August 26, 2017

Before You Say Yes

Here it is!  The Call you have been waiting for!  Months and months ago, you finally made the courageous decision to open your home to a foster child, and now the plans are becoming a reality.  You attended the required training classes, completed the dozens of documents, answered all the questionnaires, proven that you do not have a criminal background, and have shown that your home is safe.  You are ready to say yes!

The “yes” part is easy.  And exciting!  And, oh so tempting after all the preparations and dreaming of what it will be like to care for a child who needs you.

However . . before you are too quick to agree to open your doors and your heart to this one who will undoubtedly change your life in ways you cannot imagine, here are some questions you might want to consider asking . . .

July 30, 2017

Love Never Fails

She’s not that sweet baby girl you once knew.  Somehow, when you weren’t looking, she grew up.  And in spite of 18 years of your very best parenting and your most fervent prayers and your consistent love and nurture and training, somewhere along the way she chose a different path.  A dangerous path that has left you frightened and anxious about her future.

When you look at her piercings (27 at last count), black eye make-up, and dyed hair that covers most of her face, you barely recognize her.  Who is this person sitting on your front porch sharing a cigarette with her tattooed boyfriend?  How can this young lady with the slumped shoulders and bony ribs possibly be the same girl you once tenderly rocked to sleep?

This is perhaps the most difficult path that you have ever been asked to take.  It requires more faith than you think you have.  What are you supposed to do now?  Does she need “tough love,” where you lay down the law, keep the standard high, and accept nothing less?  Or does she need grace and acceptance and unconditional love?  Do you let her live with you while she struggles to find her way, or, since she has chosen such an immoral and self-destructive lifestyle, do you make her leave your home and find a new place to live?  There are no easy answers.  Or rather, so many possible answers!  How do you know which one is right?

July 22, 2017

Asking the Hard Questions

What should you make for dinner?  Should you enroll your child in piano classes, swim team, drama camp, or art lessons?  Or all of them?  What should be the theme of his next birthday party?

These are questions that mothers tend to think about.

There are other questions, however, that mothers should never have to ask themselves.  Hard questions.  Questions that quite possibly have no answers.  Questions that are almost too painful to ask.

If you have ever asked yourself these questions, if these thoughts have ever entered your mind, you just might be a mother of a child with a chronic life-threatening condition . . .

When every single day is a struggle to feel well, do you insist that he take care of his chores and responsibilities anyway, or do you give grace and let him sit back and take it easy?

When he feels dizzy and has constant headaches and his mental functioning is impaired – whether from his health condition or from the medications, it’s impossible to tell - or when he's admitted to the hospital for the 3rd time in 3 months, do you make him do his school work anyway?  If he has a shortened life expectancy, does it really matter if he knows his multiplication tables?  On the other hand, are you even allowed to make that decision?  Isn't school required?  Will you get into trouble with the law if he doesn't go?

When the super-nutritious, all-natural, grain-free diet doesn’t seem to be working any more, do you keep researching and trying and restricting every morsel that goes into his mouth, or do you just forget the whole thing and let him eat the darn Big Mac he’s been asking for?

When the tiniest germ will send his health into a tailspin, how much do you protect him?  Do you keep him in a safe bubble at home where he is painfully lonely, or do you let him be a kid for heaven’s sake, playing at the public playground, attending children’s events, participating in Vacation Bible School?   At what point do you just let it go and let him find a few minutes of joy, knowing that doing so will most likely land him in the hospital?  Is it better to live long, or is better to live well?

What about when you see that great sale at the mall?  Do you buy clothes for him to grow into, or do you wait and see if he will need them?  Should you buy them in faith, eternally hopeful?  Or is your optimism really just living in denial?  At what point do you become realistic?

How do you make plans for next month?  Or next year?  Do you go ahead and plan that family vacation, trying to give him a normal childhood with fun experiences while he is still healthy enough to enjoy them?  What about all the other times before when you had to cancel your plans at the last minute because he was too sick to travel?  How do you help your other kids (not to mention all the extended family members) deal with their deep disappointment when this one child’s health has the power to derail every family event?

When you feel like you are drowning in overwhelming fear and frequent medication changes and endless specialist appointments and debilitating insomnia (his, which means yours too!) and endless unanswerable questions, what do you do?  Do you take a break from him and his never-ending needs, or do you spend every precious minute that you can with him, making it all count?

What do you say when people ask, “How is he doing?”  When every day there is this huge question mark hanging over you and your family?  Today, this moment, he might be feeling just fine, but tomorrow he could be back in the hospital.

(These pictures were taken exactly 1 week apart.)

Do you tell him the details of his medical condition, or let him stay naïve and innocent as long as possible?   What do you say when he feels miserable 24/7 and he says to you, “I wish I would just die!”  How does a mother possibly respond to that?

What do you do with the sweet picture that he drew for you?  The picture of himself in heaven, with the words To Mom, God is always with you.  Do you hang it on the refrigerator as the precious, priceless artwork that it is?  What if it makes you cry every time you see it?

What do you pray for when healing might not be an option?  How long do you keep believing in miracles?

These are the questions that mothers should never have to ask themselves.  Hard questions, that quite possibly have no answers.  Questions that are almost too painful to ask.

But when you're the mother of a child with a chronic life-threatening condition . . . you find yourself asking the hard questions.

May 27, 2017

How the Impossible . . . Becomes Possible

Somehow, a single day can seem like a lifetime when a child is in the hospital.  When one day of admission turns into several days, and then into several weeks, it’s more like an eternity.  What day is it again?  Time seems to stop and the tears seem to never stop.  It is utterly exhausting, both physically and emotionally. 

After many years of caring for medically-fragile children, children who spend thousands upon thousands of hours in the hospital, you would think I would get used to it.  Nope!  It never gets easier.  There are days – and usually interminable nights – when I cry into the darkness, I can’t do this!  This is impossible! 

Indeed, it is impossible, at least for one person.  There is no way I could continue caring for these precious children with their complicated medical needs if I had to do it alone.  I depend on my community, my “village,” those invaluable friends and neighbors and church family who are ready and willing to step in and offer support when things invariably get overwhelming and difficult.

During these seasons of long hospitalizations, the most common offer I am likely to hear is, If you need anything, please let me know.  I love the openness of that!  The generosity and kind-hearted intent.  The love that those words communicate! 

But honestly, when I am focused on the child in front of me - on the medical complications and the doctor’s prognosis and the long-term implications of this current health concern – and when I am completely drowning trying to balance the time at the hospital with the ongoing responsibilities at home, it becomes almost impossible to articulate what I need.  I search my over-burdened brains for the right words to ask, and come up empty.  All I can think to cry is, Help me!

What I need more than anything, what has encouraged me the most during these stressful days and weeks in the hospital, is a specific offer of help.  When someone is willing to take the initiative, and give or serve or love from the abundance of their heart.

I am so grateful and humbled to be the recipient of so much love!  I can barely begin to count the ways that thoughtfulness has inspired me to not give up on these frail children.  Ways that generosity has encouraged me to press on with this hard calling.  Ways that kindness has made the impossible . . . become possible.

April 29, 2017

The Magic of a Wish

What could possibly be more magical than a Ball?  The sequins on my royal blue gown catch the sparkle from the crystal chandeliers overhead, and it doesn’t seem real.  I feel like a common villager, trying to pass as a princess.  I can hardly believe that I am the same person who, just a few hours ago, was checking our son’s lab results, confirming the next appointment with his specialist, and measuring out his daily medications.  That was real life, messy and routine and sometimes exhausting.  But this opulent ballroom with cocktails and hors d’oeuvres and the small ensemble in the corner playing beautiful classical music?  This is magical!

I can’t help staring at our son all decked out in his black suit and tie – the first one he has ever worn in his life – and admiring how dashing he looks.  The blue sash across his shoulder, the one with the words Wish Kid on it, make him seem almost royal.  He and the other Wish Kids like him, are the reason everyone is here.  We have been invited to this Wish Ball, an annual charity gala to celebrate the wishes that have been granted to children with life-threatening medical conditions.  If the cost of admission is having a child with a life-threatening medical condition, it is a steep one indeed!

March 11, 2017

When You Say Yes

Everyone you know is asleep at 2:00 in the morning, but not you.  In the stillness of the hospital at this hour, the noise of the irregular beeps and sporadic hisses and frequent alarms are jarringly loud, ensuring that sleep is impossible.  But because the annoying sounds are coming from the machines that are keeping your child alive, how can you complain?

As you reposition yourself on the blue plastic chair beside the bed, attempting every contortion possible to make yourself comfortable, you think to yourself, What in the world am I doing here?  How did I become the one who is responsible for the child in this room?  Is this really the life I had envisioned I would be living?

February 22, 2017

Worth It

The foster placement had been a hard one.  Really hard.  He had many complicated medical issues that required surgeries and procedures and appointments and specialists.  His development was significantly delayed, which was frustrating for us and for him, and which required countless therapy sessions.  He had very few social skills and he (literally!) pushed me away when I tried to get close to him or pick him up.  He was aggressive towards the other children in our home. 

And to top it off, his mother disliked me.  Almost daily she would find fault with the care her son was receiving, constantly complaining to the social worker about me.  It was disheartening, to say the least.

It was hard, and I wanted to quit.  In fact, I had asked to quit!  Several times I had requested that his social worker and case manager please, please find another home for him.  Surely there was someone else who could love him.  Someone who had more time, energy, patience, and resources to give that child the care and nurturing and attention that he so desperately needed.

And yet, he was still here.  Apparently there was no one else.  Apparently I needed a lesson in perseverance.  And faith.

January 7, 2017

When You Come

‘Twas a few nights after Christmas, when all through the house . . . the creatures are indeed stirring.  Every bed in the house overflows with relatives – aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents – who have traveled long distances to celebrate this holiday season.  But none of us can sleep on this not-so-silent night.  The little ones are tossing and turning and squirming fitfully in their beds, refusing to succumb to sleep.  Their wild footsteps echo off the hardwood floors in the hallways.  Their agitated cries ensure that none of us will be settling our brains for a long winter’s nap.  At least not anytime soon.

This is not exactly the image of my home and family I was hoping you would see when you come.  Just a few days earlier, we are all cleaning and sweeping and polishing in anticipation of your arrival.  We look out the window frequently, waiting for you to come.  The hour gets later, the clock ticking well past the usual bedtime.  Finally, you come!  And out in the driveway there arises such a clatter, the littles ones spring from their beds to see what is the matter.

Which is fine, just this once.  I want them to see you.  While you are here, I hope that you will get to know these precious children who are living in my home.  I want you to love them and treasure them as much as I do!  During your visit, I hope that the bonds between you and them will be formed and strengthened.  May they find in you, unconditional love and acceptance.  May they find, in your warmth and tenderness, a sense of belonging and connectedness.
The hallway soon fills with rolling suitcases and zippered jackets, excited laughter and lively conversation.  So wonderful to see you!  I’m glad you made it safely!  How was your trip?  Do you want anything to eat?  Understandably, it takes a while for everyone to settle in.

December 10, 2016

Black and White

It seemed so black and white when they asked if I could care for this little boy who had nowhere else to go.  I never thought to ask the color of his skin.  That question did not enter my mind.   All I knew was, he was a child in need of a mother, and here I was, a mother with a lot of love to give.  What else mattered?

And mostly, it hasn’t mattered.  Most days, I never give it a second thought. Occasionally, I will see a photo of the two of us together, or I will catch a glimpse of the two of us in a mirror, and it sort of takes me by surprise that we look so different – me with my milky complexion and he with his milk-chocolate brown one.  But then the moment passes, and we go back to the only thing that is truly important . . . the fact that I am his mother and he is my son.

Ever since he was a tiny baby, since the day I first met him lying in that hospital bed, I knew that I would need to care for this little boy a bit differently that I cared for my older son – my White son who is now grown.  I knew that I would need to take extra care to keep his skin well-moisturized and his black curly hair buzzed close.  But other than that, I barely noticed our differences.  I know how to love and nurture and train and teach him.  What else do I need to know?  

He is almost 8 years old now, and I am starting to realize that maybe it is not so black and white after all.  Or in truth, maybe it is more Black and White than I originally thought.  I can no longer be naïve and pretend that the color our skin, the differences in our looks, do not matter.

November 21, 2016

What We Knew

The class was required for our foster care license, which, if I’m honest, is possibly the only reason my husband and I went.  There were plenty of other places we would have preferred to be on that Tuesday evening.  We sat near the back of the stuffy room, far enough away from the front that we could pass notes or whisper to each other without drawing too much attention to ourselves, but not all the way in the back back.  After all, we didn’t want to be rude.

If I remember correctly, the instructor that night used a frozen candy bar as an illustration of an abused child’s “hardened” heart.  Heating it up too fast, with a blow-dryer for example, or warm water or in your hands, would cause it to melt on the outside and remain ice-cold on the inside. The answer, apparently, was to be patient and let it thaw on it’s own until it reached room temperature.  That, he promised, is how you “thaw” the heart of a traumatized child. 

I do confess that it took a lot of willpower that evening not to roll our eyes.  Good thing we weren’t sitting too close to the front.

Except for the licensing requirement, we didn’t really need to take this parenting class.  We already knew pretty much everything there was to know about raising children.  We both come from solid, in-tact families, with parents who had set good examples for us while we were growing up.  We both were well-educated young professionals who had successfully graduated from college.   We had one whole shelf in our home library devoted to popular parenting books.   And even without all of that, we had an abundance of competence and common sense.  I mean, how hard could it be?

But then . . . we had kids.  Or more specifically, we had foster kids.  And we very quickly found out that what we thought we knew about parenting was woefully inadequate.  In fact, to quote a good ol’ Southern boy we know, we have often said to each other over the years, I ain’t got nothin’!!

October 8, 2016

The Road Home

Is she excited or terrified?  Filled with anticipation or apprehension?  There are so many emotions inside that it is nearly impossible to distinguish where one leaves off and another one begins.  Today is the first day of her new job, one she has dreamed of and worked hard to achieve.  As she fastens her ID badge onto her new lanyard, she looks once again at the words printed underneath her name: Social Worker.  She can hardly believe that she works for a child protection agency.  That she has an amazing opportunity to make a difference in children’s lives!

The very first case assigned to her involves a tiny baby girl, recently born in a nearby hospital.  The baby’s parents do not have the ability to care for their baby, but finding a willing and qualified foster family has proven to be quite a challenge.   Current foster homes are full or only take school age children or specialize in teenagers with behavioral challenges.  And many foster families, even the excellent ones, are reluctant to care for a child with special needs.  Fear of the unknown tends to paralyze even the most willing heart.

Child Protective Services (CPS) finally identifies a family who lives in another county an hour and a half away.  It is not an ideal situation, especially since the goal is for this child to be reunified with her parents, but this family has a good reputation in the foster care community, and they are not only willing, but excited about welcoming this little one into their home!

What the naive social worker lacks in experience, she compensates with much vigor and enthusiasm.  If the goal is for this family to be reunified, then she will, she promises herself, do everything in her power to make that happen.  She will help pave the road home.

September 9, 2016

When Love Runs Out

I have so much love to give!  When people ask you why you became a foster parent, that might be your answer.  Because I have so much love to give!  As if somehow you have more love than anyone else.  As if, in some miraculous way, your heart is bigger than average.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize, however, that commenting on how much love you have is only half the answer.   Or maybe, if you’re truly honest, is not the right answer at all.  You understand now that what you really mean is, I became a foster parent because I thought I had so much love to give . . . and because I wanted a child to love me back. 

Is that so wrong?  To give and expect something in return?  To smile and be rewarded with a sweet grin in response?  To open your arms and feel little arms squeezing you back?

It’s not wrong, necessarily.  It’s human.  You were made to give and receive, to love and be loved.  To feel satisfaction from knowing that someone adores you as much as you adore him.

So what happens when it’s not reciprocal?  When you give and love and reach and smile and extend and offer, and you get nothing in return?  What happens when love runs out?

August 26, 2016

Such a Joy!

A picture, so they say, is worth a thousand words.  But every once in a while a picture needs a thousand words to explain it!

A few days ago I posted a picture on social media, a photo my daughter snapped of me feeding a baby with two other children climbing on my lap and another little guy getting ready to give me a hug.  The caption reads, Such a joy!  And it is 100% true!  In that one moment, there is nothing else I would rather be doing and nowhere else I would rather be!  My days as a foster parent are often full of smiles and kisses and snuggles.  It truly is the #bestjobever!

What the picture does not show, however, and what the caption does not fully describe, are the people in the picture.  The real-life people with real-life struggles, doing the best we can to love one another.  Individuals, sometimes even strangers, whose lives are being intertwined to create this thing we call family.

August 12, 2016

An Ordinary Day

It begins as just another ordinary day.  Well, as ordinary as a day can be in a Third World country.  The feral dogs roaming the streets had been barking most of the night, the sounds of their yelps and snarls freely entering the screenless windows, which are always open in hopes of catching the slightest breeze.  My eyes and throat feel scratchy from the smoke that lay heavy in the sticky humid air, smoke from the debris burning in the surrounding area.  What other options are there when there are piles of trash lining the streets, and no other way of disposing of it?
I carefully crawl out from underneath the net covering my bed, thankful for the protection it has provided during the night.  One of my strongest fears is becoming sick in a foreign country, so I protect myself as best as I can against mosquitos whose bites could infect me with malaria or Zika or other strange tropical diseases. 

Before joining the rest of our mission team for the day, I brush my teeth, remembering to use clean bottled water.  Although the guest house where we are staying does have running water, we have to be careful not to ingest it, knowing it could be contaminated with bacteria that would surely make us ill.  After being in Haiti for only a few days, and seeing the level of poverty all around me, I am thankful for running water at all.  And a bed.  And electricity.  In this country, those things I normally take for granted are pure luxuries!

We all pile into the back of the large truck, and venture out into the bustling city of Port-au-Prince.  Despite the early hour, the streets are already filled with vendors selling their bananas and water packets and suspicious-looking pharmaceuticals; goats and pigs and dogs rummaging through the debris; mothers lined up at the well, waiting to pump water into their buckets to use for cooking and bathing their children; adults and children carrying their belongings in large bins balanced perfectly on top of their heads; mounds of rubble and broken down buildings that remain, even though it’s been 6 years since the devastating earthquake that destroyed their city; and unbelievable traffic, cars and trucks and motorcycles and bicycles and colorful “tap-taps” erratically zipping in and out of imaginary lanes at dangerously high speeds, miraculously avoiding the brave pedestrians. 

At home in the U.S., if I need something, or even if I don’t, I simply drive my air-conditioned SUV through my tree-lined suburban neighborhood to the local super center.  A quiet, predictable journey there and back.  And if I use the self-checkout while I’m there, I may not ever speak to a single person. 

So here in Haiti my mind has trouble processing all of the sights and sounds and smells that are simultaneously assaulting my uninitiated senses.  It’s shocking and slightly traumatizing.  It’s almost impossible to imagine that for the people who live here, this mass of humanity is normal.  For them, this is another ordinary day.  A day of trying to survive.  Of trying to eek out a living and feed their families. (1)  Of living in constant danger of disease, crime, and exposure to the elements.
A few miles outside of the city we turn into a large gated property overlooking the gorgeous blue-green waters of the Caribbean Sea.  We are here to meet and serve alongside an amazing ministry that uses soccer as a tool to reach children and their families in the community.  

It makes sense, really . . . a few days ago we had interviewed over 150 children for a sponsorship program.  One of the questions we asked each child was, “What is your favorite activity?”  Every boy, without exception, had exactly the same answer:  Foutbòl!

I freely admit that I am not a sports fan.  As I often say, “I may have many talents, but athletic ability is not one of them.”  Fortunately, however, there are other ways to be involved today than just playing soccer.  In partnership with a world food organization, every child who participates in this sports ministry – all 1,300 of them! - is served a meal when they arrive.  

Equipped with a tiny “kitchen”, which is really just a free-standing building the size of a closet with no electricity or running water, a large pot, a  serving spoon, and an open fire, the cook prepares rice and beans for the children.

What a joy to serve bowls of food to these hungry children!  I’m sure their coaches reminded them as they stood in line, but almost every child, as I passed them their bowls said sincerely, Mèsi!  Thank you!  

When they were finished, they handed their bowls to the clean-up crew, who scraped, washed and rinsed the bowls in their basins of hand-pumped cold water.  The guys who scraped the remains had an easy job . . . most of those bowls were licked clean, with not one grain of rice remaining!

One teeny little guy with arms like twigs, had been brought via public transportation from a nearby orphanage.  The director there had practically begged this ministry to allow their children to participate, knowing that it would mean some nutritious food, exercise, and social interaction.  Earlier in the week our team had visited an orphanage, and saw first-hand that the only place to play outside was a small concrete courtyard, barely large enough for all of the children to stand, much less play.  Absolutely these orphaned children needed fresh air and room to run!  They were so small and under-nourished, however, that it would have been impossible to pair them with children their own age.  So the 8-10 year olds from the orphanage played on the team with the 4-6 year olds . . . and sadly, they fit right in!

So here is this little 9-year-old-the-size-of-a-4-year old, obviously one of the puny kids from the orphanage, standing in front of me asking for a bowl of food.  I know that his team has already come through the line, and I had been given strict instructions not to hand out second servings.  So I ask him, as gently as possible if he had eaten already.  T'ou manje deja?  He looks at me with total innocence and shakes his head no.  Unfortunately, the Haitian women serving alongside me notice the tell-tale pieces of rice still sticking to his lips, and begin to reprimand him – whether for coming through the line again or for lying, I don’t know.  I barely understand a word of Creole, but their tone is clear, and this little boy is in trouble.

He starts to cry, deep guttural sobs, and my daughter instinctively reaches to pick him up and comfort him, ignoring the tears and snot that are running down his face and onto her arm.  Shhhh, she whispers to him, rocking him and attempting to comfort him.  He just keeps crying, over and over again, Mwen grangou!  I’m hungry!

My whole life, I have heard of “all those starving children in the world,” but today I saw him.  I touched him and held him and saw his tears.  I saw his scrawny limbs and felt his bony ribs.  It was devastating!  Even if I could speak his language, however, what could I possibly say to this hungry little boy in front of me?  God loves you?  What does that even mean to a starving child?  Is it even true?

I thought I was coming on this mission trip to share the love of God with the people of Haiti.  I even told my friends and family that’s why we were going!  But now, I realize the naiveté of that goal.  Even if I could speak the language, how do I tell the woman with the black eye, most likely the result of domestic violence, All things work together for good?  What do I say to the young man who wants to be a doctor, but instead of going to school, he is practically illiterate because he spends his days helping his father care for their goats and tend their meager plot of land?(2)  Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart?

I hear a kid’s deep wracking cough that is most likely tuberculosis, but what can I do?  The hospitals are all closed because the doctors and nurses are on strike.  And even if medical care was available, the family can’t possibly afford the treatment.  And how would they get there anyway?  On their donkey?  Can I really judge his parents for taking their son to the witch doctor, who uses voodoo to “beat the illness from his body?”  What would I say them? God is good and has a wonderful plan for your life?

When we visited the orphanage a few days ago, I held an infant whose mother had died in childbirth, and whose father brought her to the orphanage with her umbilical cord still attached.  Utterly unwanted and abandoned. As I held that sweet baby, I never even considered malaria or Zika or typhoid or HIV.  All I could do was kiss her as tenderly as I would have my own child, and sing over and over into her tiny ear, Jezi renmen ou.  Jesus loves you.  I want her to know it and remember it and feel it.  

Unfortunately, I know the reality of her situation.  She will most likely spend years, if not her entire childhood, right there in that cold, impersonal orphanage. (3)  Without a family.  Without anyone to love her.  Without the security and attachment and hope that comes from having a mother and father who are fully committed to her.  Even if she remembers the words, how can she possibly understand Jezi renmen ou?  What does it mean to her?

In spite of the desperate, unimaginable hardships and the daily struggle for survival, God’s Word is still true.  I know it is!  His love is still real.  His promises are every bit as applicable for the destitute people in Haiti as they are for the affluent people in the United States.

If I could speak their Creole, or if these precious people of Haiti could understand my English, here is what I would say:

We are all broken, my friends.  It’s just that sometimes our brokenness looks different.  Your brokenness is visible and obvious and heartbreakingly transparent.  My brokenness, though I have perfected the art of hiding it, is every bit as tragic and painful.  I won’t pretend to understand what it is like to live in poverty, every day a struggle for survival.  But my life of privilege does not make me immune to brokenness.  I understand all too well what it means to live in darkness, paralyzed by fear and anxiety and guilt.  Trapped in my sin.

God is the Healer.  He is the One who can restore and renew and rebuild what the enemy seeks to destroy.  He is the One who sacrificed His own son in our place, so that we might find joy and hope and purpose.  Those can only be found in Him!  The abundance of my possessions and financial security can never give me joy, just as the desperation of your poverty can never steal your joy.  Our God is the author and source of our hope, and once we have found true hope in Him, nothing and no one and no circumstances can ever take that away.

We are brothers and sisters in Christ, you and I. When I see you standing in your little rural church, both arms raised in praise to God, my heart soars right alongside yours!  I may not understand your words, but God does! 

When you weep, my heart mourns with you.  When your child is starving or suffering from a preventable disease; when your family is broken and when babies are abandoned; when your dreams for the future are crushed under the weight of reality . . . I see your tears.  And more importantly, God sees your tears!  He counts them.  Not one of them is wasted.

Absolutely, I can say to you, with full confidence and assurance and conviction, Bondye renmen ou.  God loves you.  And you can remind me, when I am so prone to forget, that God loves me too.  Oh, how we need to encourage one another with frequent reminders of that beautiful truth.

Long after my visit to Haiti is over and I have returned to the familiar world I know, I can continue to pray for you.  I can pray that, even in your dire circumstances and sparse resources, your faith would be strengthened.  That He would dwell richly in your hearts, and that you would be able to comprehend the riches of His love for you. (4)  

And guess what?  That’s exactly the same prayer that I need from you!  That my faith would be strengthened!  Not complacent in my comfortable and convenient life, but fully dependent upon Him.  Trusting fully in His sufficiency.

Once we truly understand the joy and hope and freedom that can be found in Christ; once we experience abundant life that can only be found in Him – a life that has nothing to do with our physical circumstances; once our hearts are alive and fully surrendered to Him . . . we will never be the same.

When Christ opens our eyes, we will never see the same.  When He breathes life into our hearts, we will never feel the same.  His love and His truth and His promises – they change everything.  In Christ, our lives have new meaning and purpose.  True joy and hope and peace and freedom. 

Once we comprehend God’s incredible love for us and all that He has given us in Christ, never again will we be the same.  Never again will we have “another ordinary day.”

1.   The unemployment rate in Haiti is more than 70%.  The average annual income is a mere $400 per year (compared with $33,000 in the United States).  It is the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.
2.   Over 50% of the population in Haiti is illiterate.
3.   Due to violence, AIDS, and maternal mortality rate, 15% of all children are orphaned or abandoned – the highest percentage of orphans in the Western Hemisphere.  Of the estimated 750,000 orphans in Haiti, less than 150 were adopted last year.

4.   For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name, that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner man, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; and that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled up to all the fullness of God. – Ephesians 3:14 - 19