No Place on Earth We'd Rather Be

Starting the day out at the hospital to find the sweet little boy who can’t walk. As Marcy and I enter the hospital the sweet guard is sitting there. He has been asking for a bible for three weeks now and I still haven’t been able to find one. We give him money to buy one and he says he can’t wait to show us his new bible when we come back. The little boy has been taken to a different hospital. I wish I had his contact information. I feel like a failure. Like I didn’t do all that I could. Why didn’t I come sooner? I remember his deep sad eyes looking up at me. He is what we call a restavik kid. When a family can’t afford to keep their kids they give them to someone better off and they are used basically as slaves. Not in all cases but in many. That little boy was a restavik kid. He stayed with a man that took “care” of him, but when he had his accident he was dropped off at the hospital and his real dad came to spend some time with him. The story of how he got so badly hurt changed every time I went to visit him. I whispered to him one time asking if he was afraid. He quickly looked at his dad and then looked away. He stood up one time with Aunt Beck and I but only for a few moments. He wouldn’t speak when his dad was around. He didn’t want to be healed. He didn’t want to walk again because it meant he would go right back to where he was. He was so hollow and depressed. Where is he now? Why didn’t I do more? Why am I so useless? Why don’t I have a house here where I can take in little souls like this. This is when I have to remember how small I am. How I only can do so much until I just let God take care of it. He is so much bigger than me. He loves that little boy more than I ever could. I always say I’m just doing all that I can with the time that I have. However, in this instance, I didn’t do all that I could with the time that I had. I will continue to pray for him and his most precious life and I ask that you would do the same. God is bigger than me. So. So. So. Much. Bigger. Leaving the hospital to visit Dada and put fresh bandages on her leg. Her wound needs to dry out a little bit so what better time to dance? I am joined by Dada's feisty aunt. We dance and dance and soon have a little crowd laughing and squealing for joy. Marcy laughs at me and films us. Dada's feisty aunt forgets her hurt ankle and dances and laughs and hugs me. We enter the little house again and Marcy and I bandage Dada's wound and tease her. Marcy dances and makes her laugh as I bandage. She smiles at us with her big beautiful teeth. The house is full of family members. The air is sticky and dirty. The tarp still hangs low touching the top of my head. Flies swarm my legs. Fresh clean bandages cover her leg and I love the look of it. It makes me so happy to see. So white against the dark maroon sheets.

Marcy and I walk to one of the leaders' house because he said he has some land he wants to show me. Marcy hops on with his bodyguard and he hops on with me. We drive to Testas and he shows us the piece of land. It’s a really peaceful place but I’m looking for a larger piece. We sit in what seems to be an abandoned restaurant but someone appears out of nowhere to bring us drinks. I told mama we would be home to help cook and then go pray with her on the mountain so it is time to leave.

Flying on the roads back to Jeremie. Marcy laughing at the bodyguard's little moto backfiring and giving me the look of “what are we doing." No matter what we’re doing, there is no place either of us would rather be.

Arriving back at home Marcy and I settle down to help cook. Cutting and frying banan. Juicing shadek to make the best juice ever. Tasting sauce. Making sure the Piklis has enough spice. We sit down to eat and Marcy is able to video chat with Chris (her husband.) Papa and Manman are so happy to talk to him. We all miss him and wish he was here. Chris and Marcy have been such a wonderful blessing in not just Papa and Mama's life but in my life as well. When I was living in the back of my truck in the middle of winter, they filled rubbermaid tubs with groceries and filled my gas tank. Bought me a new cot and have been there whenever I needed someone. I wish Chris was here, we all do, but he will be here soon hopefully. It was a perfect dinner. All of us talking and teasing. We are late for the prayer meeting up the mountain so we finish up and start up the mountain. I am bombarded by sweet little kids everywhere, all yelling my name. I didn’t even know I knew all the kids up here. Hugs and sticky kisses.

Sweaty little hands touching my face and arms. We hike until we are almost to the top of the mountain. We enter a sweet little yard covered in crab grass. A little garden with a few stalks of corn and herbs occupies a corner. The home is small but beautiful. Little by little the women all arrive and we start to sing. A little girl with a baby on her hip leading a blind woman stand in the entranceway.












This little girl led this blind woman all the way up the mountain for the prayer meeting. The woman sits in a chair pulled up for her and I beckon to the little girl to come sit with me. Marcy and I are sitting on the crab grass. Not the most comfortable but it’ll have to do:)

The little girl comes and sits next to me and the little girl on her hip is terrified of me. In areas like this, little kids are often scared of white people because of never having seen them before. I smile and hold out my hand. She is apprehensive at first, staring at me with huge beautiful brown eyes. Her head is shaved due to a skin disease. She doesn’t have any bottoms on and is wearing a ragged dirty brown shirt. She sneakily and quickly grabs my hand. I stretch my arm out and she is willing to sit with me. I snuggle her little self and kiss her little forehead.

Her sister snuggles up beside me as well. I realize I am still in a prayer meeting and join in in prayer and songs. It is a beautiful picture. Marcy and I sitting up here with these wonderful women. Praying and singing and spending time together. Marcy moves to sit with the sister and she holds her hands and looks at them over and over.

Looking at her fingernails and her knuckles. Smoothing her skin with her sweaty hands. Marcy just wraps her arms around her and we finish the meeting.

Walking down the mountain with this little precious on my hip. The sister takes us to her house and I talk to her mama. 

She can’t get enough water to bathe her little babe every day to get rid of this little skin disease. I tell her I’ll be back in the morning to pick her up to give her a bath at my house. Marcy and I walk back down the mountain with the group of women and eventually it's just us and Mama and Madam Figaroe. As soon as we walk into the door, Fre Ejen is there to have his finger bandaged again and he says there is a boy right down the hill who was just in a bike accident who needs his wounds taken care of. Into the room Marcy and I go to pack up my medical bag. Down the side of the mountain we go in the dark of the night. We duck under branches and jump over fallen palm trees. Through the goat trails in the jungle. Marcy and I laugh so hard at Fre Ejen's pace. He is speed walking down and up these hills. The boy is right down the mountain…lies. Where in the world are we going? The stars are bright and beautiful. Arriving near some homes and through little alleyways until we reach my patient. Squatting in the dirt to clean his wounds. One of the wounds is on his butt cheek and I tell him the drop his pants. The whole audience, Marcy and I are in an uproar. Laughing so hard. He does so without hesitating and I’m glad he did because that was the only infected little wound. No sooner have I put the last bandage on him, another patient comes our way. She burned her hand so I just put some burn cream on it and give her some for tomorrow. Back up the mountain and down and up and down and up we go. We get ourselves ready to go sleep at the orphanage. After such a long day I will admit sleeping on a concrete floor doesn’t sound the best. However, we go anyway. Papa drives us on my bike. Walking down the little alleyway to the gate made of old tin roofing patched together. Little voices sing loudly for their nighttime worship. Marcy and I sit on the cement porch with them and listen. Their little voices are loud and clear. They sing with every piece of themselves and every ounce of their little hearts. Marcy and I are exhausted and all I want to do is go to sleep. I am convinced by a couple kids to play Osle with them. 

I start a game but no sooner have I started when the door to their bedroom is opened. There are 57 children in this orphanage. The boys share a 10x12 room and the girls share a 10x12 room as well. A couple sheets are laid out on the floor for the kids to sleep on. Marcy and I nestle down and little girls from all directions come trying to cuddle closer and closer. 

Is it possible to get any closer? I write a song down for Lotez and we sing together. She has a beautiful voice. Marcy has a dozen little girls trying to do her hair and it’s terrible. 

Every year Marcy gets her hair done it's worse and worse. This year she has corn rows in a combover with half of her hair fluffing out the side. So so hideous. Little hands and sticky little foreheads cover every square inch of me and it's so hot in here. They are all sweating, but no one wants to let go. Little by little the room fills up with all the orphan girls. Each one trying to get as close as possible. 

My heart is so full. I can feel myself getting choked up but I don’t want to discourage them by crying so I keep it together. I can’t move at the moment to see Marcy, but she says she is covered in kids. 

Life is perfect. I wrap my arms around as many precious kids as possible. Why aren’t my arms longer? Why aren’t my hands bigger? Why isn’t my heart stronger? You are loved. You are perfect. You are more than enough. You are beautiful. Cement floor. Dirty sheets. Sweaty bodies. Little feet. Holding hands. Every breath. Little heart beats. Little heads against my chest. I am so content. Am I going to get any sleep tonight? Probably not. Is it absolutely worth it? Yes. With every ounce of me, yes. I fall asleep with them. 

The room is completely shut with a single oil lamp glowing brightly on a shelf. Marcy and I and over thirty kids packed on this floor, as tight as can be. So hot I can barely breathe. Someone pukes on my feet. Someone pees on Marcys head. And yet, there's no place on earth we’d rather be.