A Purpose

Why am I here? I sit on my bed and stare at my walls. My perfectly white spotless walls. Safe. Warm. Comfortable. I have mentioned roofs, or the lack thereof, but I had never thought of lack of walls. Many people, many families, many children, do not even have walls to surround them as they sleep. Can you imagine living like this? You lay down to sleep. Your floor is dirt and if you're lucky you'll have a sheet or possibly a tarp underneath you. It's midnight and the wind is blowing. You curl up close to your family as tightly as you can. The rain begins. The rain seeps through your makeshift roof and, due to lack of walls, drenches you and your family. The rain has soaked all of you leaving you and your children shivering. The rain rushes down the mountainside and underneath you. You're forced to squat for hours. Your legs are sore and you're cold and wet. How long until the morning? You hope the sun will shine so you can dry your things. Rain falls for days. No sleep. No shelter. No food.

Now, wake up and look around you. You're reading this off of a screen somewhere safe and surrounded by the comfort of walls, a roof and dry clothes. I should know. I'm doing the same. Putting ourselves in the shoes of so many around the world is hard. It's not fun to think of the suffering. It's not easy to think of others pain because we feel guilty. It's is essentially what drives us to do what we do. So, I encourage you, be driven.

"Defend the weak and the fatherless;
uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed." -- Psalm 82:3

Remember that this is not an elaborate story made up to force you into donating. This is life. Real life. This is the true story of a family I know and so many others living in these conditions. They don't have the choice to come back to the states like I do. Like you do. So, let us not forget the Haitians. Let us not forget. Please.

I finally understand how all of you feel and it truly makes me appreciate all you have done for Haiti so much more. The individual donations and he fundraisers. I feel so useless here. I feel out of place. I feel alone. It's not as glorious as being in Haiti with the Haitians. Holding their hands. Watching every penny you donated change lives. You never got to smell those smells and hold those hands and yet you have continued to give. THAT is heroic. You are the silent heroes that no one sees but have changed lives. God sees you. The Haitians feel what you have given. Thank you. We are not there but we can continue to do what we can with the time that we have. Right here. Right now. One of my wonderful friends Marcy sent this to me today and I believe it's perfect.

"Just think, you're not here by chance but by God's choosing. His hand formed you and made you the person you are. He compares you to no one else. You lack nothing that His grace can't give you. He has allowed you to be here at this time in history, to fulfill His special purpose for this generation." -- Roy Lessin

Kerline

Hi everyone, this is "Poppyseed," (Bryan Bartow). In the picture below is Kerline. Kerline has "CIDA" as it's known in Haiti.

A few years ago, Kerline had a baby in the local hospital, and it did not survive. We felt so sad for her and her loss, and paid her hospital bills and got her started in a small business. She called me SOO excited about her apartment she had rented, and the new "ti komes" she had begun. Her little business flourished and she began to live life again.

Months later, she had another systemic attack and wound up in the hospital. Al the money she had earned and saved got swallowed up in medical bills, and she again found herself in abject poverty again. I got a call in the States from a mutual friend that told me of her plight and once again, we were able to help her get on her feet again. She again was elated and made it work yet again.

Just a couple weeks before the hurricane, Kerline fell ill once again. She survived not only another attack, but the hurricane as well. This was her on the day we gave her another start-up! She called as soon as I got to Port to tell me she had a new apartment, and was heading out to buy the remainder of her goods to sell at the local market.

I had to ask myself as I hung up the phone.....will she make it? Will she die if she falls ill again? How many times should we help to keep rebuilding her life? One day, I thought, it'll get her. It will be her last trip to the hospital. The last time she'll pay a medical bill. The last time I'll hear her weakened voice on the phone. Never give up. Never stop trying to help people live the best life they can while they have time. It choked me up to think of the inevitable. One day at a time...

"It Mattered."

Edo and I wake up at 4 to take him to the bus station. After I drop him off I soak in every last ounce of Haiti I can.

I open my window in this van and the warm breeze hits my hand. The dust and smell of smoke. Trash. Colors. Shops. Motorcycles. Cars. Lights. Beautiful faces. Beautiful teeth. Ragged clothes. Fancy clothes. Crazy driving. They zoom around a cop with his lights on and cut him off. I. Love. Haiti. Airport is here. No. I breathe in the last of Haiti and enter the air conditioning. The last sounds of horns honking, music blaring and people yelling are drowned out as the doors close behind me. Here goes my transition into the states.

I feel like a zombie. What am I doing here? Why am I here? Why didn't I just stay? Nothing in me wants to be in the states. Nothing in me wants to be here. I walk through the airport, tears streaming down my face. I don't know if people stare. I don't care. Only a month and I'll be back. My heart is broken for Jeremie. My heart is broken for my people.

There must be a mistake because my seat is in first class. This doesn't make any sense. I ask the stewardess if this is correct and she confirms it is. I sit in this plush seat. A small bottle of water waits on my armrest and the stewardess brings me juice. I want to cry and punch someone and be thankful all at the same time.

The woman sitting next to me looks miserable and clearly doesn't want to talk to anyone. I'll decide. She needs to let it out. I start to talk to her and she's still cold towards me so I take hold of her hand and she starts to cry. She tells me she is a foster parent and the day she left for Haiti two of her children got adopted. To deal with that heartbreak and how Haiti is right now would be too much for anyone. I hold her hand and pray and sing over her. She cries and cries and talks it out and soon I start to tease her. She goes from tears of sadness to tears of laughter and we laugh harder and harder. The women in front of us turns around and glares at us. We laugh even more. The stewardess says she is going to bring everyone breakfast.

Remember Mugsy? The blan on the bus from Jeremie?! He's right behind the first class seats sitting on this plane. I ask the stewardess if I can buy him breakfast. She says no, but I can buy him some chips. Wow. I'll decide what I can and can't do. She brings me a huge plate of food and when she turns around I promptly pass it back to Mugsy.

She tells me I can't send food "back there," like the people in first class are so far above the others. How embarrassing. I tell her I'll do what I want. He is so grateful. I'm really grateful for this plane ride. I'm grateful for Ginger next to me and Mugsy munching away in the back. I'm grateful for my wonderful friends and family back in Haiti and my friends who have been so encouraging back in the states. Thank you. Thank you.

Thank you to my man for being so supportive. For always being encouraging and for knowing I need to do what I'm called to. I couldn't be more grateful for all that you are and all you have been to me. Thank you, all of you, for reading this blog everyday. Thank you for your support. Thank you for your donations and your prayers. Thank you for your encouragement.

My friend Demie sent me the starfish story for encouragement and I haven't been able to stop thinking of it. Thousands of starfish were washed ashore drying up as the tide went out. An old man was picking them up one by one and throwing them back into the ocean. A man came up to him and told him there were thousands and it didn't matter if he threw them back. The old man picked up another starfish and threw it into the ocean and said, "It mattered to that one." One by one. This is all we can do when it comes to helping someone. Every life matters. Every person. Every heartbeat. Be the old man because everything we do, every penny we give, matters. It matters to someone. It could change a life. I was blessed enough to watch lives changed and saved. Thanks to YOU. Do not forget. Throw your starfish. One by one. One. By. One.

The Pain of Comfort

It is time for me to go. I have to return to work. I cannot express how grateful I am for the company I work for. Matrix has been unreal. My boss told me to take as much time as I needed. It's actually because of him that I wrote this blog. He encouraged me to write and so I did. They have taken such good care of me and continue to do so. I will be back in the states until the job is finished and then back to Jeremie I will go for as long as I can. I am on the bus to PAP leaving my family and friends and the team behind. Edo accompanies me on my adventure and I am grateful for his company.

I meet a sweet blan (white person) on the bus named Mugsy. He came to Jeremie all alone because he said God told him to go. He had never been to Haiti. He doesn't speak the language. He slept on the floor of a random persons home and loved on people all day. He is a sweetheart and I'm so proud of him for doing it all alone. Go Mugsy! 

We arrive after a long drive and Edo takes his first hot shower. Beforehand he said he didn't think he would like it but he changed his mind afterward. He couldn't believe they gave soap and towels for us to use. I hear him turn the water on for a moment and turn it back off. This is the way we shower in Haiti to conserve water. You pour water on yourself and then lather up and then rinse off. Bucket showers. It was neat to know he did the same thing here even though he didn't need to. There's plenty of water here and we are paying for it. But he still turned the water off to lather up and then turned it back on quickly to rinse off. 45 minute showers are nonexistent when you have to haul every cup of water you use. When it's my turn to jump in the shower, the warm water hits the top of my head and I just want to curl up in a ball. I want to cry. I want to get on the bus back to Jeremie. The shock of a small comfort like warm water. Going back to the states is going to be hard. Too hard. We eat dinner. Edo swims in the pool. I climb in my bed early to go to sleep. I'm tired. These sheets are so clean. This bed is so comfortable. I'm so undeserving. My people are in Jeremie. They're still sleeping on cement and dirt floors. What am I doing? Why am I here? Why am I leaving? I try to clear my head. I'm leaving in the morning. I'm leaving in the morning. I'm leaving in the morning.

Bus Tickets to PAP

Mackenzy takes me to buy a ticket for the bus to PAP. We go to every single station and they are all sold out. He says there is one more and so we go to check and she says she is sold out as well. I look at him hopelessly and he looks at me with a mischievous smile on his face. He leans over the counter smiles at the woman at the desk and starts flirting with her. He is charming and a smooth talker. Suddenly she finds two seats on the bus and sells them to us:) Mackenzy is hilarious and the best. Haiti oh sweet Haiti.

Dieudonne. How can I even begin to describe how much I love my Papa. He is kind. He is gentle. He is wise. He is strong. He told me this is the best time I've ever spent with them. He said I made him laugh and he can't wait for me to come back. I love him like a father. 

My real dad is so amazing. He is incredible. He is a a lot like Dieudonne. I think the world of my real dad so, for me to call Dieudonne Papa is huge. I will miss him. He keeps me steady and focused here. He is always encouraging and he gives me good advice. I will miss Mama Clanide. I will miss Claeme. They are my family. I will miss Papa so so so much.

Please Don't Forget

Poppyseed brought me the sleeping bag for Makenzy and I can't wait to bring it to him. I leave the group and Jacques takes me to see Mackenzy. James and Chansley are there too and Judy. I talk with Judy and then she leaves and I give Mackenzy his sleeping bag. He immediately takes it out and gets in it. He rolls across the floor in it laughing so hard. Back and forth he goes laughing harder each time. I am dying laughing.

We sit on the floor and talk about Jesus and life and things we did. We talk about the hike to Doko last year and laugh about how cold we were sleeping up there. We talk about our dreams and plans. Ideas for Jeremie. They turn the music on and we dance and we dance and we dance. Spinning around on the floor with Konpa blaring. Laughing so hard. As we dance we forget where we are. We forget the rain and the pain. The lack of homes and food. Big white smiles. Our bare feet sliding across the floor and the music in our ears. There is no place I would rather be. We sit on the floor again and they ask me to sing. This room has a wonderful echo because it's completely empty and so singing in here is such a joy. I sing and I sing. They lay on the floor and Mackenzy almost falls asleep. I love this moment and I soak it in. Singing there's a mountain by Dave Barnes to end the night. "There's a mountain here before me And I'm gonna climb it with strength not my own and he's gonna carry me when I get to weary. Carry me through. Carry me through."

Cafe (coffee) made by mama Clanide. Medical bags packed and ready to go. The crew of boys here and ready to translate. Today is going to be a good day. The team is better prepared after yesterday as far as what to bring. We drive to a town outside of town where there are many people waiting and ready to treat. Jen and I were lost with Delice on his bike so we didn't get to do as much. But Poppyseed said they were all kept very busy. Jay, Jill, and Poppyseed all had a station. Finishing up there by singing Amazing Grace and heading to our next location. Another courtyard surrounded by buildings. So many homeless. So hungry. Desperate eyes watch us. Explaining we are just here for the wounded the crowd dissipates. We set up benches to work on and everyone has a station and a translator. Very organized and clear. The last patient is a girl who had her leg shredded by tin. She had gotten stitches, but her leg was badly infected and needed immediate care. She sits at Jen's station and Jen peacefully starts taking the stitches out. Some have scabbed over and the girl is in a lot of pain. Her hands grip tightly around the bench and she breathes out heavily. Jen has to numb her pain. Each shot she gives the girl is in more and more pain. Jen is patient and gentle. She explains everything she is going to do and Delice translates for her. This poor girl. Afterward Jill cleans it and bandages it. 

Put yourselves in this girl's shoes. You don't have a home. You don't have food. You don't have clean water. You sleep in a room with a hundred other people on a cement floor. You don't even have a sheet to lay on. You've been wearing the same clothes for weeks. It's hot. It's muggy. It's dirty. Flies land on you in the night and babies cry. Your leg is full of infection and you are limping. You don't have any money to go to the doctor so you wait. You are discouraged. You wait for someone to come along. You hope. You wait. You pray. You wait for a miracle. Thankfully this girl received treatment. However, there are hundreds just like her. Do not forget these people. Sacrifice a bag of chips or an iced coffee. Do not forget the suffering and the weak and the needy. I am so grateful for everything you've done. I truly am and so are these people. But don't forget. Don't forget. Please continue to help. Please.

Medical Team

The team finally arrives close to midnight. The bus backs over Ruguen's motorcycle. It's pouring rain and we have half a dozen huge heavy suitcases that have to be carried to the top of the mountain. It's slippery but the team is ready for a challenge after being stuck in Port au Prince for two days. We get everything to the top and set up camp in the rain. Finally to bed at 3am after chatting for hours.

6am comes early. It's cool to see people in so close with in the states here in the country I love so much.

I'll admit it is hard for me to open my eyes this morning. The horrible smell of this mattress though is enough to encourage my to get out of bed. It's been raining hard all night and it doesn't seem to be letting up. I have my little line of boys with scrapes and cuts as usual this morning waiting patiently for me. I bandage them up and Uncle Jay teases one by saying he'll have to cut off his leg. The little boy's eyes get wide for a moment and then he laughs.

Judelin, Jacques and Delice are here and ready to translate for the team. We all get decked out in rain coats and Jen and I can't figure out if it's better to sweat under this plastic or be soaked by rain.

Everyone is packed and ready and we head out in the rain. Down the mountain to check on the little boy who has the ear infection.

It looks so much better right now but Jen gives him antibiotics to finish it off and we bandage a few wounds. The boys come around to pick us up on bikes and we head to the hospital. We pray and sing and tell them we'll be back with medicine for Cholera. Still pouring rain we drive through mud and trash. So much rain. We arrive at a courtyard surrounded by large cement rooms. People without anywhere to sleep come here to stay out of the rain. I'm guessing between two and three hundred people. We set up our clinic in one of the rooms and are immediately mobbed with so many people. Yelling. Anger. Disappointment. Hope. So many different emotions running through so many different faces. The crowd the team. It's so dark in here due to the dark sky and lack of windows.

Sweat. Dirt. Infection. The crowding and yelling is out of control so the boys start kicking people out. Jay, Jen, Poppyseed, Jill and I clean and bandage everything we can. There are some nasty wounds and some not so bad.

All need care and cleaning. I often forget that crowding and yelling and pushing isn't normal for the states and I hope the group isn't overwhelmed. Everyone's physical injuries have been taken care of and we go to a local restaurant to get some drinks and take a little rest. Jay is wiped out so he and dad go back to the house. 

Jen and Jill are up for more so I take them with me. Go to the orphanage. Jill loves on kids and Jen busies herself checking on kids and the caretakers. The baby with prolapsed rectum is crying but everything looks fine. Jill snuggles her. We visit Manel and his family in their house in the side of the cliff. It's good to see how far they have come. More wounds to bandage. Hike up to Dieudonne's.