In Christ Alone

Tuesday was her first birthday. Thursday was her funeral. Her name was Podelandine. She was suffering from severe kwashiorkor malnutrition, her swollen face and legs were visible signs of the serious illness raging inside her tiny body. Her papa brought her to us on the day she turned one, desperate to find help for his sweet daughter. Her mama had been sick for months and died the week before and her daddy was losing hope. He’d already taken Podelandine to a clinic who refused to help, saying that there was nothing they could do. He couldn’t bring her to us sooner because he was burying his wife and struggling to provide for his other two children as well. And so, we agreed to care for his daughter, promising to do our best, but knowing that it might not be enough.

Dad bringing Podelandine to COTP

Podelandine was only with us for a day and a half, and yet we will remember this sweet girl. How she used what little strength she could find to help hold her leg up when we changed her diaper, being careful around the open sores scattered on her tiny body. How she opened her mouth, trying to drink the water in her bath. How her face clearly let us know which medicines she liked and which ones she didn’t, and yet she drank them all anyway. How she cried from pain when we picked her up, but allowed us to cuddle her close and comfort her. 

First nap at COTP

Her papa has a year of these memories, from before Podelandine got so sick. He remembers the incredible love that everyone in his family had for Podelandine. He remembers how his baby daughter was beginning to talk. He remembers being her primary caregiver during these last few months of her mama’s illness. He remembers wanting the very best for his baby girl.

As I led her daddy upstairs into our house to say goodbye, we watched him cry over his baby daughter and we cried for his pain much more than our own. He has lost so much in only a couple of weeks, and yet he knows he still has two young kids to raise by himself. He is broken and he is grieving. Because we know his situation is a hard one, even for Haiti, our local church was able to help him with a small amount of money. The reality is, he will use this to pay off the debt from his wife’s funeral and buy food for his other two children.

In Christ Alone

Her funeral was simple. Her papa, a neighbor and several staff members gathered together in our white truck and made the short drive to the cemetery. Her grave was ready when we arrived and her tiny, handmade casket placed inside. Prayers of hope were offered, thanking God for the chance to reflect on Podelandine’s life and reminding us that death on earth is not truly the end. Bible verses were read, offering comfort. A song was sung reminding us that, “in Christ alone, our hope is found.” A little girl, only a year old, was honored that morning as we gathered together. 

And then her daddy, with fresh tears in his sad eyes, came up to each of us individually, to thank us. We did so little, and yet he was so grateful. And we are grateful too. For the chance to be a small part of this family’s story. For the chance to love this little girl and care for her, even for a short time. For how blessed we are to help bring hope when Podelandine’s daddy thought there was none. For how he trusted us to do all we could. And even for the undeniably hard privilege of standing beside Podelandine’s papa as he said goodbye to his precious daughter.

Children of the Promise has given explicit permission for the posting of photos on this site. Photos taken of children in the care of Children of the Promise are not be posted publicly without explicit permission given by Children of the Promise.

Yesterday

Tuesday. Thursday. Friday. These are the days affectionately (or not always so affectionately) referred to as “gate days” here at COTP. These are the days when families can come to us asking for help. These are the days when we weigh kids who are in our formula and medika mamba programs. These are the days when families can come and take home their children. These are the days when families come to ask for updates and pictures of their children who have been adopted. These are the days when biological families can come to visit the kiddos in our care. These are the days when reunited kids come back to see us and check in. 

Some of these days are slow, others leave no time for a break. Some of these days are fun and uplifting, others are discouraging and overwhelming.

Yesterday was a busy day, an overwhelming day...

One of our reunited toddlers, together with his mom and three siblings, is now homeless, unwanted by friends and neighbors because there are so many children.

Another reunited child came back for a check up, sick and two pounds lighter than when we saw him last. 

A mom we’ve worked with for almost two years came and asked us for adoption for her eight month old, the youngest of two brothers.

We had to send home a baby to a really tough situation, with parents who love him but don’t quite understand how to care for their tiny son, especially now while he is ill. 

And yet, in the middle of yesterday’s chaos, there was beauty and encouragement... 

A biological grandmother came to ask us for an update on her granddaughter. I was able to print some pictures of her healthy, happy four year old granddaughter and her new family. I brought the pictures into the office and showed them to my Haitian coworkers, Eulalie and Roseline. One of them looked at the pictures and remarked how beautiful the once-extremely-malnourished little girl now looks. 

Then she looked at me and told me, “I don’t make a lot of money doing this job, but I love it. It is hard, but it is good.” 

Even though it is easy and even necessary to focus on the hard part of our job, these amazing women are daily becoming more passionate about their work. Even when not inside our gates, they are visiting homes, making phone calls and praying for our babies. They advocate for those who need it, they hurt with those in pain and they rejoice with those who are healthy. 

Even in the midst of this chaotic day, they took the time to praise kids for their weight gain, to offer candies to those who were frightened, and to proudly show a grandma the photos of her thriving granddaughter. I am definitely blessed to work alongside these beautiful women. :) 

Valdine

February 29, 2012: A healthy baby girl is born in a town called Dondon. Her mama names her Valdine.

January 31, 2013: This eleven month old baby comes to see us with her mama. She is breastfeeding and weighs almost 20 pounds! We reassure mom that her baby is doing well and does not currently need one of our programs. Like we always do, we told mom that she could bring Valdine back to see us if she is worried about her.

March 6, 2014: It's been thirteen months since we last saw baby Valdine. She just celebrated her second birthday and she comes to see us again. She still weighs only 19.5 pounds. Mom is worried about her young daughter...

During the time between her visits to COTP, Valdine stopped breastfeeding. She no longer got all of the nutrition she needed from her mother's milk. She lost weight and her body began to swell with the signs of kwashiorkor. Her hair thinned out and started turning orange. Her mama didn't know what to do, so she brought her baby back to see us. We agreed that Valdine needed assistance and enrolled her in our mamba program. Valdine was eager to try her medika mamba, although she was not a fan of her new antibiotic and protested loudly as we gave it to her! Her mom listened closely to every instruction we gave and plans to bring her baby back in a couple weeks to get weighed and receive more mamba. We are praying that very soon, Valdine will again become a happy, healthy little girl.