it had it's fair share of heartache, too. Because no one should live like the people in Haiti do. And it's literally painful to see kids be hungry and stare at you longingly as you drink water. Because I never saw a kid drinking water unless we gave it to them.
The whole time I was there, and even now, I wrestle with what the hope is for Haiti. They lack so much. They have no clean water source. There's not good vegetation. They lack education. They don't have the resources to bring about significant change, and generation after generation is living the same way. Sounds hopeful, right? No.
For a couple of days while we were there, we went to a neighboring village to lay a concrete floor in a recently built church. This meant, mixing rocks, sand, water, and cement mix and carrying bucket after bucket into the church, dumping it on the ground, and someone smoothing it out. For hours. With very little progress. We literally did this for 3-4 hours straight on Monday morning, and we finished about a sixth of the floor. You do the math. The whole village came out to watch these white people do this. The organization (SMI Haiti) is building this church when there's currently no church body in this village. No group of people asked for this church. It's kind of a, "If you build it, they will come," type of thing.
We made significant progress Monday after lunch as we introduced an assembly line. So, we returned Tuesday morning to lay more floor in this church that we're not even sure the people of Nawash even want. But Adam and I fell in love with the kids here, and we were pumped to be going back.
Within minutes of our arrival in Nawash, easily 25 kids were scampering around us. The men were mixing the concrete, and so we had to wait to start the physical labor. But the kids were elated we were back. Someone brought their ipod speakers, and the first song playing was the song All To Us by Chris Tomlin. Which, if you don't know that song, look it up on youtube. But the words seemed so right as we were literally laying the foundation for this church. With kids helping and playing eagerly around us, I felt like I had a brief glimpse of God's heart for these kids.
The hope is Jesus. The hope is that this church is passionate about God's glory. That these kids would measure their lives by the saving love of Christ. And God's righteousness would be a burning holy flame in Haiti. But it starts in these kids in this one village.
And each time people who love Jesus interact with them, they get glimpses of hope- Christ within us. We deposit hope into their lives, and we desperately pray they know the love of Jesus. And for that reason alone, Adam and I want to go back. To see the kids of Nawash and Guitton (where we stayed) experience Jesus and know the hope of Christ.
Our hearts were impacted deeply by the people of Haiti. And I have plenty of stories to tell. And I will tell them. And I pray that Adam and I are forever changed by the people we encountered. By the kids who captured our hearts. By the need for Jesus. And by the glimpses of hope for these people.
Haiti is messing us up in a beautiful way.
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