Somewhere Between Who I Was And Who You're Making Me

19 April 2018

2018-04-19T16:59:00.000-05:00

95 days ago a man walked through our yard with a tiny bundle in his hands. He was weary from the 5 hour journey that brought him to our emergency room, and the several days leading up to his arrival. Two days before setting out on his way to us he buried his young wife, In his arms he carried his 4 day old, 3lb son.

Upon their arrival I quickly unwrapped the bunches of towels to reveal a small, pale baby who was cold to the touch. He was floppy and unresponsive but he was breathing and his heart was strong. Our medical staff worked quickly to start an iv into his tiny veins and get him on warming pads and under heat lamps.

As the baby began to warm up his father sat next to his bed and whispered his story. A mother, a complicated delivery in a simple thatched roof home, a tiny body crashed onto this side of earth at the same time that another slipped silently away. There was no formally trained midwife to help, a local birth attendant was present but when the blood started flowing too fast there was no medicine to stop it, and no bags of blood to transfuse. In a mater of moments she was gone.

Dorlegeune became a widow that day, the sole provider for a tiny premature boy. As a first time father, with no idea how to care for a baby and no milk to feed him, Dorlegeune turned to the women in his neighborhood for help. One of those women told him of a place that she had found when her son was on the brink of death 6 months before. She urged him to bring his baby to us, and she accompanied him on the journey from their home, far in the rural mountains, to the recovery center.

When he finished telling his tale he was tired. He sat back in his chair and sipped the hot cup of coffee that had been pressed into his hands. Next to him on the warming bed his little boy finally let out a squawking cry. We all stood silent for a few moments, soaking in the sacredness of his story and the moment that we had all been invited to witness.

Our nurses asked the baby’s name and weary, Dorlegeune responded that he had not been given one yet. He turned to me and asked me if I would choose a name for his son. This is something I have been asked to do on several occasions and it is a request I do not take lightly. I knew that he was giving me a great honor and in respect of that I thought carefully. After a few moments I asked him what he thought of the name Beni. In Creole Beni means blessing, our entire staff gathered around and spoke life and hope over this little boy and his father, we all knew that though his beginning was hard, his life was a beautiful blessing. His father agreed and that day Beni was admitted into our NICU.

Over the next several weeks baby Beni began to grow. His little personality started to take over our tiny NICU, everyone who came in the room was enthralled by him. He was gorgeous with clear bright eyes and an easy smile. He was rarely in his bed, preferring to be snuggled in the arms of his daddy, or his favorite nanny, Alexandra. Under their care Beni blossomed and before long that tiny little baby passed 5lbs, and then 7 until finally he weighed in at 9lbs 8oz. We knew that Dorlegeune was ready to take Beni home. He was bathed and dressed in a new outfit, passed around to everyone for one last kiss and sent home with an appointment for a follow up visit 10 days later. We were all thrilled as we watched them walk away.

Another success story for the books, another family leaving with hope in their steps.

2 weeks passed and Beni missed his formula appointment. We were concerned and tried calling Dorlegeune but his phone was off. We worried, and waited to hear from them. A few days later the woman who had brought Beni and Dorlegeune to our center came with heartbreaking news... Beni had become suddenly sick this past Sunday. His daddy quickly set out with him to find help but before they could make it from their rural area little Beni passed away.

Most of the time when children leave the center we get to see them come back for follow up appointments month after month, and we get to watch them thrive in the care of their families. Most of the time we get to see them blossom. Most of the time we get to watch them grow. For little Beni we had no idea that the last time we saw him would be the very last time.

I can’t wrap this story up in a pretty package.

I can’t spin it to find beauty.

While I get to see a lot of happy endings the reality is that a lot of times babies that I love dearly die, and a lot of times there seems to be no reason for the suffering that they experience.

I like to think that Dorlegeune found some peace during the time he spent with us. His story took a turn that no one expected and we are all devastated with him, but I hope that in the fog of devastation he remembers the words of Truth that he heard spoken inside of our walls. I hope that while he grieves his son he finds some comfort in knowing that other people thought that they were worth fighting for, and believed that his little baby was a precious blessing.

Beni Pierre January 7th 2018 - April 8th 2018

10 April 2018

2018-04-10T14:16:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I was contacted by a good friend of mine who was working at a mobile clinic in a rural area of the mountains about 5 hours from us. During the clinic they had been brought a mother who had recently given birth, and her tiny newborn twins. Emily is a nurse and immediately knew that all 3 of the patients were critically sick and needed to get to help as soon as possible. Unfortunately, being in such a rural area, options for transportation were slim.

Once again we were able to turn to Hero for help, and they sent an ambulance several hours outside of the city to pick up and transport the three. Mama was accepted by a hospital on the other side of Port Au Prince while the twins, weighing about 4lbs each were brought up the mountain to our NICU.   The babies arrived just before 10pm last night and our wonderful medical staff got right to work stabilizing them and getting them warmed up. It was very clear that if they had not made it to us when they did they probably would not have survived. Instead, they were tucked into a warm bed and watched over by our dedicated staff members. We all breathed a sigh of relief.

This morning as the sun rose over our tiny caribbean island home the light through the window of our NICU shined on the toes of 2 tiny new orphans. They made it to the help they needed but their mama did not. By the time she got from her home deep in the mountains to the care of a doctor they were unable to save her life.

She died late last night.

Today I am heavy for these 2 babies and what that means for them. Statistically, when a newborn in the developing world loses their mother, their chances of survival is immediately and drastically reduced. Add in their very low birth weights and the fact that they live so far away from sufficient health care facilities and you have a recipe for disaster.

I am innately aware of the fragility of the balance that they are hanging in right now.

I am aware and at the same time I am filled with optimism.

Because these babies didn’t just make their way to a facility to provide the emergency care that they needed last night, they made their way to a place that cares deeply for them.

A place that will fight to see them come out on the other side of this nightmare with hope, and LIFE.

A place that will do everything in it’s power to keep these babies out of an institution, and see them grow up in the presence of people who’s own blood runs through their veins.

A place that will envelop their young daddy in education and grace as he learns to care for his son and daughter.

A place that will stand on this middle ground and fight with them, and for them.

A place that you have provided.

Every single one of you who sacrifices so that you can send your hard earned dollars to us, you are the reason that we could say yes to this family. You are what enables us to always be here to fight these big battles. We could not do this without you.

Today in our 6 bed NICU we have 7 tiny newborns sleeping soundly. 4 of those 7 babies lost their mothers during childbirth or in the days immediately following. Lack of prenatal care and good delivery options is a massive problem for many women here, and for many families, welcoming a new baby is one of the most dangerous things that they can do.

I am inspired to provide care for our little ones, but I am also inspired to do everything I can to fight this injustice of maternal death.

Today my part in that fight that looks like me pointing you in the direction of 2 organizations that I believe deeply in.

Olive Tree Projects is a program in Jacmel, Haiti that has a midwifery center and provides lifesaving care to countless mothers and babies in their area.

Heartline is another ministry that supports a large prenatal program as well as birth center.

As you support our organization and our efforts I encourage you to check out the 2 organizations mentioned and consider making a donation to them as well, in honor of the mothers of all of our little babies who did not have access to the care that they so desperately needed.

Today two babies woke up for the first time without the person who they need more than anyone else in the world. We are heartbroken for them and their loss. We are also inspired, because they woke up surrounded by a group of men and women who now love them and are committed to them and their future.

If any beauty will be found among the ashes of this tragic story I for one and very thankful to have a front row seat to it’s unfolding.

2 April 2018

2018-04-02T15:36:00.001-05:00

Both of these children were born in November of 2011.

The little girl on the right did not have access to breast milk, so she was fed good quality infant formula from birth. When she was 6 months old she started tasting little bites of food. When she was a year she ate table food and drank milk several times a day. She grew and developed well.

The little boy on the left also did not have access to breast milk. From the time he was a month old he was fed bean sauce and crackers crushed up in water. As he grew he added white rice and cornmeal mush to his diet. He drank water that sometimes gave him diarrhea from contamination. Sometimes he would get a piece of meat once or twice a week. His little body got used to surviving on very little and to compensate for his lack of nutrition his growth slowed dramatically.

Today both of these children are 6 years old.

The little girl weighs a healthy 60lbs. She is in 1st grade and she is learning to read.

The little boy weighs just 22lbs. He is learning how to walk again, and to sort little toys into groups by color.

THIS is the difference that proper nutrition in the first 1000 days makes.

This is why Espwa Berlancia is here.

Sebastien is not malnourished because of a temporarily difficult situation. He has been struggling and fighting to survive every single day of his life.

Sebastian has been hungry for almost 7 years, but in the past 7 days he has gained over a pound.

He will spend time here getting well and when he goes home he will never be hungry again.

His father is learning about how to take care of his son and how to run a business that will support them both.

Next year one of our generous donors will look at Sebastien and see hope and worth in him, they will believe in him enough to fund his education so that he can go to school for the first time.

For 7 years Sebastien and his father’s lives have been hard, and full of pain, but 7 days ago everything changed. 7 days ago they found their way through our gates and found themselves on the road to healing and change.

When you support the work that Espwa Berlancia is doing you support healing for families and hope for their futures. Thank you for being a part of this with us.

www.espwaberlancia.org/donate

29 March 2018

2018-03-29T15:10:00.000-05:00

Next week will mark my 10th anniversary of being in Haiti.

When I was little I said that when I grew up I wanted a job where I could just hold babies all the time.

Well, I got it, but that little girl had no idea what the fulfillment of that dream would mean.

No idea that holding babies meant holding them as they groaned in agony and sickness.

Holding them as tears streamed down their hollow cheeks.

Holding them as they fought for their lives.

Holding them when the fighting ended.

Had I known I never would have asked for this, but I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.

I’m so glad I didn’t know.

It’s been 1 year 1 month and 11 days since I last found myself on this blank page, words flying from my hands on the keyboard. It’s been a year of silence. One year of having absolutely no words that I could possible say. One year of being so tired of being broken that I forgot how to be whole.

It’s been 1 year 1 month and 11 days since a little boy named Emano died and I found myself, for the very first time, pulling away from my day to day life with the recovery center.

I was tired.Tired of fighting the same thing every day with no end in sight. Tired of grief, my own and that which weighs heavy on everyone around me. Tired of falling in love with another one just to watch them fade away.

For a year I’ve been tired.

It seems like every time I find myself on this brink of ready to quit, God finds a way to remind me that even though I am tired, He is not.

He finds a way to remind me that even through the hard and heavy, there is hope.

He finds a way to show me that little by little entire families are being transformed by the work that Espwa Berlancia does.

This week He flooded our gates when my heart needed it the most.

In a 24 hour span 8 starving little babies found their way inside of our doors.

8 exhausted mamas and daddies entered our emergency room, and the road to change, and hope.

One little boy, 7 years old and just over 20lbs is a stark reminder of another little boy who came too late. My heart is still struggling with the battle of falling in love or holding back, but I am choosing that for this one, I will hope again.

These 8 will live, I’m believing that with all my heart. They will live and a month, a year, 10 years from now their lives will be drastically different than they would have been had they not arrived at our gates.

I will keep going, I know I will. Even on days when it feels like I cannot I will, because it’s on those days of my greatest weakness that He reminds me of His strength.

If you are willing to fight these hard battles with me it would be an honor to welcome you onto the Espwa Berlancia support team. You can sign up to donate as little as $25 per month, to be a part of this life changing work.

Visit our website at www.eswpaberlancia.org/donate

Emano

2017-02-17T16:32:00.004-06:00

Sunday worship. A padded pew. A tidy sermon wrapped up in an acceptable time frame so we can make sure to get home for kickoff. The band, the songs I know by heart, and the coffee and cookies while the kids run through the fellowship hall.

Last Sunday, worship was closer to God than I know I’ve ever been. While I prepared his body for burial I played the same songs I had listened to just 48 hours before while I sat next to him and held his hand. I had spent that afternoon praying silent, wordless prayers. I didn’t know what to beg for. Healing? Release? I could only trust that the cries and the groans of my heart were deciphered because even though I speak several languages, none of them could express the things I didn’t know how to say.

Emano came to me in the late afternoon, the setting sun reflecting off the deep shadows of protruding bones. I gathered his 20lbs in my arms and something inside of me cracked.

I hold a lot of malnourished babies. Most of them live but many do not. I hold them and I meet their needs and I disassociate when I have to because if I didn’t I couldn’t do this. This “job” that doesn’t end at 5pm, this job that both fills and destroys my heart. Emano broke me wide open. I couldn’t stop the wave of love I had for him with all the strength of my flesh. Disassociation wasn’t an option. I knew that this was going to hurt like hell. I knew the pain that was likely, but I was powerless to hold it at bay.

I heard the news as I was sitting down to breakfast early on Sunday morning. The food we had prepared turned to sawdust in my mouth and it was all I could do to choke down the bite I had taken. I wanted to scream, to take out all my anger at the injustice of this world on a plate of eggs. I wanted to hate food. I wanted to throw it against the wall and curse it and blame it for the death of every baby I have held and loved and watched slip away.

Instead, I got up from the table where my own children filled their bellies and I collapsed into the corner of their tiny playroom off the kitchen, trying to stifle my sobs.

Emano was dead.

Not a malnourished foreign child. Emano.

Once you have seen the shuddering and groaning and pain of starvation you will never forget it. Once you’ve watched it tear through the frail body of 5-year-old child the image will be burned in your mind forever. Once you realize that thing you do every day without even thinking about is the thing that would have saved his life, you will never, ever be able to erase that from your mind and you will never, ever be the same.

You will never be able to turn off that burning desire to kill what killed him.

Sunday worship. A cement, windowless room behind my house. A room that is only entered in reverence and shrouded in the deep pain of a life gone too soon. Soft music, tears and sweat mingling together while I dress the body of a 5 year old boy in a hand-me-down suit from my own son’s closet.

Emano, I wish we had seen you sooner and fought for you harder. I wish the fighting wasn’t necessary at all. I wish that your birthplace wasn’t your death sentence. I wish that this world had been fair to you. I wish things were different. I wish you hadn’t hurt. I wish you could have stayed.

The Fight Must Go On

2016-11-14T14:31:00.000-06:00

A guest post from Keely Brookes, Director of Administration and Sustainability for Espwa Berlancia

Last year I took a job as a psychology support and teacher in an orphanage based school. The children were wonderful, and the school system was a mix of European and American influences, resulting in a well rounded education that was based on interactive learning (unlike many of the schools here which are simply copy and learn). It was a unique experience which I loved. I’m blessed, even for a year to have been a part of these children’s lives. Sadly, due to location I couldn’t continue my work there. With the Haitian elections, protests between parties is rife, and traveling long distance on the back of a motocycle isn’t wise…with a heavy heart I left my role there.

But it was during this time that I met Rhyan and began seeing the work of Espwa Berlancia. Rhyan has a son, Henry, a little older than Sofia, as we met on playdates and became friends I saw more of the work she was doing. It started with Jacky, a fighting little boy who came to her home to get well. He was malnourished. He had a young Mom who came from a remote village where they had little money or access to food. He stopped growing and developing. But after a few weeks in Rhyan’s home, with nutritious food and a peanut butter based medicine called Medika Mamba, the difference in Jacky was unbelievable.

Shortly after that Rhyan had a phone call about a little girl who was in a hospital out of the city. She was dying. They managed to arrange a helicopter to bring her to Port-au-Prince where Rhyan facilitated her care. She was admitted to one of the best hospitals in the city.

Her birthday was May 13th. She was exactly 10 days younger than Sofia. She was small, delicate and so beautiful. Her name was Ketia. And she was severely malnourished. It was meeting Ketia and watching her fight iso hard that made me motivated to learn more about malnutrition in Haiti - not only medically but also the psychological affect and longing impact on the children and their families.

After a fight, Ketia passed away. In 2016, a baby, the same age as my daughter, died of malnutrition.

It’s because of this little girl that the Espwa Berlanica Inpatient Malnutrition Center was born. She was the last bit of fight we needed to put much talked about plans into action. After looking into her eyes, broken and lifeless, and then going home to my happy healthy daughter, who is the same age, I saw clearer than ever that I needed to see change. That we, no matter how small, could make a difference if we supporting those fighting against malnutrition.

I am so lucky to be a part of Espwa Berlancia. I am here with the organization full time now. I am responsible for the programs administration and the family sustainability program. When children come to us they receive health care - all of there medical needs are met, infections are treated and they are given a peanut butter based medicine to help them gain healthy weight. But we also take care of the parents. I (with Espwa Berlanica) am working with Blessing House Ministries to start a house specially for parents to stay while their child gets medical care. At Our Blessing House parents will undertake health education classes, literacy classes, small business training and agriculture training, as well as participating in support groups and individual counseling (with Espere Counseling Center). Working with other organizations we then help them to ether start a small business or to grow and sell crops. The idea is that using a holistic approach we support family preservation. We believe families have the right to stay together. These classes and programs give parents the education and skills to be able to provide for their children without becoming dependent.

Many people ask what its like here on a day to day basis. Truthfully, Its hard to put into words an “average” day here. I don’t really think there is an average day. Several times a week we have new children admitted into the center. This means there are very sick children who are either swollen or wasted away as a result of malnutrition, most of whom need an IV or feeding tube and are in critical care. There is always noise. As the children are being admitted by the nurse, they always scream in the arms of strangers. But strangely, its the ones who don’t scream that make my heart broken - often those are the children who are almost ready to give up fighting, they are too weak to even notice its not Mama or Papa holding them. Hearing the parents story is probably the hardest part of the intake for me - most that come to us haven’t eaten for days and most have had children pass away as a result of malnutrition. The effect of severe poverty is evident in their childs tiny body and red brittle hair. Often I want to cry for the children and their families but looking into their eyes and seeing hope as they have brought their child to a place where they will get well makes me realize that I shouldn’t be crying for them, My energy should be on fighting with them for their child. I should be hopeful with them. So while admissions are heartbreaking, they are full of promise.

Other days we do discharges. When a child is well and graduates the program they go home to their family. All the nannies and staff gather around the child and their family to sing and pray before they leave. Watching the smiling faces leave through the gate makes all the long days and nights filled with worry worth every second.

And then some days are filled with sadness and grief - holding a baby as you think this is there last few hours on earth, watching as a baby is declared dead because in 2016 they starved to death, hearing the cries of a now child-less mother, arranging caskets and burial clothes. These days are the hardest and I’m not sure its something I will ever become used to. But its these days that makes me more determined to fight for children and their families who are suffering from malnutrition.

So an average day…it can be a day in the office updating patient databases and writing parents curriculum, it can be a day playing outside and watching the little ones learn new skills, it can be a day singing and praying over a child who is returning to their family happy and healthy, it can be a day holding and rocking our newest admissions as they fight with their tiny bodies to live another day, or it can be a day arranging the funeral of a baby.

When we wake up and Sofia and I walk to the center each morning, I never really know which kind of day it will be. All I know for sure is that the fight must continue.

Welcoming Abby - Our new sponsorship coordinator!

2016-08-12T10:08:00.001-05:00

Meet Abby, our new sponsorship coordinator!

Abi will be joining us on the ground in Haiti as soon as her support is committed. Abby has shared a little bit of her heart here...

"On April 8th, 2014, I stepped foot in Haiti for the first time with no idea what to expect. I didn't know my whole world was about to change; it was about to get a little bigger. All I knew is God had called me to serve in this beautiful country. I had signed up to serve in an orphanage for a month, and was so excited. On our way to the orphanage, I remember looking around and feeling complete peace. Something in me knew this was supposed to be my home.

I spent that month holding babies, loving on them, and helping them reach milestones. After that I was hooked. I knew I would be back as soon as possible.

I spent the next year working at the orphanage, coordinating their sponsorship programs. In March of 2016, I felt the Lord was telling me it was time to move on to something new. After much praying and seeking, I am so excited to join the Espwa Berlancia team, and use the gifts and talents that God has blessed me with.

In order for me to be able to do the work I feel Lord has called me to, I need your help. I am looking for individuals who are willing to partner with me on a monthly basis, both financially, and in prayer. I will need to raise between $1,500 and $2,000 a month. Would you be willing to partner with me at $20, or $30, a month? Any support you can offer me on this journey is such a blessing and greatly appreciated!"

If you would like to join Abby's support team you can write to her at artgirl398@hotmail.com. You can also make a tax deductible donation towards Abby's support using the paypal button on the right side of the blog, just make sure you put "Support for Abby" in the notes.

Guest Post

2016-06-22T22:09:00.002-05:00

A guest post from Espwa Berlancia volunteer, Nikita Griffioen...

I decided to go to Haiti because recently I'd made a really hard decision in another area of my life, and I suddenly had three weeks to myself. No work. No school.
And, to be honest.. No way I wanted to be home in Canada during that time.

I had asked God to open up doors where He wanted me to serve; this time off was something I wanted to give to Him. God is always good. Before I knew it, connections were made and opportunities had arisen for me to volunteer at Espwa Berlancia.

I had no idea what Haiti had in store for me. The friends I have who had gone worked at comfy orphanages, their North American reality carefully guarded and kept intact for the duration of their stay. Little did I know volunteering for Rhyan would be very different than that. Little did I know that that fact would end up being a huge blessing.

Rhyan didn't cater to me as a volunteer; I was there to do life alongside her and fight what she was fighting-- and I did. We took crazy moto rides almost daily, to both do errands and experience the beauty of Haiti; I dealt with diaper explosions; there were ups and downs. I could tell stories upon stories of the love that her house and clinic is filled with; of happy afternoons spent with Keshme, playing with water on the deck; of strapping babies to my body and walking through her peaceful Thomassin neighbourhood. Those stories will be for another time; however, right now there is one part of the trip that I'll focus on: visiting Cite Soleil.

Rhyan had got a call that there were 14 malnourished children in the slum, so on our motos we went.
Words cannot really aptly describe the slum. The poorly paved streets were lined with sparse trees devoid of leaves, electricity wires hanging at odd angles and broken, people half dressed, and house after house after house. The slum is comprised completely of houses -- there is nothing but small boxes lined up where people live.

The heat there was nearly unbearable -- the sun was beating down and there were still no clouds.
We got to the house where we were meeting the babies who needed help. We were ushered inside by a mom, and there we sat in the "front room" of the house -- basically a cement block with no windows, just a door leading out, and a door leading to the rest of the house which was covered by old rags sewn together.

It didn't take long for people to start coming. Rhyan's contact had told her that he had located 14 malnourished babies; over 22 ended up coming.

In that small room -- probably no more than 20x 20 or so -- Rhyan and I sat on chairs supplied by the mother who lived there. We sweated, and sweated. Mamas poured in with their babies, and we held little ones on our laps, watched them crawl around, asked them if they ate; asked them if they could walk, etc. Children and babies in all states of malnourishment came in, and we met them, and held them, and loved on them for at least those few moments.

The babies ranged from newborns to older, and were in tattered clothes. Some didn't have pants on at all. Their mothers were attempting to breastfeed them right there; there were special needs ones, and people lined up at the door. Once we had checked out the kid and determined if they needed inpatient care or not, they were sent out, only to have more crammed in. That small room stank in a rank way and not a single person wasn't drenched in sweat, babies included.

Nearly half were admitted to the center.

Rhyan's work holds humble glory in that it is dirty, sweaty, real. Rhyan's work holds humble glory in her attitude of humility: she expressed, numerous times, her desire to hire Haitian people to do this sort of work, so that the face of Haiti is seen amongst the needs of Haiti. She isn't the White Woman in the foreground, fighting for rights; she is the white-yet-Haitian-woman in the background, desperately and passionately fighting for the basic needs of the people-- her people-- that she loves.

I decided to go to Haiti because I had needed to leave and God opened up incredible doors to serve and love on His precious babies. I fell in love with Haiti, however, fighting alongside Rhyan and seeing the passion that she exudes every single day. I fell in love with the babies, with the slums, with the motos; I fell in love with the kind hearts of the Haitian people.

Rhyan's clinic-- though at the moment small-- is so, so full of life. There is life being breathed into starving children via mamba, life in the nannies as they sing and pray over the babies each night. This vibrant, messy, ever-changing, ever-growing love is a love that fills. I went to Haiti empty and unassuming; I left Haiti with a dose of this love and a thankfulness to a God who knew exactly where I needed to be.

Morning

2016-06-15T20:23:00.004-05:00

It’s dark and cold, the light from the oil lamp on the table in the middle of the room does little to illuminate the corners of the dirt packed floor. The family of 7 huddles of on their single mattress, under the few blankets they own, their empty stomachs yell out in protest and their emaciated bodies shake and shudder, begging for the morning sun to warm them. Finally it comes, and the new day shines, but one does not stir. Hunger has claimed another little victim.

A small hole in the ground, next to their thatched hut and empty corn fields. A tiny corner of the world, a tiny group of mourners for a tiny body who’s name we will never know.

And the scene plays again, and again, while little hollow eyes watch from the sidelines, no understanding of the trauma that that is overtaking a small fragile heart.

When it feels like nothing will ever be good again, Our Good Father is there, ready to redeem.

When it feels like there is no reason to smile, the giver of joy is right there, ready to defeat sorrow and turn mourning into dancing.

When the tears are drowning and we are dry to the bone, the River is there, waiting to be taken in, in long deep, gasping gulps.

And so we keep going. We keep fighting, we keep falling on our knees and begging for strength, for a smile, for a laugh and for a bit of childhood to make it’s way back into a tiny broken heart.

We believe. And we wait, for the morning that He promised is coming.

I Remember

2016-04-02T23:34:00.002-05:00

April 2nd 2008 - It was 8 years ago today. I remember the very second I stepped off of the airplane into the heavy heat of Port Au Prince, Haiti. I don’t remember feeling instantly at home, quite the opposite. I felt overwhelmed and scared. I remember wondering what in the hell I had gotten myself into. I thought that month would be the longest of my life.

In reality that month flew and when the day came for me to travel back to the airport I was relived to be going home but I was scared and overwhelmed in different way because I knew, my heart was forever captured to this place and my journey was far from over.

April 2nd 2008 was my first day in Haiti, but it was so much more...

September 28th 2010 - I met a 12.6 pound, 18 month old little boy named LynsMy Laurant in an orphanage who stirred my heart in a way that was different than I had ever known before. I had no idea that in that split second that I became a mother. LynsMy gained weight in my care and I found myself thinking about things in a totally new light. As the days progressed and he started to call me mama the world took on a new meaning. Everything changed. He became my son. I held his hand as he transitioned from a scared, broken little baby to a strong, loving little boy. He was everything I had dreamed of, until those dreams came crashing down. The truth was, he wasn’t mine. He was theirs. And when the time came to give him back I thought I would never breathe again. But I did, and I am. LynsMy was malnourished in Haiti, but he was so much more…

October 30th 2011 - On a small side street in Leognae, Haiti I came across a tiny little bundle of a baby called Migureline. At 12 months old she weighed just 9.75lbs. She was the sickest baby I had ever known. I spent hours with Migureline on a moto taxi and on foot, searching for help that was refused at every turn. Finally, I returned home, to love and hold her while we waited for Heaven. 2 days later, at 10:18pm Migureline finished her fight and went to Jesus. Migureline was the very first baby I ever lost. Migureline was malnourished in Haiti, but she was so much more…

March 3rd 2012 - A 9.8 pound 16 month old little girl named Wilna came bounding into my life. She was fragile and precious and she craved love, which she found in the arms of my dear friend. Daily I watched the sacrifice of servanthood that Lauren willfully gave as she cared for Wilna and loved her in full abandon. April 15th 2012, I stood next to my friend at the fresh grave of her daughter and tired to explain something I didn't understand. Wilna was malnourished in Haiti, but she was so much more...

October 17th 2012 - 12.2 pounds and 20 months old. "I" came through the gates of an orphanage where I was serving. He was frail but feisty and his story broke my heart. I loved him from the second I laid eyes on him. I was in awe over his strength and his fight. I was in awe over his first smile. I was in awe over his recovery. "I" was malnourished in Haiti, but he was so much more...

November 30th 2013 - It was her first birthday when I met 10lb Christella. I encountered her outside of an orphanage that had just turned her mother away, refusing to admit her sick baby girl. I was busy, I almost didn't stop. But something caught my attention and I turned around. Christella became the first baby that I sucessfully treated for malnutrition in my home and she was the sister of the son I had no idea would become mine. Christella was malnourished in Haiti, but she was so much more...

October 25th 2015 - I met 11 year old Sandra. Sandra weighed 31lbs and was barely able to walk or speak. She had lost all of her hair and had a terrible parasitic infestation. Sandra had been malnourished for almost all of her life and her body had reached a breaking point. Sandra was days away from death but with the miracle of medika mamba she was able to recover and is now home and thriving. Sandra was malnourished in Haiti but she was so much more...

January 29th 2016 - 23 month old Youvika was 9.02lbs. She had not had anything to eat or drink for 3 days. 6 hours after arriving at my gate she died, 26 days before her second birthday. Youvika was malnourished in Haiti, but she was so much more...

March 3rd 2016 - 12.76 pound, 17 month old Jacky was the happiest baby I had ever seen. I don't know why. His life was filled with pain and hunger but still he smiled. Jacky got well. He grew big and strong. Soon he will go home to his family, but not before leaving a massive impact on ours. Jacky was the first child in our home after I came out of the hardest season of my life to date. Jacky was malnourished in Haiti, but he was so much more...

March 20th 2016 - On a tiny airstrip in the remote village of Jeremie I met a baby girl named Ketia. She was perfection. 10 months old, just over 6 pounds. A warrior. There isn't much that I can say except that I loved her, with all of my heart. I got to hold her for 5 glorious days before she flew to heaven. Ketia was malnourished in Haiti but she was so, so much more...

April 2nd 2016 - I have been waiting for weeks for exactly the right time. The perfect day to share my dream and my heart. Today it’s here. Today every one of these stories is weaved together into a program that is my heart and soul. The Espwa Berlancia Malnutrition and Family Preservation Program! You can read all the details here.

In order to see this dream become a reality it is time to open an inpatient center with enough room to house all of these babies and their parents. My goal is to see this center open and ready to start serving the community by July of this year. It's a big dream but I believe it is possible, but not without help! We have found the perfect property with all the space we need just blocks from my current home. This new space will allow us to house our entire program in one compound, including our ongoing prenatal program!

I have set up a gofundme account that explains all our our fundraising needs, broken down in to the steps that will allow this to happen during the timeline I hope to stick within. Please, take a moment to go check it out HERE, donate and share. Together we will see this dream become a reality and we will see babies live and families protected.

I know there will be so many more of these precious ones who come into my life. More faces of babies that I will joyfully send home with their families and more faces of babies that I will tearfully lay to rest until I am finally able to join them in eternal paradise. This journey is 8 years old but it is far from over. In fact, in a way it feels like it is just beginning. I pray that the things I have learned over the past 8 years will lend me wisdom and that I will daily find the strength to keep fighting, in joy, alongside these families.

Today is my 2,922nd day in Haiti but it is so much more...

You can join us in this fight by becoming a monthly supporter of the Malnutrition and Family Preservation Center

What If...

2016-03-31T00:52:00.002-05:00

I share a lot of my heart. I share as much as I can because writing is how I “get it all out” but, believe it or not, there is much, much more that I don’t offer up on social media. There are a lot of reasons but probably the biggest is that even though I have many loving, open minded friends, judgment comes easy to those in the developed world. The questions I get in private messages are numerous… Why do the mothers wait so long to seek help? Why do they keep having babies they can’t afford? Why are people always asking for a handout. If I’m being honest, they are questions I have asked myself a million times over. I get the why’s because I have them too.

8 years here, and having grace drilled into me from an early age has given me the mindset that seeks real answers to these questions. Why DID she wait so long to seek help for her baby? Perhaps because “she” has never been valued enough to be taught to read or write, let alone given education on basic health and hygiene. Maybe “she” did everything she thought was best for her daughter, maybe “she” brought her to a clinic for a vaccine, the most loving thing a mother can do, only to be told that her daughter was very sick, and to find herself burying that baby girl just 24 hours later. Unless I am going to send the teacher into the depths, I have no room to judge. I have only room to love in the precious, raw open moments that I am given. And really, why does “she” keep having babies?? Maybe it’s because the choice of sexual contact is everything but. Maybe “she” has no say in when, where or how. Maybe “she” is just doing what she has to do. Maybe self control has nothing to do with it.   

Last week I loved a baby girl with my entire heart but she was someone else’s entire world. Ketia was loved and treasured by her mom and dad and by her 3 older siblings. She was their joy, their everything. Her mom told me about her favorite songs. Her dad talked about the moments every morning when he got up with the baby before leaving for work, spooning food into her mouth and changing her diaper to give her mama a few more moments of sleep. They were normal! This was their every day life. Their life before they had to learn how to live broken.

Last Thursday Ketia was dying. I knew it when I held her in my arms. I begged and pleaded with God that He would change His mind but I knew that she was dying. That morning I had told her mom that it was ok to go home and that I would stay with her but within hours it was obvious to me that she was slowly leaving this earth. I put on a worship radio station, climbed into her bed and rocked and prayed with all of my might that she would hold on and wait for her mama to say goodbye. For hours I held her and sang and begged and fought with God. Most of all I desperately wanted her to wait for her mom to get back so that she could be the one to hold her in those final moments.

Finally, at about 6pm her mom and dad walked into the room. At this point Ketia had been unconscious for almost 3 hours, she had been “death gasping” for the past 90 minutes. I knew she didn’t have much longer and when they walked in they knew it too. We spent a few minutes all just gathered around this baby that we all loved and I finally told them about the reality of the situation. I explained to them the doctors prognosis, my own understanding of the situation and the options that were available to them. Her mama and daddy were so brave. They listened intently and they asked questions about everything. They asked what a tube for breathing would mean, what it would do for her, what it would do to her. They asked, with all sincerity, what her life from now on would look like. They asked if it would hurt her, they asked if she would cry. The doctor explained everything in the a way that I will always love him for. He was kind and honest and he told them simply the truth and in the end they decided that sweet Ketia had cried enough, that she had had enough hurt. Her parents decided that they did not want her to be intubated or resuscitated when the time came for her to go. They decided what what best for her, even though it was what hurt them the most. They loved their baby one last time.

After the decision was made I invited her mom and dad to come to the bed to hold and be with her and that was the exact second that Ketia decided to open her eyes, one last time. She looked up into the faces of the 2 people that she knew by heart and as soon as she saw her daddy, she smiled a great big smile. I had never seen her smile before. In that second, that wasn’t for me, she stole yet another pice of my heart. Ketia’s mom and dad spent time praying over her and I stood in the back of the room and I felt like an imposition. I was reminded, one more time that this wasn’t my pain, wasn’t my story. I have their permission to share it and I do, but not for me. Not so that people will tell me how sorry they are for me. I tell it because Ketia died, and that is a tragedy and the only thing more tragic would be if she died and it didn’t matter. I will fight, as long as I have breath, to make sure that Ketia matters, that she isn’t forgotten. That one more child lives, because she did not. I will fight for Ketia and I will fight for a mother who lost her baby and a father who’s light was stolen away.

They are why I will fight.

What if the mama who waited too long was just doing the best she knew? What if the one who kept having babies didn’t have a choice, but loved her children fiercely despite their circumstances? What if the only hand out they really wanted was a hand up, and the only thing they needed was a willing heart to embrace the ugly and hard in anticipation of the beauty that is lying, just beyond our sight?

More Than Bunnies

2016-03-26T23:24:00.004-05:00

Somewhere over the past 6 months or so I acquired this tiny little stuffed pink bunny rabbit. I cannot for the life of me remember where it came from but one day it was just there. It went into a box with baby girl clothes and supplies that are used as children come into my home and I never noticed it again.

When I got call last Sunday for a medivac flight of a tiny little girl named Ketia I threw on some scrubs and tossed a few things in a backpack without thinking much about it. As Ketia struggled and fought to breathe on the plane I reached into my bag for something to comfort her and my fingers closed over that little rabbit. From that second on she loved that bunny and she was her constant companion. When she cried in the ER while they tried multiple times to get an IV in her tiny veins, she clung to bunny.

While she was held down for an echocardiogram that gave us a peek at her heart, she rubbed her soft ears.

While she breathed her last she had that bunny cuddled up to hear cheek and yesterday, when I laid her to rest I tucked that little bunny in beside her one last time.

Ketia loved that bunny.

I love that bunny because she loved her.

On Good Friday I buried Ketia at a cemetery a few blocks from my home. I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed as I watched them prepare, and then close her tomb.

I thought about our Savior. I thought about what it looked like when he was buried and then even more so, what it looked like when He defeated death and burst forth from the grave. When the man who oversaw the cemetery began to seal the tomb I though to myself how final and permanent that seal was and my mind immediately went to that first Easter morning. What must have it been like to have watched that tomb sealed, only come back a few days later and find it broken open. The shock and fear would have been great. I imagine there was confusion and anger and so, so much grief.

I used to think about Easter as a happy, hopeful time. But this year for the first time I wondered and thought about those dark, ugly terror filled days where there was no hope in sight. Those living in the midst had no idea that “Sunday [was] coming”.

This year, that is me. The fear is too much and I can’t possibly imagine the day when this is all woven together to make sense. I can’t imagine a day when anything will ever be ok again. I can’t imagine a day when I won’t wake up overwhelmed with grief and tears for the ugly reality that these babies are fighting.

Facing the death of this baby that I loved was hard. Harder than anything I have done in a very long time. Processing her death over Easter is something that has completely brought to life the reality of why I will keep fighting. Because this isn’t about what I do at all, it’s about what He did when He gave everything to rescue me. It’s about the fact that when a baby dies I can grieve but that I can also get up tomorrow and do it again, because I have a hope that lasts far beyond this broken world and the hurt that it holds. It's about the fact that every single Ketia and Youvika that I have lost has been swept up to dance at Jesus' feet and all I can do is keep pressing forward until the day He finally sees fit to let me joint them.

Ketia loved her bunny, and I’m glad she gave her comfort but this year more than ever I am reminded more than ever that Easter is not about bunnies.

Mamba

2016-03-10T13:52:00.001-06:00

If you follow me on Facebook, chances are you’ve seen me talking a lot lately about something called Medika Mamba. Today I want to invite you to take a closer look at this miracle “medicine” and learn more about this product that is saving lives all across Haiti.

From Meds and Food for Kids:
"Sometimes called miracle peanut butter, the Ready-to-Use Therapeutic Food (RUTF) Medika Mamba is considered the “gold standard” for treating malnutrition by the World Health Organization. Miracle or medicine, no one can argue with the results. Children who enter treatment severely undernourished and underweight show great improvement in just six weeks."

"Mothers, once in despair for their children, are empowered, encouraged and hopeful for the future
once they see the bright eyes and strong limbs of their once fragile child."

"What’s Medika Mamba?
Medika Mamba is a RUTF made of ground roasted peanuts, powdered milk, cooking oil, sugar, vitamins and minerals."

"How long does treatment take?
A typical treatment program for one child lasts 6-8 weeks and takes 25 pounds of Medika Mamba.

How effective is Medika Mamba?
Within six weeks of starting treatment, 90% of children on Medika Mamba recover, far better than the 25% survival rate with older, milk-based treatments."

"Simple Ingredients, Essential Nutrients"

And check out this video…

Medika Mamba is our #1 defense against malnutrition and our most essential item in caring for these precious children. Next week I will be placing a large order of Mamba to stock our pantry. This will be the first time I have had space to store several cases and will ensure that I will never have to hesitate to extend care to a child at a moments notice! If you would like to donate towards this purchase you can do so by clicking below. $70 covers the cost of 1 case, which will treat one child all the way through recovery!

Dear Haitian Woman

2016-03-08T09:09:00.000-06:00

Dear tiny Haitian baby, with your big brown eyes and soft dark curls. The dirt where you play belongs to an earth that holds beautiful, breathtaking things and adventures that are just waiting for you. Tiny Haitian baby, do you know someone’s whole life revolves around you?

Dear little Haitian girl, with your shiny black shoes and crisp clean uniform. This world is bigger than you can even imagine. You know all those far away places that you are learning about? They are right there, waiting for you, for your brilliant ideas and the talents that only you have. Little Haitian girl, do you know that you can be anything you dream of?

Dear new Haitian mama, with your still soft belly and your tiny little daughter. You are everything to her. Your breast is the one that fills her belly, your voice she knows by heart. Your love is what nourishes her soul. New Haitian mama, do you know that you are changing the world every single exhausting day?

Dear old Haitian woman, with the deep lines on your face reminding you of the years of hard work and hard laughter. You have buried too many babies, too many friends, too many lovers. You are the one who stands before your family, a shining light guiding their entire course of direction. You are the one who’s knee they sit before to soak in wisdom and history. Old Haitian woman, do you know you are a warrior?

// Photos by Kadi Tiede and Laura Nickel of The Sakina Mission

Youvika

2016-02-24T23:39:00.000-06:00

*Warning, this post contains graphic images*

Her name was Youvika.
Today she would have been 2 years old.

26 days ago she died in Haiti.

Her name was Youvika.
She was someone’s joy, someone’s everything.

Her name was Youvika.
She was beautiful.
She starved to death, in the year 2016.

Her name was Youvika.
She died because she didn’t have enough to eat...

The Failure

2016-02-03T15:18:00.000-06:00

This post has been sitting on my desktop for 7 months, I have deleted and restarted and stared and ignored. It’s the longest it has ever taken me to share my heart.

The 9 months since I left Thomassin, sure I was setting out on a new and fulfilling journey, have been the worst of my life. I am still struggling to feel like I can breathe again. I’m scared and confused and more than anything I am really, really sad.

There is this myth in the church that when you are sacrificing to do what God has called you to do, He is somehow responsible to reward you for that sacrifice. Lie. Sometimes God demands that you do hard, hard things and at the beginning, middle and end it’s not beautiful, it’s simply hard. There is no pat on the back, no well done shit, there is just tears and sweat and other ugly things that make the space between His grace and our sin bigger than it has ever been.

Belans was one of those hard things. I went there with a dream and before I could even start to catch my breath the dream was crushed. I lost some dear friends along the way and I came out on the other side in debt, broken down and fighting with everything in me to get out of bed every single morning. When I first arrived in Belans I wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back home. I wanted to pretend like that piece of time was nothing more than a bad dream. But once I was faced with the possibly of leaving, just 6 short weeks later I was as anxious and confused as I was the day the call was whispered on my heart. It’s only now, 7 months since I walked away from that beach of broken dreams, that I feel like the fog is finally starting to lift. More days than not, I get out of bed in the morning and get dressed and find some kind of joy in the 2 lives that are entrusted to my care. That wasn’t true until very recently. I have been in the darkest pit, fighting the demons and lies that wait for me to turn my attention to their screams.

Only a few weeks after calling Belans home I returned to Thomassin, my tail between my legs and my heart beaten and torn. My kids and I moved right back into the house we had left and settled almost instantly into our previous lives. They are in preschool. I am loving on new mamas and malnourished children. What I longed for has happened, that time in that little coastal village is starting to fade into a distant memory, but it turns out what I wanted all along isn’t what I want a all. I WANT to remember that desperate pain, I want to remember the ugly in those days. I crave to always be reminded that I am owed absolutely nothing here in this life and remember that the reward I am striving towards is so much more than I can comprehend or long for now.

It was never about a birth center. A bustling hospital with the ability so serve countless mamas and babies is a beautiful dream but that’s not what God wanted in this season, it’s not what He required of me. What He wanted was simple, my heart. He wanted ever single selfish, tucked away bit. He wanted my obedience, He wanted faith in lack of sight. It wasn’t graceful and it was filled with so, so many ugly moments but in the end that is exactly what He got. He got my yes, my heart frantic to look like His. He wanted it there and He wants it now. He is giving me opportunities every day to discover more of what He has created me for and I know what I’ve somehow managed to forget over and over again, the most fulfilling thing I will ever do in my life is love the ones He loves.

I feel like when this is all done, when I’ve reached that finish line and I look back at the pieces that fit together to finally reveal the picture that He was painting, it will be only then that I will fully understand the purpose of the past year. I will see this tiny piece, tucked away in a corner and I will realize that without this bit, without all the dark shadows and confusing, twisting, turning edges, the picture wouldn’t be complete.

I believe with every fiber of my being that God called me to go to Belans, and I believe with the same ferocity that He called me away. I am struggling to understand why. So far all I have found is stillness. I am trying desperately to find peace in being still too, striving to stop trying to find explanations and to just let Him bless me with opportunities to love and be, right where I am.

School Sponsorship 2015 - Wood Mike

2015-08-28T08:25:00.001-05:00

Meet Wood Mike

Wood Mike is 8 years old and going into the 4nd grade. He has been in our school sponsorship program for 4 years and has had an incredibly difficult year. In February, Wood Mike was walking home from school with his friends when one of the little boys found a box of matches. During the course of the next several moments tragedy struck when Wood Mike's shirt caught on fire and he suffered terrible burns. Wood Mike was rushed to a hospital that unfortunately, did not have the supplies to treat him. Over the course of the next several days he was taken to several clinics and hospitals but turned away from each one. In desperation, Wood Mike's mother took the advice of some neighbors and treated the burns with a home "remedy" that caused him tremendous pain. When I finally learned of Wood Mike's condition I was able to have him transferred to an incredible clinic called Real Hope For Haiti. The staff at Real Hope treated the burns with proper medication and dressing and he finally began to heal.

While recovering from his burns, Wood Mike's body suffered a lot of trauma and unfortunately, he simply did not have enough to eat to support his body's healing. In July his malnutrition became impossible to ignore and Wood Mike was transferred to an inpatient malnutrition recovery center. After spending 2.5 weeks recovering and gaining weight Wood Mike was able to return home in much better health.

Wood Mike lives with his mother, who is unemployed. He has one sister but he is the only child living at home. Wood Mike attends Institut Abbelard in Leogane where his favorite subjects are math and French. When Wood Mike is not in school play soccer and to ride his bike, which is his prized possession.Wood Mike's favorite animals are cats and his favorite fruit is mango.

Without our school sponsorship program, not only would Wood Mike not receive an education, he may not even be alive today. Because of sponsors who committed to paying for Wood Mike's education he became known and we were able to advocate for him and his medical care. Wood Mike has overcome a lot in his short life, I cannot wait to see how he will grow and learn this coming year.

Because Wood Mike's situation is unique and his family struggles are extra difficult, I would like to add to his sponsorship $30 a month to help provide a meal for him each day. We know that with an empty belly, a child cannot learn as well or develop to their full potential. It is clear that Wood Mike does not get enough to eat each day, some days he eats nothing at all! Wood Mike's "lunch sponsorship" will allow his mother to provide him with a box of food to take to school and make sure that he is strong enough to learn every day.

Wood Mike's school tuition for the year is $250usd in addition his school supplies, uniforms and books cost an additional $150usd. Williams can be sponsored fully ($400) or partially. Additionally, his $30 monthly lunch sponsorship can be paid in full ($360) or can be paid per month. You can sponsor Wood Mike by clicking here.

If you would like to sign up to support Wood Mike's lunch each day, through a monthly gift you can use this button and select "$30"

Please be sure to note WOOD MIKE TOUSSAINT SCHOOL SPONSORSHIP with your donation.

Thank you for seeing Wood Mike's worth and making the sacrifice to provide him with the tools to develop into the person that God created him to be!

School Sponsorship 2015 - Williams

2015-08-21T14:55:00.001-05:00

WILLIAMS HAS BEEN FULLY SPONSORED!

Meet Williams

Williams is 11 years old and going into the 6th grade. He has been in our school sponsorship program for 3 years and is an incredibly dedicated student. Williams has consistently been the top student in his class and often studies for several hours each night when he gets home from school. Williams has told me several times that he knows that this sponsorship has changed his life, he is a very mature young man.

Williams lives with his mother, who is unemployed. He has two brothers and one sister but he is the only child living at home. Williams attends Freres Louis school in Kenscoff where his favorite subject is math. When Williams is not in school or studying he loves to play with a hoop and stick toy, running up and down the mountain paths near his home. Williams favorite animal is a goat and his favorite fruit is pineapple.

Having Williams in the school sponsorship program has been a blessing to his entire family. His mother is so proud to show me his report cards each year and assure me that he is working hard in his studies.

Williams school tuition for the year is $360usd in addition his school supplies, uniforms and books cost an additional $150usd. Williams can be sponsored fully ($510) or partially. Sponsor Williams by donating through THIS link or through the button on the right side of the page, please be sure to note WILLIAMS PIERRE SCHOOL SPONSORSHIP with your donation.

Thank you for making such a lasting difference in the lives of not only Williams but his entire family.

Steeven

2015-08-05T23:29:00.000-05:00

Sometimes tete (breastfeeding) literally means the difference between life and death. That is definitely true for this little guy, who lives in one of the most remote villages of Haiti.

Steeven is 5 weeks old and weighs just 7lbs. His mother fell ill soon after he was born and as a result she has been struggling to produce even the tiniest amount of milk for baby Steeven. When I met Steeven and his mama she explained to me that she hadn't yet named him because she wasn't sure he would live, she had buried a child before and knew the pain all too well. I told her that he needed a name and for her to believe and fight for him. In that moment something sparked to life, she had hope and someone to stand with her and fight for her son. That day he was dirty and un-bathed but over the course of the next few days I watched and she began to lovingly care for her tiny little boy. She did everything she knew and her mama bear instincts were right. In less than a week Steeven started to look like a new baby, clean and clear eyed, held and loved but one thing didn't change, Steeven was still HUNGRY.

The weeks that his mama spent fighting her illness meant that her body stopped producing the precious milk that Steeven needed to thrive. When I met her she was lucky to get a few drops from each breast and had resorted to feeding Steeven porridge and crackers soaked in water. After our first meeting, where I stressed the importance of milk, she took the few gourdes she had a bought some canned milk to drip into his mouth but that lasted only a few days until once again she was left with nothing to offer but her dry breast. Steeven could have been another statistic, another "one in 5" children dead before his fifth birthday but for this one something happened...

A woman named Donna left Austin, Texas last week with a suitcase full of powdered milk and a prayer on her lips, to help someone, even just one. Along with Donna's powdered milk, her donation of bottled water and a beautiful invention called the Supplemental Nursing System I was able to spend time with Steeven’s mama, working together to figure out the best way to get Steeven’s little belly the milk he needed but also make sure that he would continue to have enough milk for months to come.

Using the donated milk (2 weeks worth + clean water for mixing) and some supplements for mama (fennel oil, funegreek capsules and lots of clean drinking water) I was able to put a plan in place for Steeven and his mama. She quickly and excitedly learned how to use the SNS. She listened, along with a half dozen other women who had gathered around to watch, she understood everything I told her right away and easily explained back to me how it would work. Through the SNS Steeven will “breastfeed” but will receive both his mama’s milk and the supplemented powdered milk at the same time. His feeding still depends on his work at the breast and his suckling sends a message for mama to produce more milk but until mama’s body catches up the SNS will help provide Steeven with enough calories to hold him over.

Working alongside Steeven and his mama has been one of the highlights of my time in Belans. I can’t wait to see how Steeven thrives in the love of his mama and how her milk nourishes his growing body.

When Jesus Say Yes

2015-07-19T16:20:00.001-05:00

Here is a little peek into the FUN of life in Belle Anse and a pretty fitting song for this season of my life!

That Stubborn Girl

2015-07-08T14:23:00.001-05:00

He feels far away and silent, and every cry feels like it's fallen on deaf ears...

But even when *I feel* like He's not paying attention, He is there in the quiet, pushing me along. Reminding me that the stubborn little girl that drove her parents crazy had a purpose. I spent years in training to become a stubborn woman, who's greatest encouragement is discouragement.

When things dear to me are taken away and when I have no idea where the money to pay the next bills will come from, it lights a fire deep in my soul that drives me harder than anything else, to prove the doubt wrong and to fight even harder. He has yet to let me down and continually I remind myself that when things are hard it is not his silence but his assurance that He believes that I will be faithful and that my trust and faith will increase.

My house is slowly coming together, I can't wait to share some "after" photos now that the tile is in, the walls are painted and the the window screens are up! We also have power now thanks to recently installed solar panels! Every day it feels a little bit more like home and now my struggles shift from my physical comfort to the ever present stress of our financial needs and how on earth everything that needs to happen will be possible in the impossibly short amount of time it all needs to happen in. There are still several expenses weighing on me from the move and the first few months of "setting up" in Belans.

My sister has started a gofundme account to help with some current financial needs, including the cost of replacing my computer that was stolen. If any of you feel led to give you can do so though my paypal here or go check out the campaign and donate through there.

http://www.gofundme.com/ye7n84

In addition, my little family of 3 is in desperate need of monthly financial support. Right now we are living on just under $700 usd a month and it's getting more and more difficult to make ends meet. Our "budget" is set at $2,000 usd per month so at this time we are operating on less than half of that. We are still here, and we are fed and have a roof over our heads but we have many needs that are being pushed to the side right now because of lack of funds. It is my desperate plea and prayer that a few more supporters would come alongside us through monthly financial support. If you would like to join our support team through monthly giving, you can click the link on the right side of this page to get set up.

As always, I trust that our needs will be met and that God will provide. I cringe to think that this blog has become just a tool to raise money, I am conscious that there has been a lot of asking lately and am making an effort to start sharing some incredible stories soon! The beauty of Belans is astounding and I am starting to see the blessings that I knew I would find. To call this place home is the hardest thing I have ever done but it is quickly becoming clear that it will also be filled with the joy that I knew was lying in wait for our family to discover. I can't wait to share glimpses of it with you.

The truth, what it always has been, is that it is never about how I feel on any given day and all about what He is going to do with whatever tiny bits of willingness that I can scrounge up.

30

As for God, his way is perfect:

The Lord’s word is flawless;

he shields all who take refuge in him.

For who is God besides the Lord?

And who is the Rock except our God?

It is God who arms me with strength

and keeps my way secure.

He makes my feet like the feet of a deer;

he causes me to stand on the heights.

Psalm 18:30-33

2015-07-01T21:35:00.002-05:00

1 year.

365 days.

A lifetime...

Exactly one year ago today I made a commitment to begin a month of fasting and prayer as I struggled to seek God's calling that was becoming more and more evident.

July 214 was the best and worst month of my life to date. I faced doubt. I confronted my selfishness. I said yes and no, in split second decisions that still haunt me to this day. I loved Moses, and felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest when he died. I prayed until my breath ran out and then I cried out to God in the silence of words unspoken. I begged and I pleaded and argued against the calling that became more clear with every moment.

By the end of the month it was clear, I was going to Belans. To be honest I knew it from the very first day I stepped foot on the beach. I had committed to a month of, in my mind, not praying to seek God's will, but to be released from a call that scared me senseless. That release did not come and one year later I find myself standing on the same beach and calling it home. Yet, I am still where I was there, crying out to God in the silence of words unspoken, feeling that long ago I ran out of breath.

In August of last year I announced a plan to move my family to a remote village in Haiti called Belans. In one year I have lost count of the times I have wished that I never told anyone. I wish that I would have buried that secret calling far away from the accountability of living up to it. I wish I still had the luxury of putting it off and promising “someday”. Once that publish button is pressed I not only have Him to answer to but each of you as well. You, who have watched for years as He refined my heart and prepared me through every single step, for this very moment. You should know that when you read these words, YOU are a massive part of what God is doing in Belans and how He is changing my heart to chase after His. God keeps me going and He uses you to do it. On the days when I want to give up I press on because I said “yes” and when I am tempted to forget I have an entire army behind me to remind me, and to pray me through.

With all the changes of the past year I feel like I am drowning in fear. Or maybe I am just drowning in myself. I feel like everything is out of my control and the ugliness of sin threatens to take over with whispered lies of doubt. I feel like everything is swirling in a tornado around me but even in this storm He is the same, always. He loves me when I least deserve it and I hold fast to that. When I am overwhelmed, He is constant, love. When I am content, He is constant, love. When I am angry at Him, He is constant, love. When I want to quit and I cry and I sob and I fight with everything in me to have my own way, He is constant, loving me when I am most unlovable.

The past 2 months, and especially the last 2 weeks, rank right up there with the most difficult since I first stepped foot on this island, 7 years ago. I have doubted more, cried more and been tested more, than ever before. 3 years ago I said goodbye to my first son. Last night my computer was stolen, taking with it every single photo that remains of that baby boy and our time together. The entire Caribbean sea doesn’t seem big enough to hold the tears that I have sobbed over that loss but somehow, it’s 3 years later and that moment when I thought I would die in my grief is a memory and I’m still here. Still pushing ahead, still striving towards that invisible goal and the promise that one day I will hear “Well done” and look back and finally understand.

Life in Belans

2015-05-25T08:56:00.001-05:00

I’ve been here in Belans for 2 weeks and I have lost count of the times I have though to myself “what on earth have I done???"

If I told you I loved it here, it couldn’t be further from the truth.

If I told you that it felt like home, that I was glad that God has called me to this place, that I was excited about the future here, it would be a bold faced lie.

The truth is, I hate it.

And the truth is that I’ve never wanted to quit something so badly in my entire life.
The truth is that I am desperately lonely for the family of precious friends and support that we left behind in Thomassin.

The truth is, today the only thing keeping me here is my stubborn, prideful heart that refuses to admit failure.

That and a lot of God’s grace.

But I am clinging to the hope that someday I WILL love it, someday it WILL feel like home, someday I won’t cry myself to sleep through the stomach churning guilt of uprooting my kids and bringing them to this place.

Someday...

We are all moved into our house, that is not nearly as finished as I anticipated it would be before we got here.

We still have no power outlets or indoor bathroom, no windows in some rooms and others that are completely open to the outside at night. We still have no type of water collection or storage save the 3, 5 gallon buckets that I pay a neighbor woman to go fill for me every few days.

It’s HOT. All. The Time. It’s hot at 3am.

Both of my kids are a mess, their once perfect, smooth skin is marked by constant rashes, big bites and gray dust.

Henry has had bouts of diarreah and vomiting and now has an infection in both of his eyes. My kids have always been totally healthy, neither one has ever had even an ear infection, so it’s hard not to feel guilty over putting them in this position. I feel like I am the one making them sick and uncomfortable, after all, I’m the one that decided this for us.

Our “shower”

The bathroom

Master Bedroom (HA!)

Kitchen

Growing doesn’t often happen in comfortable circumstances. As things stretch and change there is pulling and forming and sometimes outright pain.

Today we are in the middle of the growing pains that will allow me to look back at this time in our family’s history as something that I am thankful for, but that day is not today and as much faith as I have that this process is for our good, I am still human and I still doubt and I still can’t see beyond right now.

This life, this change, this move, is without a doubt the hardest thing I have ever done. I question it every second of the day but God is confirming in my heart that yes, this is His plan and it is for our good. He sent me an incredible group of people who are willing to come bear the uncomfortable with me for a while and help get our house fixed up! They are going to put tile on my floors, build screens for my windows (right now they are totally open for any creepy crawling thing to waltz right in!) and put some shelves in my kitchen so I don’t have to store things in rubbermaid totes anymore! I am serious when I say that I don’t think I would last here if they hadn’t come to help make this house a refuge for our family.

They have been incredibly generous in offering their time and finances for this project. As we start to get to work we are purchasing supplies like tiles, wood and cement and of course, the cost is already adding up. I know that this, while it feels incredibly selfish, is crucial in me being able to live in Belans long term and build my life, and program here.

Today I am not asking for something for my prenatal program, or a malnourished foster child like I have in the past, today I am asking for a gift that will go dierctly towards my family and our comfort. Again, it feels “wrong” but it’s so very needed.

If anyone is able to help with the cost of fixing up our little house I would be eternally grateful! Any amount, large or small helps. Screens to cover all of our windows will cost about $200. The wood for shelving units in the kitchen will be about $50. Paint for the entire house will be about $300. All of the little things that will add up to our house becoming home are invaluable to us here on the ground. You can donate using the paypal link below.

Thank you for standing by our family and valuing our mental and physical health, as we strive to live a life of joy in the place that God has called us to be.

A Belle Anse Birth

2015-03-07T18:12:00.001-06:00

Not better or worse, just different...

I whisper it a hundred times a day.
I declare it when I am confused.
I remind myself of it when I am frustrated.

Haiti is vastly different from the 1st world that I grew up in. I was raised in the luxury and affluence of North America. Things I see happening here, even after 7 years, still surprise me, and I have to remind myself over and over again, it’s just different.

On February 14th I got to experience the wide range of different that Haiti holds when I attended my first birth in Belle Anse. Up until now I have been blessed to work alongside well trained medical professionals in both a hospital and a private clinic in an area of Haiti well known as an elite suburb of the capital city, Port Au Prince. The people in this area are generally more well off and can afford private medical care. While still lacking in many areas, most of the care was on a level that I could at least understand.

Enter Belle Anse.

I don’t live there. I don’t yet understand how things work. Every experience in that village is new to me, another opportunity to learn and to open my mind and heart to a new group of people and a better understanding.

This Belle Anse birth was the first time I attended a delivery outside of a hospital or clinic setting. It was my first “non-sterile” delivery room.

It was also the first time I got to watch the emotions of a nervous new papa, rushing around, hand washing baby clothes in anticipation of a new arrival. I got to see the excitement, anticipation and open fear on his face. It was beautiful.

This Belle Anse birth was the first time I bustled around a deliver room with a chicken weaving between my feet.

It was also the first time that I stepped out of the room during a short break and got to look out over the ocean, feel the salty breeze on my cheeks and marvel at the hugest and tiniest of God’s creation colliding in a single moment.

This birth was the first time I sat beside a birth attendant with no formal medical training.

It was also the first time I sat and watched as the person who’s hands would soon guide a new life in to the world, took the time to press a cool washcloth on a mothers head, and spoon feed her a hearty soup when she needed strength to keep working towards that end goal.

This birth in Belle Anse was the very first time I reached for a piece of equipment or medication and it simply wasn’t available. One box of gloves, 2 bed pads, a spool of thread, a used syringe, 2 plastic bags and a razor blade purchased at the boutique next door. That was the extent of the supplies available.

This birth was the first one where I had only my hands to clear out a tiny nose and mouth, and to rub a tiny still chest and to pray fervently for a breath and a cry.

This birth was the most raw and real and beautiful and holy. It was vastly different from anything I have ever known.

I walked away from that small cement house with a renewed spirit and an overwhelming drive.

I am not moving to Belle Anse to change anything. I am going to learn more than I could ever hope to teach. I am going to bring precious supplies and education, and learn even more precious love and service to others.

I am more excited than I have ever been, to partner with the people who are already working in Belle Anse, Haiti. I am blessed to come along side them to figure out how in the world we can put together theirs and mine to make sure that more babies and more mothers stay alive.

Just because something is different doesn’t mean it is wrong, just because it’s not the way I know doesn’t mean it needs to be fixed.

*"Baby Valentina” Born February 14th, 2015.

You can check out my previous post for details and current needs for our move to Belle Anse!

Look What God Did!

2015-02-23T14:55:00.001-06:00

UPDATE: $2,100 HAS BEEN DONATED TOWARDS THIS NEED!! I STILL NEED TO RAISE $3,000 TO PAY RENT FOR 2015.

I feel like God might be really sick of me. I know it doesn’t work that way but if I was Him, I’d be really sick of me!

I am constantly in this battle of trust vs self and it’s wearing me down. I don’t want to move to Belle Anse, this self in me doesn’t want to leave my home that I have built for me and my babies. I fight and I cry and I argue and in response He slips in these almost constant confirmations that indeed, this is His plan, in spite of weather it matches up with mine or not.

I went on this last trip to Belle Anse to see a house that I was planning to sign a lease on. I. Was. Terrified. I had seen photos and even though I knew that God would provide and I would eventually be able to turn it into a home, it was far beyond how I even wanted to attempt to live. I went, praying over and over that God would give me a good attitude and a vision for this place that He was asking me to call home.

This is a photo that was sent to me the week before I left to sign my lease.

You guys, I tried, I promise, I TRIED to be excited but mostly I just cried, a lot. I believe that God is calling me to Belle Anse and I know that I will be stretched and changed through my time there. I know that it is going to be different than here. (where I live in the cool mountains with my internet and tv and ability to have 5 different kinds of food delivered to my front door) I know this, but I felt like He was asking too much. This was just too much.

When I arrived in Belle Anse I went to see the house and again, I tried to be positive. I looked for ways that I could fix it up and make it feel like home, mostly I just felt overwhelmed. I walked away knowing that I had a place to live, something that I had needed to establish for a long time, but I walked away discouraged and questioning God if He really, truly knew what He was doing. Again, even though He’s proven Himself over and over, I began to doubt.

So there I was, walking down the street, sweating my ass of, acting like a brat and pissed at God, it was not my finest moment folks! I figured I had been looking for a house for so long that there couldn’t possibly be any places that I didn’t know about but I decided that just in case, I would grab a local moto taxi and ask him if he knew of any houses for rent. He said he did so we took off. The first place he stopped at was a total no go, I didn’t get any further than the front yard and told him that wasn’t what I was looking for. A few more places and my heart began to lift, just a little. I was seeing houses I could actually picture myself living in. I still wasn’t excited but I was getting a little less crabby. A few hours later I needed to get back to town so I thanked him and asked him to please let me know if he heard of any other rentals available and I would be in touch about the places we had seen. I went to the local bar to grab some lunch for Annabel and a cold beer for myself because I swear, it was at least 100 degrees and I just wanted to go hide in the dark. So while I was busy being stubborn, tucked away in a corner bar, God decided for some reason I still can’t wrap my head around, He wanted to bless my ugly, rotten heart...

The beauty [and curse] of a small town is that everyone knows everyone’s business. Add in the fact that I was one of a total of 5 white people in the entire city, it didn’t take the taxi driver long to track me down. He excitedly told me that he had just spoken to someone who had a “very beautiful” house that he would be willing to rent to me. I learned a long time ago that my idea of very beautiful and a Haitian’s idea can sometimes be vastly different but I had described to him pretty clearly what I was looking for and so I hopped on the moto, filled with only a tiny bit of apprehension and off we went.

You guys, I can’t even! This place was IT. It had every single thing that I had wanted! I can’t even describe how I felt as I walked from room to room and into the perfectly shaded back yard. Yes, the only working “bathroom” was the outhouse in the corner but the amount of potential was incredible. The absolute kicker for me what the fact that the house had a separate 2 room building in the back that will be perfect for the teacher/nanny that is coming down to help me with my kids. Seriously, what are the odds that a place would have that super specific thing that I was hoping for? Nil, nothing! I am telling you there were absolutely no odds involved, this was all God!

I knew that I had one more hurdle to pass and that was negotiating on the rent. It was clear to me that this was by far the nicest house I had seen and one of the nicest in town. The owner was surely going to try to rip me off and even though I knew that God had handpicked this place for me, I had absolutely no energy or desire to start negotiating down from an outrageous price I just *knew* the landlord was going to quote me. Prices on everything seem to triple the second my white face shows up so I was sure I was in for several tense hours of trying to reach a fair agreement. I said a little prayer barely more than a breath, that if this was the house God wanted for me He would just let me have it without the roller coaster of emotions that come with negotiating in Haiti.

Before setting out for Belle Anse I had figured that I could afford $5000usd for rent for a year. I knew that after the first year, when a lot of work would need to be done to get the house ready for me, the rent would go down a little. I was hoping to sign a 5 year lease, paying a max of $5000 a year for the first year and $4000 a year after that. I left, waiting for the landlord to send via the moto driver turned real estate agent, his initial price. Trying not to be nervous and tense I thought that a walk down to the beach would help pass the time. Before I could even make it a block the moto driver appeared to show me a number he had typed out on his phone and I almost fell over right there on the side of that dirt road. His first price, fully expecting me to counter offer, was $5600! I was expecting it to be significantly higher than that! I was thrilled but tried to play it cool, you know, like you are supposed to when negotiating. I came back at an even $5000 and off went Mr. Moto on my behalf. Just a few blocks later, as the beach came into view he was back again. He told me that the landlord has agreed to $5100, his final offer. Done. Done and done! Only $100 above what I had hoped to pay and for a house far beyond what I could have dreamed to find. The entire negotiation took less than 20 minuets.

The trip accomplish exactly what it needed to, I now have a place to live and have once again been totally reassured by God that this is 100% no doubt exactly where He wants me to be.

So, you wanna see?? I bet you do and I’m super excited to show you. Look at the house God gave me in Belle Anse!

*Isn’t it the cutest Caribbean house ever? I can’t wait to paint and get it all fixed up and turn it into a home for our little family!

I realize that most of my posts about moving to Belle Anse sound like it is this horrible place filled with all sorts of awful things. That is not the case, at all. Belle Anse is gorgeous, it is filled with amazing people and some of the most incredible rugged beauty of nature I have ever seen. It’s not Belle Anse that scares me, it’s the unknown and the complete giving up of the control that I’ve convinced myself I have. It’s the newness and not being able to hide in anonymity of a neighborhood that is so used to foreigners that they barely even blink when I pass by. It’s the idea of being far away from the security of a pediatrician who I trust with my children’s lives. It’s fear that all boils down to the fact that I don’t want things to change. I like the way things are and I am desperate to hold onto this little life that I have created. Letting go of that idea of control screams and fights against everything that is natural to me but it’s such an obvious work that God is doing. I still fight, that won’t change overnight but I am going to move to Belle Anse in full confidence that one day soon I will be really glad that I did.

So, here I go again, asking you all to come alongside me and to believe with me that God has called me to be in Belle Anse, Haiti. I’m not even nervous at this point. There is not a single, tiny little bit of doubt in my mind that God is going to provide everything that we need to rent this house that He has given me and He is going to use you all to do it. The amount of faith I have in His provisions and in the incredible generosity of my amazing supporters leaves no room for anything but pure anticipation of how, not if, this will work out.

I need to raise $5100 as soon as possible to pay rent and allow the landlord to start doing the work that needs to be done in order for my family to move to Belle Anse on April 1st (i.e. putting in a toilet!). It can happen, I just know it! I am leaving to return to Belle Anse next Sunday, March 1st. I need to have at least $2,600 in my hands to give to the landlord so that he can start working, I will need to pay the remaining $2500 before the 1st of April. Nothing is impossible, I believe that God will use even this fundraising plea to blow me away and remind me yet again, how undeniable this call is.

If you are able to donate to this need you can use this paypal button. All donations are tax deductible and will go directly towards paying rent for 2015. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart for being a part of this journey that continues to blow me away.