Complicated

I wrote most of this a little bit back so the time frame is off, but the tales are true...


Sometimes I'm so busy doing life that I don't really stop to process it. I don't even realize the meaning of the words I hear throughout the day or the meaning of the stories I'm told. I don't take in the faces in front of me or allow myself to see through the eyes looking into mine. I forget to really listen, to allow my eyes to be opened, my heart to break, and my hands to move.

It is often later, when the voices are silent and the faces are gone, that I begin to process the stories, understand the lives and question the realities.

In the last week, I have met a baby abandoned by his teenage mother because of physical deformities. I have held a one year old that weighs just over eight pounds. I have seen the HIV positive mom of a formula program baby struggle to get to her feet to take her daughter home. I have tried and failed to get one of our reunited kids to smile for me when she came back to visit. I have used NG tubes to feed our malnourished new babies. I have had a young mother offer us her unborn child because she doesn't feel she can care for all of her children. I have seen a four month old baby whose mother is too mentally unstable to care for her and whose family is struggling to provide. I have had the mom of a reunited child ask us to take him back.

These are complicated stories, challenging lives and sometimes harsh realities.

We must struggle to make the best decisions for these precious babies. For these people who are not just words, faces or strangers. For these people whose stories are real. For these people who are looking for hope. It is not easy, nor should it be, to make this decision that will directly impact someone else's future.

It is easy to judge, to rationalize and to justify. To not help and then to let them slip your mind. To help, but to see only the problem, not see the person. To wish the issues were easier or the answers were more obvious.

But then I realize, Jesus did not come for the healthy, but for the sick. He came for the broken and the needy. He came for those who are falling apart and are desperate. I know that this is me and all of us. It is every single person that I saw and talked to this week. If the issues were easier or the answers more obvious, we would not be here. There would be no need. It is the sick, the broken, the needy, the falling apart and desperate people that we are called to serve. Not through our own strength, ability or resources, but through the One who knows every intimate, complicated detail and is able to use it all for his glory.

I am thankful that God is trusting us enough to be his hands and feet as we seek to better hear, see and understand the people who come through our gate each week. My prayer is that, no matter what, we will reflect the true solution to their needs and will glorify God in our thoughts, decisions and actions.

A First Time for Everything

I have spent a total of approximately 65 weeks in Haiti in the last 5 years. Never once have I spent any of that time behind a steering wheel... until today. Some may tell you that our destination was an hour away, but I don't really believe them. It took us about 2 hours and 15 minutes by the time the adventure was complete...

Kirk and I were heading out to pick up an abandoned baby from a hospital in Limbe. We had already made this same trek a week earlier to meet the baby, so we knew how to go the "back way," with more turns, different bumps and less traffic. Initially, Kirk was driving (as per tradition), but after only a few minutes, we decided to switch. Thankfully, between last summer and the time I moved to Haiti, COTP acquired an automatic vehicle that does not require a ridiculous amount of shifting. (If it did, I would definitely not have driven today.) The first part of the trip was rather uneventful. We experienced the usual bumpy roads, chickens crossing, children waving and people staring. I may have hit a few extra bumps, but I like to think that it was relatively uneventful. My passenger may have initially made fun of me for going a bit slow, but it got better.

Not too far into the journey, we came to a fallen tree. At home, this tree would have made me turn around and reconsider my route, but here, we simply got really close to examine the options. In between a pile of branches and the trunk of the tree, was a pathway. It was probably about 3/4 the width of the Jeep, and Kirk told me that was wide enough. I carefully navigated to the left so that I knew we were clear of the trunk, and then just pushed the branches out of the way with the vehicle. I'm not sure the onlookers were as confident we'd have success, but we made it through! Many minutes and a couple of turns later, we came to the river in the road. I knew it was coming (from our previous trip), but it kind of still snuck up on me. Now, having never driven through a river before, I was a bit anxious, but we made it through easily and only one quick wave splashed up on the hood.

Next, we came to a crossroads. Well, actually a T in the road. Last time, we went right and found our destination, but we thought the directions we were given said to go left. So, after some deliberation and a calculated risk, we decided to go left. At first, it all looked good. The road was nice (enough), and it looked like we were headed to a populated area. We took the next right (like we thought we were supposed to) and kept going. However, instead of heading to the brick road we thought we should find, we instead found ourselves on rockier and rockier ground. It was on this path that we had a conversation about whether Haiti has jungle. If it does, we were in it. Eventually, the road basically ended and we were forced to turn around (by backing up to a drop-off and maneuvering the Jeep around). Oh, and we had already crossed a second river on this road, so of course we had to go back through it. This means my river-count for the day is three.

After backtracking, we found the right road again and continued on our way. I even drove onto the National Highway, which isn't as fancy as it sounds, but if you take it long enough, you can get all the way to Port-au-Prince. To get to Limbe, you have to go up over a mountain, and I even decided to try driving this part. At home, it would definitely freak me out, but it doesn't seem so bad here in comparison to the other roads. The worst part was having to remember to honk my horn around every corner so that oncoming traffic would know I was coming. Several uneventful bumps and curves later, a passing moto driver points at our tire. I stop, Kirk gets out of the Jeep and discovers we have a flat tire. This is quite inconvenient since we don't have a spare, we are coming down the mountain and we don't know where we can get it fixed. Since we have no choice, we keep driving. Just after an "it's getting worse fast" comment, we realize we will have to stop. Right then, we both spot an air compressor on the side of the road. Turns out we can stop at this unofficial Haitian gas station where there is a guy who knows how to fix tires. Mesi Jezi. I don't really know how he did it, but I know it involved pulling something out of the tire (the culprit), and then shoving some good stuff in. And it held for the whole rest of the trip and back, hooray! I didn't know if Kirk would let me drive after the flat-tire incident, but alas, he did and so I got back in the driver's seat and we took off.

The rest of the trip was rather uneventful. I navigated the traffic and bumps and drove right to the hospital, thus ending my first driving experience in Haiti. I very willingly let Kirk drive on the way home so that I could hold our newest little love, an 8 month old baby boy full of smiles and giggles!