Search Results : haiti

Snapshot {enough.}  1

For a week in mid-September (2014) I was in Haiti.  I’ve been digesting my experience bit by bit here on my blog.  You can find the whole series of Snapshots here.

 

One month ago, I boarded a plane and found myself in Haiti for eight days.  And still, all these days later, I am having a hard time finding just the right words to explain what I saw, what I felt in my heart, how it twisted me up down deep.  If you were to ask me to return, I’d go get my suitcase in a heartbeat.  It was an amazing trip.

I feel like I’m holding something new in my heart, like I have all this new information that is so precious and life giving and mind blowing… and it’s completely overwhelming to me that Jesus trusts me with it.

I finally realized that one of the reasons I haven’t been writing is because I don’t have any neatly packaged stories.  I have no cute anecdotes or sweet endings.  There is so much heartbreak in the world and it’s haunting to me.  More than ever, though, I see how God is so tender to the underdog, to those who are overlooked by the world.

So here you go.  The first snapshot of Port de Paix.

*************

Each morning we would walk.  We would give a little wave and say “Bonjou” to as many people as we could.  “Watch them bloom,” our missionary friend, Larry said. “So many of them are so discouraged and they can’t imagine why someone like you would want to come to visit their country.  Smile at them and watch them transform from discouraged to joyful.”  And so we did just that.  It was fun to watch the demeanor of their whole being change.  We would walk through town, up the mountain a bit and then rest.  As we made our way back, we would stop for a banana. These simple walks taught me so much.

One day, a man came up to me and started speaking.  He had his wife and small baby with him.  His eyes were desperate and as he went on, I kept trying to tell him I couldn’t understand him.  Finally, I got him to talk to Larry.

Their baby was sick.  We don’t know for sure what he said, but it seemed to be something wrong with her heart and they needed help.  I watched Larry listen and then give them money.  Before they left,  Neile prayed for them. She prayed that the money Larry gave would be enough.

We didn’t see them again. Each day I kept my eyes open for that sweet baby and her parents, but they never reappeared.

Almost daily I think of them.  And I wonder, was it enough?  Was she taken care of or was it too late?  Are they grieving a baby in the grave right now or are they rejoicing that their walk that day resulted in a divine appointment to get the treatment they needed?

What exactly is enough anyway?

How would I live my life differently if I was forced to walk the streets, praying for a miracle to help my child?  And how do I reconcile the massive difference between the “American enough” and the “Third World enough”?

A Sweet Aroma  0

 

At the moment I have all I need—more than I need!
I am generously supplied with the gifts you sent me …
They are a sweet-smelling sacrifice that pleases God well.
(Philippians 4:18)
When the calendar turns to September, no matter how prepared I think I am, it is still a really tough month.  The memories surrounding Annie’s last month with us– the desperation I felt trying to figure out what was wrong with her and the subsequent diagnosis of a brain tumor, followed by just a few days in the hospital before we said good-bye— come back stronger and more vivid.  Those last few days were somehow simultaneously horrific and holy.  I will admit that I still find my mind wandering back, willing a different ending to the story.  And the heartbreak comes when I realize that it’s just too late.
Monday marked five years since Peter and I put “Peacemaker “ on repeat and they slowly took out the tubes and we were left holding her until she took her last breath.  I woke up immediately thinking of that day and the tears came even before I had opened my eyes.  But even as the tears fell, I felt God gently speaking to me. He’s been teaching me about redemption, about taking the sting out of our suffering.  And so, knowing that so many of you remember this day with us, I put this status on Facebook:

“When they walk through the Valley of Weeping, it will become a place of refreshing springs. The autumn rains will clothe it with blessings. (Psalms 84:6 NLT)
Five years ago today, I held my sweet Annie Jane for the very last time. And while the memory of her still makes me weep, when I look at the path of our lives since that day I am overcome with gratitude at the ways God has guided and changed us, loved us and comforted us.
Many of you have lived this story with us. Thank you. As an offering to Christ, would you tell us a way Jesus has changed you as a result of her life? Let’s take the sting out of our suffering today. Only Jesus can take our dry valleys of weeping and make them into refreshing springs.”

You guys.  The response I got blew me away.  I had no idea it would add up to over fifty comments, multiple inbox messages and a letter that had me sobbing.  I am so absolutely humbled at the impact my daughter has made in a world she spent just 183 days in.  It is all because of Jesus.
“It taught us to pray together for a mourning family for a whole year. Romans 12:15”
“A few years ago, you & Peter were participants on a panel about grief, bereavement, loss, the huge impact for me was Peter vocalizing your story. So many times loss of unborn or young children is focused on the mom, Peter gave that voice of a hurting/strong dad/husband.”
“Jesus has helped to to step outside of myself and truly love and care for grieving friends. “
“…grief and suffering can draw us nearer to the heart of Jesus and one another if we will let the Spirit take us there and intercede with and for us.”
“Rocking and holding Annie is a gift that I treasure and I am forever changed. Through the tears and heartache (shared with you) something beautiful was happening in our lives that we couldn’t explain. A mystery for sure.”
Yesterday, even though I had a million “important” things to do, I ignored them all and I spent the morning cutting my Sweet Annie … one of God’s most tangible gifts to me.  Each year I am amazed as I watch it grow and realize that it will be ready to cut and dry on the exact week of her death.  It has the sweetest scent, one of my favorites in the whole earth.  And as I lost myself in prayer as I cut it, I thanked God for so many of you.  For the way that God has chosen to use our story to bring others into a deeper relationship with Him.  I am humbled beyond words that My Annie is “A sweet smelling sacrifice that pleases God well.”  What more as a Mama could I desire for my child?
P.S.  If you’d like to read the whole string of comments on facebook, go here.
P.S.  I just returned from a week in Haiti.  It wrecked me, in a good way.  I’m sure the stories will be leaking onto this blog soon, but for now, I’m struggling to hold both my grief for Annie and Haiti together in my heart.

A Little Adventure.  1

“We cannot think our way into a new kind of living.  
We must live our way into a new kind of thinking.”– Richard Rohr
Exactly two years ago, Peter and I were in Ecuador with Compassion International, spending time with Jefferson, the boy we had sponsored for many years.  I wrote about our trip a handful of times.  It continues to shape me still.  It had been a lot of years since I had let the reality of poverty seep into my thoughts.  I realized that I can do all the reading and watching and talking that I’d like, but nothing compares to being in the thick of it.  When poverty has a name and a face, it wrecks you.  At least that’s what it did to me.
When I think about my life here, it’s pretty comfortable.  And honestly, that’s not what I want. At least it’s what I fight against wanting.  In the mornings, when I think about the one life that God has given to me– this finite number of days that I have here on this earth– I just don’t want to waste it.  I am determined to make the most of my minutes.  And then I get out of bed.  My feet hit the floor and my eyes open to the piles … and before I know it, I’m overwhelmed by laundry and requests for more snacks and obscene amounts of grass on the kitchen floor.  Before I know it, I seem to only have time for the tasks that concern me and my little family.
I know, I know that those things are important.  The dailyness of a Mom’s life is invaluable.  But I worry when those tasks become more valuable to me than my relationship with Christ, my concern for the poor, the orphans, my community.  And that, my friends, is definitely not what I desire to be modeling to my kids.
I’ve noticed lately that when I’d sing, “Break my heart for what breaks Yours…” It wasn’t hitting me deep down.  I’d become hardened.
And so, when my friend Neile wrote to me about joining her in Haiti, I hesitated for a bit, but I knew it was an opportunity I couldn’t let slip through my fingers.
On September 12, I’ll leave Peter and the kids (along with my awesome in-laws who will come to help in my absence) and I’ll pretend to be brave.  I’ll travel to Port-de-Paix, Haiti and spend the week with Waves of Mercy.  We’ll spend time with children who have been orphaned, have a birthday party for young Mamas and their babies, and love these people who have so little and are still so devastated by the earthquake four years ago. Something tells me it will split my heart right open, and honestly, I’m more than a bit terrified.
But I long for a new kind of thinking.  I believe that the Holy Spirit is working among His people in a huge way and I want to experience it for myself.  I’ll never get there if I only think about it.  So for me, right now, that means spending a week with those who have been through so much tragedy and are still able to live with hope.  I cannot wait to see what they will teach me.  And I pray that in some small way, I will be an encouragement to them.
Will you pray for me?
P.S. I feel so blessed to be at this point in my life that I can leave my kids in capable hands, knowing that they’ll be well taken care of.  For many of you, putting a stamp in your passport is just not an option right now.  But it doesn’t always take a plane ride or extra money to live a new kind of life and have a new way of thinking.  I really like the way Kristen Welch thinks and writes and her post on “100 Ways for Your Family to Make a Difference” is dynamite.  I am always trying to find new ways that we can teach our kids to look for the needs of others before themselves, to live against the culture that so smoothly convinces them that they deserve it all.  Some days are easier than others, but I keep telling myself that one day they will get this. In this world of entitlement, it is such a huge battle.  If you’re in the thick of it, keep fighting.  It is worth it.  Don’t believe the lie that you have an excuse not to serve beyond yourself.

Using Rice to Make Clean Water  2

I have been struck with a harsh reality.

When Annie was sick, we did what we could.  We didn’t stop to ask the cost of anything, we just did it.  We had insurance, sure, but even without it, we would have done what we needed to do.  When the bills started rolling in, we were shocked at the cost of her short stay in the hospital (which have been miraculously taken care of!).

Then somewhere in the blur of those first months, I realized something.  Of course I knew it before, it just had never slapped me in the face before.

There are millions of Mothers in the world who lose their babies simply because they don’t have the basic necessities.  Namely, clean water.

They don’t love their babies any less than I love my Annie.  They’d do anything to keep their babies alive, just like me.

Now, giving money is one thing, but I wanted to do something that would impact my kids.  I found this post on one of my favorite blogs and I was hooked.

On New Year’s Eve, we had both sets of Grandparents at our house.  We decided we’d start our new tradition with them.  We made rice and beans and put it on a big sheet in the living room.

Everyone had to find a dollar to put into the jar before they could eat.  It represented money that we would have used to make our meal, but instead will be sent to dig wells.

And then we talked about those babies and kids.  Kids who die simply because they don’t have clean water.

To say it made an impact is an understatement.

We plan to regularly have these meals and make it a practice to do something about it.  William and Kate can hear from our lips that we give money, but it doesn’t mean a thing to them.  Making it tangible to them, though, has brought it to the forefront of their minds regularly.

Out of the blue at dinner the other day, William said,
“Dad, why wouldn’t God use one of His miracles to give everyone in the world clean water?”

Oh my.  I love how that boy’s mind works.

And so, though I would do anything to get my sweet baby back, I am thankful that her absence in our lives is reminding us to be more thankful.  To face hard truths.  To force us to tell our kids that there aren’t always easy answers.  To wrestle with the “whys”.  And to choose to use our loss.

P.S.  I wrote this blog post a few weeks ago and hadn’t gotten around to publishing it.   Today as I was flipping through Newsweek and saw the horrific pictures of Haiti’s earthquake, I was reminded that I still needed to post this.  Now,  more than ever, we need to be moved to compassion and giving.  There is so much hurt in our world.    Come quickly, Jesus!