Suffering Through Christmas: Redemption In Our Midst

With 26 days left until Christmas, we were on our way home from our Thanksgiving celebration with friends. We've been traveling a lot recently and so I've gotten into the habit of using my return travel time to think through what needed to be done in the space between when we stepped into the door of our house to the time we would walk back out of it for our next adventure. It really feels like we have been in and out of town since June, with our trip to Haiti, an impromptu visit to Pennsylvania, Colorado for vacation, Pennsylvania again to drop off the kids before heading to a conference in Florida, and most recently Thanksgiving in Illinois. The last two trips were just a week apart. And if that seems intense, the last adventure would be the pinnacle of all the others because this was CHRISTMAS. The very word has a way of electrifying the excitable minds of children and striking fear in the hearts of adults. I love Christmas, but as I made my list of "to-do's" all the fun I had planned began to stress me out!

I had to finish Christmas shopping, wrap all the presents (and organize them in such a way that they would fit in our little car with everything else we would need for a 10 day trip), bake cookies, prepare for a Christmas party, all on top of all the normal life things of laundry, preschool, meal preparation, cleaning and maybe working out (I better be working out with all those cookies, right???) 

The funny thing about all this is that you get to Christmas, take a deep breath, and think you can finally relax right? But everyone else has gone through the same frenzy and so every immediate and extended stressed-out family member you have comes out of the woodwork to enjoy a "peaceful and joyful" Christmas together and kaboom! Someone says something awkward 'cause their tired and down on their game and you can kiss those visions of sugarplum fairies in your head goodbye! 

But at least there's all those presents you put careful thought into for each niece, nephew, son, daughter, etc. and wrapped while imagining them gleefully open and become completely enthralled with because they love the gift so much (but not so much that they forget to run over to you grateful and give you the biggest hug because you're the best aunt/uncle/ mother/father EVER.) In reality, you try to play it cool when the area around the tree explodes in wrapping paper with children tearing apart their presents with no knowledge of who got them what and that beautiful scarf you hand crocheted gets tossed behind the couch never to be handled again. That is, until you sneak it into the child's black garbage bag of toys to go home, hoping it makes it back out.(They'll enjoy it later I'm sure...)

Ah yes, Christmas. 

But Christmas, for so many, is not even this sweet. For those who will miss the presence of a loved one because the Lord called them home that year, it's painful. For some the year has been brutal, and they have suffered more than their share of life's beatings. And still others arrive weary at Christmas carrying sorrow and concern as they watch the global community struggle. Christmas in these situations does not bring hope and joy but heaps salt into wounds you would rather forget. (It's like being around that perky friend when you're grouchy!) 

Suffering is nothing new to Jesus. I was reminded this year about the circumstances under which Christ the Lord God almighty was born. The book of Matthew in the Bible recounts the story. Chapter 1:18-19 says,

"This is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about: His mother Mary was pledged to be married to Joseph, but before they came together, she was found to be with child through the Holy Spirit. Because Joseph was a righteous man and did not want to expose her to public disgrace, he had in mind to divorce her quietly."

Ok. Hold up one minute. Can you imagine if this was the story of your birth?? Your Auntie tells you like it is, "Your mom and dad just finished saying their vows and it came out that your mom was pregnant with you, but they had never, you know, and your dad was about to divorce her." It sounds like a good juicy bit of gossip more than the story of the gospel, right?

We know though that Mary was not unfaithful but that she conceived Jesus through the Holy Spirit. It was a, miracle. But to the rest of the world, this baby's life was having a rocky start. Joseph did not divorce her after all, as an angel let him in on the secret about what was really going on: Mary would give birth to the Savior of the world. I imagine their marriage was a little stressful with this kind of start. A few months later, life would throw them another curve ball. The government decided it would be "fun" to count everyone in the entire Roman world...*insert eye roll here.

So Joseph and pregnant Mary (who I'm sure was not stoked about a roadtrip) packed up their cooler and headed to Bethlehem. I know things were different then in transportation, cultural mindsets, etc. But not much changes about the misery of pregnancy. I feel for her here. You know she's hanging on to God's grace because she knows the timeline of this thing: how long it takes to get to Bethlehem and at least an approximation of how long it will be before the timer goes off on the baby she's cooking. Imagine her frustration when they get to town and there is NO ROOM IN THE INN??? I don't care how righteous she was, you know she was a little grumpy about that. Talk about a let down in expectations for this special event! I think you know what takes place next so let me skip ahead to something that was brought to my attention this year.

Suffering hurts the most when we are trying to be faithful only to find painful circumstances out of our control.

The king at that time, Herod, was all beside himself about what he heard from the Magi, who let it slip while they were having dinner that they were looking for the "King of the Jews" who had just been born. Herod, worried about being usurped by a baby boy, slyly asked the Magi to bring word about where this King was "so he could worship him too" (if killing is worship, I guess.) Well, the Magi didn't do that and Herod, in a maniacal terror "gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under" (Matthew 2:16). An angel warned Joseph in the middle of night to run, basically. And that's what they did. Stealing away in the night to safety they fled to Egypt, refugees from a land soon to be covered in the blood of children and the tears of their mothers (at least that's what it says in Matthew 2:13-18).

Suffering hurts the most when we are trying to be faithful only to find painful circumstances out of our control. That's what I see in the birth of Jesus. Poor Joseph and Mary and all those parents who lost their babies that night...How could they know that their suffering was a part of plan greater than any in the entire world? That their suffering would bring about their very redemption? A favorite Christmas song of mine says when Jesus was born, "The world didn't know that redemption was so sweet and so strong."

Did it ever occur to you at Christmas that Jesus was born to suffer? That his life would ultimately culminate in suffering and death for our salvation, for our hope? 

Paul the Apostle said that he wants to "know Him (Jesus) and the power of His resurrection AND the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings" (Phillipians 3:10). What does it mean to fellowship with Christ in His sufferings and why would you WANT to?? Surely, we want to experience resurrection, renewal, refreshment in our lives, but suffering? Nobody asks for that. Reading the previous lines before this verse would show that this believer is only interested in knowing Christ and that any other gain he has (financial stability, superb education, a lovely family, a comfortable and safe life, a perfect Christmas....) is garbage compared to the "surpassing greatness of knowing Christ." He would in fact give all of that up to have a relationship with the living God! (curious...) 

And he is totally OK with sharing in Christ's suffering (which if I can remind you, was brutal- thorns driven into his scalp, his body ripped to shreds by a whip embellished with rocks and glass, made to carry his own cross, only to be hung on it by his hands and feet.) Why would you want to know that kind of suffering?

We don't rejoice in suffering because it's fun and it should not be some act of disingenuous happiness in the midst of our pain. Rather it is the hope that quietly sneaks into our hearts as we lay weeping at Christ's feet, knowing that good is coming through it.

Because suffering draws us closer to the Lord, in whom our hope grows. Because suffering produces perserverance, and perserverance produces character, and character produces hope. And hope as Romans 5 says "does not put us to shame because God's love has been poured out into our hearts..." 

Our suffering is purposeful not for changing this life, but because it draws us closer to Christ, a relationship worth all the cookies. This year I knew loss. Tearfully, painfully, I can say I know Christ more because of it. Look back on this year. What suffering was heaped upon your life? What suffering did you witness? Did you push God away, "dealing" with it on your own, justifying it by your own reasoning? Or did you allow suffering to move you into a closer huddle with the living God?

We don't rejoice in suffering because it's fun and it should not be some act of disingenuous happiness in the midst of our pain. Rather it is the hope that quietly sneaks into our hearts as we lay weeping at Christ's feet, knowing that good is coming through it- a stronger walk with Christ that culminates in life in eternity with Him- resurrection from the dead, that we rejoice greatly over!

Jesus is our hope who illuminates what probably feels like a very dark life sometimes and that light guides us to peace.

The story of Christmas is about suffering and redemption just as much as Easter is. In his death and in our sufferings there is hope in the resurrection, a conquering. A man whose wife, much older, was having her first baby around the time of the birth of Jesus (you might recall, her name was Elizabeth?) wrote a song that said, "because of the tender mercy of our God" we would know the forgiveness of our sins through Jesus and he would be the rising sun "to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the path of peace." (Luke 1:76-79)

Jesus is our hope who illuminates what probably feels like a very dark life sometimes and that light guides us to peace. If you are limping into Christmas this year, wondering where God was at in all the suffering you felt or witnessed, remember that there is redemption in the midst. God came into our hurting world, and felt the kind of suffering you are feeling, you can rest assured you are in the company of God himself. But also because God did so we have hope in an eternal resurrection where there will be no pain, and no loss, because we will forever be with the one who gave up everything to know us. I'm praying as I write this that you will experience his peace in the midst of your struggle, and that this Christmas will come to you, not just as something to get through, but something to rejoice in. Your Savior has not only been born, but holds his arms out to embrace you as you weep. 

Merry Christmas to you!

Thanksvember

"It's November, what are you thankful for?" My family has been asking that question and writing the answer on a piece of paper on the fridge (I know I could make a tree of thanks or some other awesome Pinterest find, but it's busy in our house and we just have to get to the point on this lesson!) I also try around this time to post on Facebook each day what I am thankful for. I don't think I have finished one whole November yet, but I am really trying this year! Some might think this is cheesy. Some may think 'trying' to be thankful is too forced. 

But I am of the belief that though sometimes being thankful is a joyful outpouring of your heart, more often it needs to be a discipline. 

Recently, I heard of a prominent young pastor who was diagnosed with cancer. He tells the story about how, after giving his 6 month old baby a bottle on Thanksgiving morning, he had a grand mal seizure. Brain scans showed a malignant mass that would give him only 2 to 3 years to live. 

It broke me. 

Maybe in light of recent events in my life the idea of how fragile life is has become so very real. In hearing his story I thought of my little family, of Kyle...what it would be like if he or I... I thought, "my oldest daughter is 3"...

I have never wanted to sweep my babies up in my arms so fast. You know, as a parent in a very busy season of life, battling tantrums and sticky fingers, you walk around in a fog. I think sometimes we need a wake up call that reminds us how precious the time is. This did it, and there was an outpouring of thankfulness coming from my heart. I was thankful my husband was healthy. I was thankful I was healthy. I realized our lives are not guaranteed. And if I was given 2-3 years, how I would long to go the same park over and AGAIN, to get up at the crack of dawn with my girls, to not worry about the mess that was forming in my house if it meant I was playing doctor again with my preschooler. The sentiment isn't new I suppose, but this was a moment when thankfulness wasn't difficult. It came out of me like the flood of tears that accompanied it. 

Those moments are refreshing, even beautiful. They are like those moments in training for a half marathon when running feels effortless, like you could go on forever. But, as in running long distances, those moments wear off, QUICKLY. Your legs get tired, you're running into the wind, and the small but looong Iowan hills mock you. Just like life. So when the effortless thankfulness wears off, then is the time for discipline, for practicing the art of thankfulness even when you don't want to. 

I have been stuck on a part of the Bible in Philippians since the summer. It says:

"Rejoice! Again I say rejoice! Do not be anxious about anything but in everything by prayer with THANKSGIVING, present your requests to God and the peace of God, which surpasses understanding will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus our Lord. Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy---think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me---put it into practice. And the peace of God will be with you." (You can find this Philippians chapter 4)

"When I run out of joy, and motivation, turning to my un-joyful, unmotivated self is not going to produce those things. You simply cannot look for resources where there are none." 

At this point in life I am not out of the circus of toddlers and preschoolers, but I am trying to remind myself that all the crazy is normal, that I love my children even when it feels like I want to run from them, and above all, that it really doesn't last forever, even though sometimes it sure as heck feels like it will. I tell myself the same thing I do when I am running 7, 8, 13 mile long runs, "You can do this woman!"

But, giving myself pep talks often fails me in life's roughest moments. Why? There is no substance. It's just me, powerless me, trying to pick myself up. When a lawnmower runs out of gas, it doesn't turn to itself to refuel. It needs an outside source to give it more fuel. When I run out of joy, and motivation, turning to my un-joyful, unmotivated self is not going to produce those things. You simply cannot look for resources where there are none. 

So I have decided to put away the ridiculousness of trying to build up my broken self with my broken self and instead to look to the ONLY one that can heal, rebuild, and refuel us, (and the only One who can do it beyond measure by the way.)

"As we mold our lives into one's of practiced thanks, and raising our hands to God for help, those lives also begin to be characterized by peace because the Lord pours it into us abundantly and we no longer need to strive to fill ourselves."

That is what I read in the book of Philippians. That, when life gets tough, asking God for help, with an attitude of gratefulness, brings peace into our lives. The part of that scripture that floors me is when the author says, 'put it into practice.' Being thankful to God does not come naturally. It has to be practiced. It's a discipline, an art. This relieves me because now I know when things go wrong, and I'm not all like, "Hallelujah! Praise Jesus I locked my keys in the car with my children! (or insert something more serious here)" I rest knowing it's normal not to have that reaction. But then there is also the greater responsibility of learning to choose to be thankful, to hone the discipline of gratefulness. 

That's what floors me. What fills me is that as we mold our lives into one's of practiced thanks, and raising our hands to God for help, those lives also begin to be characterized by peace because the Lord pours it into us abundantly and we no longer need to strive to fill ourselves. 

*Special thanks to Kerry Doyal for the title of this article!

Truth In Tragedy

It has taken me some time to get back to writing and even more time to post this particular piece. Scared of my own vulnerability, what others might think, and the delicateness with which to handle a subject that causes deep wounds, I wrung my hands in writing. This is my story though, my heart and my mechanics for dealing with a very difficult time in my life and in my family's life, and I felt like I couldn't write about anything else until it was expressed somehow.

Two months ago, my brother died. I don't need to be too descriptive about the feelings that accompany the death of a close family member. But, let me tell you about that day. That day, I was having a great day. I ran in the AtlanticFest (I had run the same race last year 2 months after delivering Mercy and was quite out of shape then- wonder why?)  and I was feeling world's better than when I ran it then! It was going to be a good day, with a stroll around the vendors with my family. Kyle, Adelaide, and Mercy were actually standing at a checkpoint to cheer me on. I gave them kisses as I went by.

My heart was full. 

After the race, I jaunted back to the checkpoint, chipper, where Kyle and the girls were waiting. That is when my husband told me. I rushed home, called family, packed bags for everyone (a task that usually takes days, took hours), cleaned the house, made arrangements for work, the cats, meetings...) and before I knew it, we were almost to Pennsylvania. What a change in the day! If you were sunbathing on a beach and a tidal wave came in abrubtly and swept you into the ocean, that's how a day like that day felt. We were on the road to my in-laws Monday night, and my children had finally fallen asleep in the car when the sobs let loose. I couldn't sleep that night. It hit me so hard, I felt like I couldn't breathe. He's gone. 

After the funeral and the initial hurt, other feelings began to creep in, unexpected, unprepared-for feelings. As a believer, knowing my brother was Christian too, I assumed this would actually be easy. Easy to cope with, easy to move on from. But it's affected me in ways I wouldn't have expected. 

I took a class in college called "Sin, Guilt, Suffering, and Death "(no, I'm not joking. Either the prof thought that was a catchy title or maybe he was describing the progression of our studies in that class: not reading (sin), being shamed (guilt), anguishing over our grade, and ultimately, academic death.) I kid, but it must have been a good class, Dr Priest, because I remember quite a bit. I learned about death. And it's psychological, social and anthropological implications. Particularly what it does to us, how we respond as a group, and what cultural methods we create for coping. It alł seemed clinical back then. Now it feels real.

What I took from my studies and now find affirmed in life experience is that, above and beyond that initial sadness, death seems to yield two fleshly (very common, very human) responses:

First, it throws into chaos everything we know as normal. Nothing makes sense with that person gone. It's just confusing that one day a person can be and the next they are not. It spins us out of control, nothing seems to matter or have purpose. You feel paralyzed to be happy sometimes. How can you be happy?  Seems a lot like Fatalism.

Crippled by the insensical nature of death we freeze. And enlightened by our fragility we run headlong into absurd unrealistic "happiness".

On the other hand, it highlights the dictonomy between itself and life. Everything actually seems worth doing better, life seems MORE important. You want to hug your kids more, and be a better spouse, daughter, etc. You want to experience things quicker, check off that bucket list. YOLO (for all you folks unaware, this means "you only live once" and basically means, live it up without regard for morals) and don't waste a minute, cause who knows when you'll be next and no one knows how long they have.

This one feels a lot like Hedonism.

I'm beginning to see that both are born from fear. Crippled by the insensical nature of death we freeze. And enlightened by our fragility we run headlong into absurd unrealistic "happiness".

But God has not given us a spirit of fear. So while common, the above responses are lies and are not from God and are not good. Even as that truth sinks in, I have been painfully walking in the two bullet points above, pin balling between complete helplessness and utter joy and confused by it all. 

Keeping me stable though is the truth I find in scripture. When I let my thoughts wander, allowing my flesh to tell me how to find peace, I get spun around like a top, grappling and finding neither hopelessness or bliss fulfilling. Let me tell you the words of God that have been stilling the chaotic waters of my heart as I wade through the lies above. 

Though Phillipians 4:4-9 is amazing in its entirety, three words have caught my undivided attention in this tumultous time, "whatever is true." If you read the whole thing you'll find that the author encourages us to think upon things that are true, lovely, right, excellent, admirable and so on, with the promise of the peace of God. As I have experienced wave after wave of emotion and thoughts that tangle me up, like : life has no purpose, nothing matters if this is everyone's end and what is the point in going on? As those thoughts move in, I have to focus on what is TRUE.

At Paul's funeral, our pastor read some serious truth in 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18. Abbreviated it says, "We do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have NO HOPE. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in Him...We who are still alive, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so WE will be with the Lord forever." This life is not the end. And the TRUTH is that if you believe in God, someday you will be with Him in heaven along with all the others that believe in God too. So this isn't the end for my relationship with Paul. 

Before my brother "fell asleep", I had been meditating on Psalm 90:12, and it has come up over and over again in my reading:

"Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom."

I read that a lot because my children are crazy toddlers. I don't know how those little people do it, but they have the power to drive me to insane, frustrated places. And it's hard to remember to 'number your days' and appreciate the life around you when you are being hen-pecked by a 3 year old who's mad at you cause you're making her change out of her pajamas, or a 1 year old who has realized they can reach things on the counter and table tops, including, knives (YIKES!!). You don't always go to bed, well, thankful. (Honesty moment: I have often felt more like exhausted and terrified that it all starts again the next day.) So I was reading that verse and praying God would teach me to recognize the vapor that is my short life and the whisp of air that is this particular time of my life and set my darn attitude straight.

The fragility of my life is now confirmed both by experience and scripture. Listen to what some of the other verses say,

"You return men back to dust...for a thousand years in your sight (God) are like a day that has just gone by."

"All our days pass away...the length of our days is seventy years- or eighty, if we have the strength...for they quickly pass, and we fly away." 

When I process life through my feelings, I am left deceived and disillusioned. When I process life through God's truth, I am divinely comforted by His love and made confident in his calling in my life.

Sounds fatalistic, but in the end, the prayer of that scripture (verse 17) is that Lord would establish the work of our hands for us. So the truth is, life is short, but that does not mean YOLO by cultural tradition. It means, You Only Live Once so you better be living the work that God has established for you. Living life without God will feel like there is no purpose to it. Chase what everyone else seems to think is pleasurable and you'll find that the list is long and unfulfilling. Seek out a relationship with God and the work He has established for you in this short time because THAT is where those of us left behind by a loved one who has 'flown away' will find peace. Lysa Terkheurst describes this in one of her books (Becoming More Than a Good Bible Study Girl), "When I process life through my feelings, I am left deceived and disillusioned. When I process life through God's truth, I am divinely comforted by His love and made confident in his calling in my life."

As I process "life", my brother's death, I am reminded to seek first God and find that He is walking right beside me in all of this and He is not silent about it. He comforts me with truth, that because Jesus died for me and my brother, and because both of us have believed in Him, I have the hope of being with Paul again in heaven someday. And in the meantime, He teaches me to live life now according to His direction, because that is the only life worth living. 

                                                            To my brother, Paul. 

                                     

 

Adventures in Haiti-My Journal (Friday)

This entry is devoted to the last full day of our recent trip to Haiti. If you haven't been reading through the series, you may want to go back a few entries.

Telling you about how we continued to paint and cut and sand and varnish the desks on Friday seems boring so let me tell you a funny story...

It had been a long day. Most of the team was still cutting, and sanding the remaining tops, seats, and backs of the chairs. 450 pieces total. Galynn and I had been painting the frames, kabitzing all morning (kabitzing is like shooting the breeze, chatting if you will.) I'm not even sure what we even talked about, but when the two of us are together, that's just what happens, we talk and talk and talk...

Once the frames were done we washed the gasoline paint off of us. Renee said we should have brought potato peelers instead of brushes. Funny story within a funny story: each December we would come before and help host this big New Years Eve party, feeding 900 or so people. This involved peeling some 80 pounds of potatoes with these massive chef's knives, at least the first year. It really is my best Haiti story, because I'm pretty sure I got several blisters and ended up bleeding by the time we were done. Ha! The next time we came prepared with potato peelers. And I would tell the potato story over and over because peeling potatoes is one of my least favorite cooking jobs at home. Anyways, I've made a big deal about peeling these potatoes and now there's this task of of painting with gasoline paint and then washing with it off with the gasoline and it's kind of yucky. And I'm slightly WISHING I was peeling potatoes. 

Continue funny story number one. So now the two of us are VARNISHING the 450 pieces and talking away, inhaling, inhaling, inhaling. Do you see where I'm going with this? Galynn and I give up talking and she breaks out into song:

"painting the chairs, painting the chairs, nothing's more fun or much easier done, than painting the chairs, painting the chairs, in HAITI out in the sun!! bum bum bum..."(You need to ask one of us to sing it for the tune. Chad and Tiffany came home singing 'bless the Lord oh my soul!' We were singing about chairs!)

It was either delirium from the heat or we had been huffing too much paint, but it continued into lunch. We were loud and cracking jokes, and then...

I totally crashed. I slid my bowl out in front of me, laid my head down and fell asleep right on the table. Mind you, I'm not taking any of this seriously right now, just laughing my socks off about it! I tried to get back to varnishing after my cat nap, and sang a few choruses of "painting the chairs" with Galynn before she sent me away to sit in front of a fan and drink water. I napped then too. Should have brought potato peelers...

                                 Our cake!

              Some friends at MOHI partying it up!

The job did not get completely finished, but our team had poured themselves into the task until it was quittin' time. We gave the staff at MOHI a little thank you gift (they really are an amazing group of individuals!) and headed back to the base. We like to go out with a little excitement so we managed to bake a cake, don some colorful leis, break out the nose flutes and airboards (should've pulled out the billows too!) and celebrate with the missionaries a bit before a storm rolled in and the generator went off. Party over! We packed up all our things the next morning and headed home with promises not to forget Haiti and MOHI. How could we, right?

                        Headed home!

But it's so easy to forget when something isn't before you all the time.

Fast forward a bit to when we have been home a week. It's our team's day to present our trip and the question comes up, 'what if nobody cares?' It's a valid question. Although I think people do care, they just may be too distracted let it matter. It wasn't their experience, so why would it? The cares, routines and outlook of their lives were not halted for a week to experience a complete overhaul. Even those that go, upon returning find it easy themselves to be distracted by life as we know it here in the States. It seems far away, even to me you know? And I am swept up with the dailies of life and the desires of my flesh. But, God gently calls us back. 

He calls us to remember what we saw and felt, the relationships we made, the names we learned. He calls us not to forget that we lead much different lives than much of the world, that going on a mission trip is a privilege of few, though it may not seem that way because of its commonness in America. He calls us to be like Him because He does not forget the poor, the orphan, the voiceless. He calls us to pray in our absence so that we remember. And He calls us to go back, for a refresher course in loving others sacrificially, so we can also remember that we have a similar calling right here at home. 

Mission trips change your perspective, they change you. But you cannot come back only to simply be grateful for what you have that others don't. There are some lyrics I listened to that struck me recently. Summarized they say that if I give to the needy, but don't love them I find that all that poverty is actually found in me. Giving a package of clothes without love leads you to only be grateful that you have a closet full of clothes at home. But with love, every time you see your closet you think of that person without clothes and become compelled to move to action on their behalf (and if you recognize that there are those without in the United States, even in your very city, you will move on their behalf as well.) Poverty is found in us when we don't truly change. We are the sad, the broken, if we have seen and touched the truly poor and turn away, grateful, but forgetful.

Have you ever seen one of those fancy horses pulling carriages in the city? I kind of feel bad for them cause they look so rigid and uptight, pulling that cart slooowly along (horses are meant to run wild or something ya know?) But one thing they've got going for them is that they are steady in the right direction, cause they've got those blinders on them. They're not enticed or hyped up by all the stimulation of the street people and shops, they're focused and guided by their master. I've been praying for blinders lately, so I too can no longer be distracted by everything that makes me forget about what's important. To throw off everything that hinders and run the race marked out for us, as the author of Hebrews 12 talks about. It's hard intentional work to care, to not forget, and honestly? It makes peeling potatoes and painting chairs look easy.

Adventures in Haiti- My Journal (Thursday)

This is a series detailing our recent trip to Haiti and a lot has happened already! Near bus collisions, sleeping outside bathrooms, hydroponic fish ponds...if you haven't been keeping up you better read back or you'll miss some good stuff!

Have I mentioned before that I am not a morning person? Kyle is. So back home the deal is: I won't make him stay up late to talk to me (I generally need someone to 'talk' me to sleep if I have to go to bed earlier than 11pm) if he does morning duty with the girls (up at 5:30am to make them breakfast and play until I get up at like 7:30.) So getting up at 5:30am each day was a stretch and I must have been feeling it because the first words out of my mouth this morning were, "Lord, give me energy." I have prayed this many times before (remember I have two feisty little girls under the age of 3?) Not knowing what was on the agenda for today, I just know this was God's grace that prompted me to pray this. 

Our job today was to make desks. We were to paint the freshly welded frames, and draw, cut, sand and paint the backs, seats and tops for the desks. In my devos that morning:

The Lord will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land

and will strengthen your frame.

You will be like a well watered garden,

like a spring whose waters never fail. 

Isaiah 58:11

I have history with this verse too, on a another mission trip to Matamoros, Mexico as a teenager. A woman in my church in Pennsylvania, who I affectionately call my Aunt Cindi, jotted that verse down and handed it to me in an envelope. I had a dream on the trip one night about running. I have been running for exercise for a while. I don't consider myself a 'runner' because I am downright pokey and just plain lacking in stamina. But in my dream I wasn't lacking anything. I ran and ran and ran without resistence, feeling light and like I could on forever with gusto! I finished my run at my home where I grew up in Pennsylvania and encountered a tiger. And that was my dream. I woke up with the sense that God was going to give me energy for the day, that He would strengthen my body in what was quite a sun scorched land (it was Mexico after all). And I just attributed the tiger to eating something funny before bed (maybe too much Joya soda?) 

That day in Mexico, our team helped pour a concrete roof in the hot sun. We had to mix the concrete by hand, shovel it into 5 gallon buckets and then hoist the buckets by handing them up a line of us standing on the stairs, until they poured it onto the roof. The lye in the concrete gave some of us mild chemical burns on our skin. It was back breaking work, but I felt that energry and strength reminiscent of my dream. I was standing out on the road, taking a sip of water, when I looked down the street of the colonia. A vehicle was driving away not too far from where I was standing. I blinked and blinked again. Could it really be? No way. There was a tiger in a cage in the back of a truck bed! You can call me crazy, cause there was no one else looking that way. No one else saw it. But I know what I saw.

There were no tigers in Haiti, but I drew from that strength as we spent a very hot day painting 22 desks frames. First though we had to get the paint. So while we waited for it, Galynn, Turner and I inventoried and put away all the medicines we brought with us to donate. What a good feeling to stock up the clinic's shelves with tylenol, and cough medicine and everything else! 

             Putting the medicine away.

The paint arrived. It was bad paint, so it had to go back for different paint. In the meantime, we jumped in with the crew cutting out the pieces for the desks and began to sand the ones that were already cut out. Many of the students joined to help too, which was awesome! I loved too how each of the team members used their unique talents to accomplish this task. Dave wielded the power saw and cut large strips of wood. Tiffany is quite an artist, so she traced all of the pieces. Kyle and Chad deftly cut out each piece and Ron sanded, sanded, sanded! And so did we for a bit...

                        Our handiwork.

...until the paint arrived again. It was good, and we got to work! The paint we used was oil based and so thick it had to be cut with gasoline. And if you have ever seen me paint you know I get it ALL OVER ME when I do so. The only way to get it off was to use gasoline. At the end of the day after sweating profusely, getting sunburned, having my clothing stained with paint and washing most of my skin with gasoline, I felt miserably disgusting. But amazingly, for a day where I woke up praying for energy, my stamina kept up.

Oh, and Jan hung out with the kids all day, dancing and singing, and teaching them yoga. So cute!

When we stepped off the bus at the mission base and the breeze hit us, I was so very thankful again for the haven it truly was. Then I showered, and showered and showered some more (which was like 5 minutes actually because we were supposed to conserve water.) Too bad we didn't finish today. I would have to be covered in gasoline again tomorrow. Nobody light a match!

Adventures In Haiti- My Journal (Wednesday)

Thankful to have the outlet to process and share this series detailing our recent trip to Haiti. Be sure to read back a few entries to get the full week of stories.

POW! Dadadada...THUMP!

 "Mango!"

Tiffany dashes for the mango, racing to snatch it up. She retrieves it and hands it over to Galynn, who salivates over it as she carves the skin off carefully with Chad's leatherman knife. She continues to do the same with the other three gathered yesterday and passes the plate of freshly fallen mango around our breakfast table. I stare at the mango longingly and fearfully. I've been watching Galynn eat it all week, but I am still leery. In previous trips to developing countries, eating fruit off trees was a no-go, unless you wanted a parasite. Mostly this was because the water that fruits and veggies were washed in was parasite ridden. You know, 'don't drink the water' (lest you want your system cleared.) Since we were last at MOHI, a kind and very smart man installed a water system he patented that purified and cleaned the water better than our water in the States. This meant we could drink any water on the base, brush our teeth out of the sink (which because of previous habit, I was still skeptical of), and heck, drink the water in the shower. So eating a mango that had been 'baptized' in the mission water should be fine. I watched everyone else eat it but I still couldn't. Hey, one person on the team had to stay healthy to take care of everyone else, right? I guess that makes me the designated driver of the mango eating. 

I also couldn't imagine getting back home to my kids only to be too sick to care for them. I suppose I have grown more fearful since my girls have come into the picture of my life. Even before leaving for Haiti, I had my worries- Haiti is not a particularly volatile place, but the possibilities for mishaps when traveling struck fear in my heart. Watching a news story prior to going about a pilot who crashed a plane in Melbourne, Florida because he was drunk did not help. I guess I was just a little fearful of something unforseen and feeling aware of the fragility of my life. What if I contract malaria, get into a car accident or the plane crashes? 

When my mom and dad were saying their goodbyes as they left me in my freshman college dorm, my dad told me to read Psalm 121. I'd like to read it to you, ok?

     I lift my eyes to the hills.

     From where does my help come?

     My help comes from the Lord,

     who made heaven and earth.

     He will not let your foot slip;

     he who keeps you will not slumber.

     Behold, he who keeps Israel

     will neither slumber nor sleep.

     The Lord is your keeper;

     the Lord is your shade at your right hand.

     The sun will not harm you by day,

     nor the moon by night.

     The Lord will keep you from all harm---

     he will watch over you life;

     the Lord will watch over your coming and going

     both now and forevermore.

I got a chance to revisit that passage in our morning time with the Lord. And I had a thought: We are all so fragile--it is a wonder any of us survive. But God is our keeper and I praise him for his mercy to allow any of us to live. Then my thoughts turned outward, asking God to have mercy on that little baby girl I held in the village, that she would grow healthy and strong and that her life would glorify God. I desire to live with abandon, knowing God is the keeper of my life. 

And up, up, up, we rode in the big school bus, weaving around the mountain, honking our horn at oncoming traffic as we rounded the bends. I looked at the panoramic view of Haiti out the windows on the right side. I could see the mountains and the town and the ocean. Beautiful.

"Our driver has our life in his hands," I heard someone say and I took notice of the elevation we were at. It was a long drop. I shuddered at the thought and then pushed it away. Around another bend, BEEEEEEP! A semi passed us going the other direction on the turn and I held my breath.

We were on our way to St. Entienne, the church and school campus in the mountains. The bus pulled into a tight parking spot and Alexis showed us around. Again, so much growth since we were last here. Besides a school and a church, another beautiful building was erected and plans for a restaurant that would overlook the picturesque mountains were in place. For now, it was being used by the mobile clinic that came each wednesday to care for the sick. 

Below it was a school where we took our musical prowess to have fun with the little kids. Jan brought colorful bells for the children to play. She would hold up cards with color circles that coordinated with music on a cd. When the kids would see the color on the card that matched their colored bell, that meant they were to ring it. It was so fun! To add to the excitement Jan had also brought all kinds of colorful flags to use. Galynn and I grabbed a billow (large piece of colorful fabric) and headed into the crowd of students, running up and down the aisles, sweeping the billow just over their heads and twirling around like goof balls. I was not illiciting much laughter, or smiles. So I asked if one of the students wanted to try. A boy, who was obviously the class clown took the billow and mimicked me. The class ERUPTED with laughter and yelling!! He was hysterical and all eyes turned on him and he ate it up! Definitely an amazing moment!

We concluded our musical fun, and put thing 1 and thing 2 back in their boxes. Some of us went upstairs and began organizing more bags of clothing to hand out, while others stayed below to play with kids. I snuggled a baby in the clinic, who fell sweetly asleep and it felt good to have my arms full again. As lunch arrived, we began handing out the clothing packages to those who were coming through the clinic. This time, we sized them up and tried to match them as best as possible with clothing that would fit. As God's grace would have it, we had the perfect amount for the people in the clinic and for the most part, we were able to give clothing that fit, with the exception of one young lady who was not happy I gave her the only woman's package left- a size XL. She was not convinced by my effort in suggesting a belt or scarf around the waist. 

You cannot go to St. Entienne without taking the 3 mile hike to see the waterfall in the mountains. It's sort of becoming a tradition. Actually, the waterfall is not all that incredible but everything else as you are getting there and back is. With Jan and Dave headed back to the base, the rest of us descended the steep mountain towards the falls. Vistas of lush green hills jutting up toward the sky, covered with small fields planted with corn or beans surrounded us. Often we walked along narrow paths with a plummet off to the side of us, clung to the hillside as we carefully stepped over a break in the path, or paused to allow each individual to dare a dry but slippery slope of loose dirt and rocks. We encountered a donkey on our route who refused to move until its owner smacked him in the bum to get him off the trail. We also braved a few bulls grazing in our way. Approaching the falls, I had to hold on to a root to cross a break in the path and found myself picking what reminded me of Devil's Club out of my fingers. Tiny barbed hairs stuck in my skin, stinging my fingers and making them itch. Luckily, my cute husband rescued me with his first aid kit. He had been taking care of blisters and cut feet and any other ailment on our team all week. I love my Eagle Scout and his dedication to 'Always be prepared.' 

On our way out, we climbed (some of us ran) up a steep hillside to the top where a kind, elderly man appeared from his home with chairs for us to rest on. He spoke in Creole to Alexis and Gadith about his prescriptions. I gathered he was having headaches (I heard doule-pain, and he pointed to his head). The girls kindly explained what he should be taking and when (I think, it was all in Creole ya know.) I was impressed by this ministry 'on the move.' Even on an excursion, you can be a blessing to others and I was thankful for this little act of 'village ministry' (even if Alexis and Gadith did all the work.) We had more climbing to do, so up we want. As we climbed a steep hill, I learned that one of my teammates had a fear of heights. That person very much conquered that fear today. 

Speaking of fears, I must have overcome some of mine because I had no problem falling asleep on the bus ride home. Although, I am told we had a seriously close encounter with a tap-tap that we almost hit head on. Like I said, I was asleep, so I don't have the details. Kind of glad for that. But it did occur to me later as I looked back on our hike that much of the trail we were on was pretty precarious and a small accident could have become a big incident "He will not let your foot slip..." Thank you Jesus. Maybe I conquered some fear too. Now maybe I'll try some mango. 

Adventures in Haiti- My Journal (Tuesday)

If you are just starting to read this blog, check out the previous entries as we are smack in the middle of a series detailing our recent trip to Haiti.

"Honey, it's 6 o'clock!" 

"Hmm? What?"

"We gotta get up!"

"Oh, oh boy, ok..." And I stumble out of our bed. I fumble around for my glasses and move in that slow-fast speed that results when you're half asleep but late. It kind of feels like doing zumba in water actually.

After making myself presentable, I casually stroll past the rest of my team already faithfully reading their Bibles. Oy, the team leaders sleep in! Thankfully there has been nothing but a spirit of grace on this team through all the ups and downs already. No one ever even mentions my delinquency. 

The rest of the morning carries on as usual. First, time in reading the Bible (though mine was cut short by the breakfast bell- there was literally a bell they rang when it was time for breakfast), then breakfast and a Creole lesson before heading out for the day. I learn a very encouraging phrase and motto for our team, 'Nou kabob fe sa,' which means 'We can do this!" (Exclamation point added for, well exclamation.) Come on, try it with me, Nou (Noo) Kabob (Kah- leave the BOB off) Fe (Fay) Sa (Sah). Nou kabob fe sa (Noo Kah Fay Sah). Very good! We can do this!

Back at the school/church site, we split up to work on two projects: framing LARGE maps for the classrooms and organizing that closet we met yesterday. I had told Alexis (the missionary's daughter who was in charge of our team for the week- she's pretty awesome by the way) that I would gladly finish organizing, so she put me back in there today. Galyinn, Turner, Jan, myself and several other staff workers at Mission of Hope International (Gadith, Ruth, Mary Ange, and Jameson-he wasn't staff but he was every where we went), sorted, labeled and sized everything, getting rid of clothes that were particularly stained or ripped. Just a tangent here on donating clothes. If you wouldn't wear it, don't send it. *Hands up: I myself am guilty of leaving behind my paint stained clothes to be 'washed' and donated in a third world country, but I am officially cured of that. I know folks have good intentions, but people in developing countries want to look nice too. So before you leave or send that stained t-shirt or worn pair of undies (um, yeah...), think about your true motive for getting rid of it and maybe just pitch it. Then go buy a new pack of underwear to send. 

          Galynn and Turner organizing the closet.

        Kyle, Chad, and Tiffany framing the maps.

After lunch, we finish both projects and clean up. We have a great team. It just seemed like every one eased right into a place that was meant for them. They knew their strengths (and weaknesses) and skated their lanes in a very productive way. Good job team!! Furthermore, it was extremely satisfying for this result oriented lady to see that closet organized (hopefully it stays that way, *bites fingernails or I guess I'll just do it again next time I go). I mean it felt like extreme makeover-closet edition, minus Ty Pennington. Inwardly I was beaming, outwardly, well, it was pretty hot in there, and I was super sweaty and dusty from all the clothes and suitcases we dug them out of. So a cold-ish single stream of water kind of shower back at the base felt pretty amazing.  

Later I meet up with Galynn who is gathering rocks on the beach. We discover a plethora of green rocks that are quite pretty (though at the time we were questioning what made them green exactly.) We discuss how this whole mission trip thing isn't as difficult as it seems (the base at the beach has a way of making you forget the hard work you put in during the day), when she stops and digs up the biggest green rock ever. "You're taking that with you??" I look at the rock that must way 15lbs and laugh out loud! Luckilly Ron wasn't too far behind to carry it as we continued to walk! We joked later with her husband about the rock (which she took home!). He said he wasn't surprised. 

All that rock gathering made me tired. I had time for a quick snooze and dinner, before it was back to the church for a Creole-English service. Kyle preached again with a translator and we met a another missionary couple who had just moved to Haiti eight months ago. They expressed gratitude for a message preached in English. I imagine constantly translating while learning a particular language AND trying to do the things you are used to doing, things you have to do to function, is an exhausting task. Add to that trying to stay fed spiritually when the preachers don't speak your native tongue. Encounters like these are a sort of pro to short term missions: the chance to catch a glimpse of what it's like to be a fulll time missionary. Seeing all the work Lex, Renee AND their children do on a daily basis and all there is to do gives you a greater appreciation for those folks that send update letters to your church or stand before you giving you their testimony. I don't know how they have TIME to write update letters while so inundated with the work of the field, but they do, because they care that you care. So, if you don't read those letters, now would be a good time to start.

     Gathering for team time at night. 

Every evening we had the habit of meeting to discuss the day and reflect on all that we were experiencing. I dubbed them our 'family' meetings, since many of us had left family back home and we were each other's family for the week. We started by saying something positive we learned about each other and this quickly turned into a time of encouragement and team building. Then we turned our thoughts on how we saw God working that day and what we could thank him for. I think it was last night that we thanked God that Turner got his luggage back and also applauded Turner for his positive attitude despite not have a change of clothes for almost 4 days. Not a complaint out of him! We were also thankful many nights for good health, the work being done at MOHI, and the unity of our team. To end, we prayed. We mixed it up night to night praying as a group, in partners, or for the person next to us. Many times these debrief sessions continued as long chats under the chakoun. At the end of this day I saw a deeper connection in our group, like we had bonded. I'm really thankful for this team and how they worked together, got along with each other, and showed grace to each other when things got tough. We would need that kind of unified spirit in the next few days as the work was about to get a little tougher. 

Adventures in Haiti- My Journal (Monday)

'Bonjou!' If you're just starting to read this blog, you're in the middle of a series detailing our recent trip to Haiti. These are reflections from my perspective. 

By Monday morning, it felt like we had been on our trip much longer than three days. Not that things were going badly, our days were just so full! Each leg of travel seemed like enough to fill one day. Preaching and teaching Sunday school seemed like enough to fill another day. But we had completed many legs of travel over a 48 period, toured, hung out with orphans, gone to two church services and absorbed so much into our senses. If I am honest, Monday was a tough day for me. It didn't hit me until late in the evening, but I felt overwhelmed by the prospect of staying another 5 days. I'm a little nervous writing that because so much of these trips are romanticized, made out to seem like a never ending mountain top experience. But there are lows, and that, in my opinion, is ok. Don't we go to be "out of our comfort zone" as so many describe what short term trips are about? Should we not experience both the lows and the highs that come along with serving others? More broadly, did not Christ experience highs and lows in his ministry?

That morning at devotions I felt like God had gone quiet on me. Where was his revelation? It should have come easily as I sat on that wall, in this place, watching the waves crash on the shore. Then I remembered a lesson I learned a long time ago and He whispered it in my heart: "Still with you in the silence. Not forsaken." God was still present and from what I read in Luke 10, my calling as a Christian was still the same in the silence too. Luke tells about a lawyer who questions Christ, saying, "How do I get to heaven?" The answer is love God with everything in you! Love Him passionately, personally, expressively and intellectually. AND love other people like you love yourself. And so despite maybe not "feeling it," I was able to stand on God's word knowing I am called to step out in obedience by loving God and loving others. 

That day our first task was a Creole lesson, where our team was taught some basic phrases we could use as we went throughout our day. Lex made fun of my rolling "r's" as I spoke Creole (Spanish was the second language I learned and I taught it for a couple years, so I roll my 'r's"; something that is not done in Creole). He did tell me my Spanish was very good. Ha! 

Then it was back on the rumbling bus and back to school, where we worked on unpacking the donations of clothes, undies and socks that we brought and creating packages of clothing to hand out. The clothing needed to be packed into outfits based on gender and size (50 of each: 50 men's, 50 women's, 50 children's). We would use the clothes we brought and supplement with clothes from their donation closet. There was A LOT of clothing in this closet and in no particular order aside from males and females. My eyes lit up when I saw it. A organizational project! I have another blog called the maniacal organizer, so it's no surprise I REQUESTED the job of organizing the piles of clothes. I didn't get it all done today; just enough to help make the packages the rest of the team was working on. 

Once we had 150 packages made, we went back to the base and took a rest for a while. When we stepped off that bus by the beach, a refreshing breeze hit us. Compared to just a couple miles inland, this respite by the ocean felt air conditioned despite the 98 degree heat. As we rested and waited, a storm rolled in and our team climbed up on the wall and watched it sweep over the water. Across the ocean, in the distance, a water spout formed (basically a tornado on the water). It was both really awesome and kind of terrifying. It dissipated quickly. All this time in Iowa and I see my first tornado in Haiti!

Before long we headed back out into the village. I hopped on the back of a 'haojin' (which I can only describe as a motorcycle with a mini truck bed attached to it) with Turner and the clothing we had packaged earlier. I was hoping for zippy ride, but Peleo (our driver) refused my pleas to go 'faster, faster!' When we stopped, there was instantly a group of little ones around us. Looking at the little girl in a worn out 'tan' (maybe white at one point?) dress with the sleeves torn and the hem coming undone, I was thankful we were bringing them clothing. Then we were given our instructions. Three groups. One this way. One that way. Another down that way. Grab a large bag (that had lots of packages by size inside) and head out. One package per family...if I thought it looked professional to use emoji in my blog, there would be a smiley face with its mouth hanging open here. One. Package. Per. Family. My heart sank a little. I knew that little girl wasn't going to get a new dress today. What's more we had packed the larger bags according to type: all the men's in one, women's in another and kids in another. I knew, as we grabbed the bags that the clothes we gave out would not even necessarily fit any one in the family. This was a moment where I had to trust our missionary. He knew this community better than we did. He knew the purpose of this assignment better. And he knows the big picture of Haiti better. And off we went.

Later, Alexis would explain that the community was just that: a community, and that they share and trade and that some are grateful for whatever they receive and some are just not. That was comforting in some ways, but we resolved as a team later that night that we could do better by organizing our bags differently. More comforting was David, a little boy I met along the way. Though many families did not get an exact match to their needs, my group was able to give a small 1 year old named David a package that worked just fine for him. Even his clothes were a size too big but he loved the knitted doll that came with it and I know he can at least grow into the clothes later. I also chatted with his mom and was able to pray for them. And as I prayed that God would provide for their needs and that David would grow up to be healthy and strong and to know the Lord, I felt a joy in being able to speak that kind of love into their lives. And I made a new friend. David!

Looking back on village ministry, I can say it was tough and took all of us way out of our comfort zone! I mean, it's just not something you do in the states: walking up to someone's door, give a gift and ask them if you can pray for them. I close the door on people like that! But it's different in Haiti. It's not an invasion. It seems welcomed. Still it was exhausting emotionally to see the poverty and feel so helpless.

Along the way, I came across a tiny baby laying in blankets in a Rubbermaid tub. She was crying relentlessly, and I asked the boy who seemed to be caring for her if I could pick her up. He said 'no, she has messed herself.' I now noticed the baby's exploded diaper and contemplated my next move. I looked around for the mother, who wasn't to be found. We were warned about touching bodily fluids, I dared not offer to change her. Every motherly instinct in me wanted to pick her up to comfort her. I turned to our translator (maybe looking for help, an out?), then looked back when the little girl in the torn tan dress (who had been tagging along) swept the baby up (without supporting her head) and held her out to me. I quickly took the baby (to support her head) and cradled her. She stopped crying. Now I was in a messy situation. But I felt nothing but love for that little one. I gave her a smile and then lowered her back into the boys arms. "Is she yours?" I asked him. No, he nodded and layed her back down into the Rubbermaid container. I wondered if they had another diaper to change her into. Maybe the mom had gone for some somewhere. Who knows where?

Later that night in my journal I wrote,

"I am struggling. I miss home. And my kids. I talked to Adelaide tonight and it was really hard..."

Then, I attributed this to just being homesick. Now, I'm realizing that I was not immune to what I saw that day. The little girl with the torn dress, the mama of David, the crying baby. I have seen and worked amidst poverty before and generally have developed a tough exterior for it. But, something about all I saw that day struck me deeply and it made me want to run to my family for comfort. It makes me wonder how God views the poverty of those in the villages. I feel like my lense as an American is so skewed because what I view as a 'need' is usually nothing but a 'want.' I haven't quite unpacked this line of thinking completely in my own mind so I'll put an end to writing about it for now. What I know is that today, God really wasn't silent. I felt a small piece of his aching for those that are truly without; without full shelter, without clothing, without diapers, and possibly without hope in himself. Even now, I feel that aching and I pray...

Adventures In Haiti- My Journal (Sunday)

If you are just wandering onto this blog, the following entry is part of a series detailing our recent trip to Haiti. Let the adventure begin...

The Chakoun at the mission base.

Today has just been wonderful! We were up EARLY (5:30AM), which is ok, because I was in bed by 7 last night. At 6am, I meandered across the yard of the mission base. Above me several different varieties of mango trees swayed in the ocean breeze. I hear the crash of the water hitting the shore, pass under the chakoun, a tropical pavilion whose roof is made of palm branches, and climb up onto the wall of the mission. It's topped with a wire fence and it's the closest I can get to the water without walking right out the gate. Sometimes, when I'm here, I forget I'm on a mission trip, where I am meant to serve and be "out of my comfort zone." But, let's be real. It's the caribbean! And it's landscape is gorgeous, even if the poverty and hurt that fills this beautiful country is abundant. Lex and Renee have told me time and again that this place, the mission base, is expected to be a haven, a place to rest after a hard day of work for the teams that come and I imagine, for them as well. This is where they live after all. I close my eyes and ask God to help me as I read his word, thankful to be resting after all that travel. Afterwards, we eat breakfast (yummy bread, fresh pineapple, peanut butter and of course, coffee) and clamor onto the big yellow school bus. Time for church.

The newly rebuilt school.

We were quite early so Lex gave us a tour of the new school building (which is at the same location as the church.) I am blow away at what they have accomplished since we were here 3 years ago! What was once a hole in the ground is now a two story building with classrooms, offices, a kitchen, a dance studio, a radio station, a storage room for supplies and a free medical clinic!! And the building is continuing! The Edmes have even started using hydroponics to raise fish for food on the same site as the church (how many of our churches in the states are that creative??) Needless to say, I was both impressed and inspired.

                     The Church.

In the middle of our tour, singing came from the church (an outdoor pavilion-kind of). The music is boisterous and the worship is heartfelt- we don't understand a word of it and the heat is already sweltering. BUT it is so good to be in the house of God with our brothers and sisters in Haiti! Kyle and I  are asked to come up to the front. We introduce ourselves and our team. Kyle preaches using a translator, but I don't get to hear because the rest of us go to teach Sunday school. I had the little tikes (3-5 year olds; any idea why I picked those cuties?) I gave hugs to lots of little ones who reminded me of Adelaide. It both made me miss her and filled that same gap. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a scuffle followed by two little boys crying, one who threw his snack bag at the floor in disgust and then himself flopped to the floor in a heap. I thought I was watching my little one back home throw a tantrum! I figured out that some 3 year old problems are similar in Haiti. Each little boy wanted a 'particular' snack bag (even though they were identical in type and quantity), and the one who had his 'particular' snack bag taken was the one on the floor. "Is this his?" I ask the boy sitting in his desk and point at the snack and then at the boy on the floor. Yes, he nods. Switch snack bags. All is right with the world! Other than saving the world of that 3 year old, I also teach a lesson on Jonah and the whale. Fun stuff! I see a few familiar faces in the crowd too. Faith- the daughter of the missionaries at the Hands and Feet Project was just 1 when we visited last time and her sister, Glory, was on the way (I was pregnant at the same time as her mama then.) Then, I'm talking to the little boys and I can't help but cup their cheeks in my palms- they are so sweet! One of them cups my face in his hands and says, I'm Christlove. Christlove!! Another little one, just a baby when I first met him! He was undernourished at the time and the recipient of much our previous team's affections and photo shoots! How wonderful it is to see these babies grow up healthy! I think, as we continue to visit Haiti, we will see them grow into teenagers and then young adults and so on. How amazing would that be?

        Daniella and Danielle sitting under the wall (and Clovis).

Speaking of watching little ones grow up, after church Alexis took us to see the Hands and Feet Project where the 32 orphans, whom Lex and Renee rescued from orphanage that was exploiting them, live. These were the children we first met in 2010. Among them was Daniella, who I have spoken often about. She is now 15! Being 15, she did not warm up to me right away, which was a challenge because I was so excited to see her. Later she and the other orphans came to our beach at the mission base to swim. I tried talking to her again but I'm all thumbs when it comes to teenagers. And I felt old and uncool all of a sudden. I gave her space to be with her friends and before long she asked me to come talk to her. We swam together with her friends and made jokes about boyfriends and talked about hair and school. We chatted a while, sitting on the wall, practicing English. I found out she wants to be a nurse now and that her favorite color is sky blue. This has to be the highlight of my week in Haiti, to reconnect with her, watch her grow up. I'll never forget how she captured my heart when she was just 10 years old, falling asleep on my lap in church! I didn't have my own kids yet and seriously thought about how I could take her home with me. I only hope I was able to convey my care for her today. She and her friends are quite special, at least in my book.

                           Mauvans

I met someone new that day too. I'm still working on the spelling, but his name is Mauvans. He was recently taken in at the orphanage because he is severely malnourished. At 1 years old, he is just a wee thing. At a second church service that night, he came in, held by his care taker who sat right behind me. I asked if I could him. She consented. Sweet, sweet boy! As I held his tiny frame, I couldn't help but feel how fortunate my babies are. I mean I know I sound like a narrow lensed American here in some respects (truly there are many unfortunate cases of neglected children in the States), and there are many sites of poverty in Haiti that make you realize how much you really have (and how gosh darn ungrateful you are for it). It just so happens that it was here in Haiti where I have encountered this little one. And once again my heart was captured. Maybe I can sponsor him? Maybe I will see him when he is two next year? Maybe I can watch him grow into a healthy, educated, kind hearted young man? These are the kind of things that happen to you when you take a mission trip. You meet people that never would have crossed your path if you stayed home. You want to care for them and wish nothing but the best for them though you did not know them 2 days ago. You are the salt of the earth, Matthew 5 says. If the salt loses it's saltiness it is good for nothing. If we lose our ability to love others, we are good for nothing. God seems to use trips like these to broaden my scope, awaken my heart and sharpen my ability to love others and today he did it through Christlove, Faith and Glory, Daniella, and Mauvans.