Dallas

Somewhere in the airspace over Dallas is where I lose it.

I’m not sure what it is. I do okay in Fort Lauderdale. In Florida everyone is coming and going from the Caribbean and the people are so diverse and I’m still feeling excited about being back in America after three months.

But heading into Dallas is different. Suddenly everyone around me looks like a middle-class American soccer mom or business man. And even though I’m elbow-wrestling with the next person for two inches of arm rest real estate, I suddenly feel miles away from everyone else. And I sit there simultaneously hoping to stay lost in my thoughts without a word spoken to me so I can cling to every memory, and needing to tell someone everything I just saw and did to make it seem more real and less like a dream. But these people are miles away from me. They could never understand the things I walked through, not even the matching-shirted short-term mission team that was on the flight from Haiti. They have no idea. These people who look like my next-door neighbors are aliens to me.

I think Dallas is where my brain feels the split- two worlds that don’t reconcile. Dallas is where I start to feel like it was all a dream. Because if the kid with the iPad and the Starbucks every twenty feet and the immaculate climate-controlled building are all real, how can my malnourished babies and hurting mamas and dusty streets be real too?? It seems like they can’t possibly both be real. And that’s when the tears just come. Even though I was kissing those babies only hours ago, I feel like I’m losing them into that hazy dream-stuff already. And it scares me. Because the memories of those kids are more valuable to me than anything else in this world. I’m trying so hard to hold them tightly and it feels like they are just falling through my fingers.

And to the next person I just look like any other young American with a nice summer tan. They can’t see the frenzy inside as I cling to my treasures- the faces of babies we lost, and of kids that lived, the grief and joy and love defined by those faces. I’m a Texan girl back in Texas, but feeling like a stranger in a strange land.

It’s been a few days. I’m settling into that uncomfortable feeling. The tension of living with this irreconcilable reality. Re-learning how to live with a heart that is divided between two worlds. I’m feeling grateful for the Savior who spans the distance, who is rock-solid and sure in both places. Because if I know nothing else, I know that He is good, He is love, and He is real. Even in Dallas. 

Stained

Some days it’s hard not to give up on people. Not just some people, all of humanity really. It’s hard when my kiddos die of diseases and traumatic accidents and the like, but when the malicious, intentionally evil things seem to keep ruling this place, sometimes you just want to curl up in a ball and ugly-cry your face off. I know, I’ve done it. When yet another gunshot victim, or head-bashed-in-with-a-rock victim, or repeated-stabbing-with-broken-bottles victim comes in.

For me it’s yet another hydrocephalus baby abandoned at the hospital, or even worse, the days-old, spina bifida baby that was brought to us after being found in a dumpster. In the trash. The baby was thrown in the trash. She was thrown away. She’s doing okay now- cleaned up, eating, getting antibiotics and wound care for the lesions covering her body. But thinking about the evil this baby has endured thus far in her little life, it seems too crushing, like an elephant on my chest. Like I said, it’s hard not to give up on people. We’re so ugly and hurtful and hateful, bent and broken and stained by sin, capable of such unspeakable evil.

This is when I really cannot wrap my mind around God’s love. Because sometimes I think He should just squish us. We deserve it. We deserve to be squished. All of us. Especially by Him. Because really even those of us that look okay on the outside, with the manicured lawn and washed windows, on the inside we’re stained too. The selfishness and hatred that lurks in my heart is as dark as baby-trashing. That’s what is really crushing. And He sees it all, even the stains in me that I don’t even know about. He knows them. He sees yours too. We’re all baby-trashers.

“When the time was right, the Anointed One died for all of us who were far from God, powerless, and weak. Now it is rare to find someone willing to die for an upright person, although it’s possible that someone may give up his life for one who is truly good. But think about this: while we were wasting our lives in sin, God revealed His powerful love to us in a tangible display—the Anointed One died for us. As a result, the blood of Jesus has made us right with God now, and certainly we will be rescued by Him from God’s wrath in the future. If we were in the heat of combat with God when His Son reconciled us by laying down His life, then how much more will we be saved by Jesus’ resurrection life? In fact, we stand now reconciled and at peace with God. That’s why we celebrate in God through our Lord Jesus, the Anointed.” Romans 6:6-11

What the what?! Seriously? I have heard the Gospel since I was knee-high to a grasshopper (obviously an expression; I was knee-high to a Harlem Globetrotter by the time I could stand), but it knocks me on my face over and over again. How God could possibly look down on all this mess and not squish us- to still want us and love us and die for us, enduring all of our darkness, so that our stains might be washed clean. To call us not Despised or Evil, but Beloved. It amazes me sometimes the work that God has done in me, to have taken my capacity to love others from thimble-sized to teacup-sized, a work He continues every day despite my failing. But His Love? His Never Stopping, Never Giving Up, Unbreakable, Always and Forever Love? I think the song “The Love of God” describes it my favorite way:

Could we with ink the ocean fill,

And were the skies of parchment made,

Were every stalk on earth a quill,

And every man a scribe by trade;

To write the love of God above

Would drain the ocean dry;

Nor could the scroll contain the whole,

Though stretched from sky to sky

So I guess I’m not going to give up on humanity today. I’m going to dry my eyes and thank my God and keep loving those despicable people. How could I not? He didn’t give up on me. 

Circus Joy

All of my kiddos are special and important, but there are a handful of them that are tattooed on my heart. They have changed me in a way that makes me know my life is more beautiful forever because they are in it. They are the faces I see when I think about what the Kingdom of God is. I would do anything for these kids and they make me realize I can do so little. Most of them have endured unspeakable evil and still have a smile that could light up an entire town.

Last Sunday we were beyond blessed to be gifted with tickets for a few of our patients, all of them those really special, heart-tattoo kind of people, to an outdoor circus here in Port-au-Prince. It sounded like quite an ordeal to take three patients from the spinal cord injury unit and two from pediatrics anywhere, given the combination of their physical states and our available transportation. Challenge accepted.

It took us about thirty minutes to load up. Three half-paralyzed young adults in an X-terra, wound vacs and wheelchairs and all. The circus brought out the creativity in all of us. The three of them have been at the hospital for months without leaving. By golly, we were gonna make this happen.

The rest of us piled into the land-cruiser. Our amazing drivers gingerly guided us around potholes and through the city. We finally arrived, late, and got unloaded, got wheelchairs through the gravel, and were shown to the front row.

If you’ve ever been to a circus, hopefully it was a joyful and exciting experience. If you’ve ever known beautiful and resilient kids who have endured trauma and illness, I’m sure you have been crazy blessed by them. Can I describe to you what the combination is like? I’ll do my best.

This beautiful teenage girl was paralyzed by a gunshot wound to the neck. She was my patient in the pediatric unit for over a month when I first got here and I was privileged to care for her, encouraging her to be strong as she was fighting infections and enduring care for the massive wounds she’d developed. We transferred her to the Spinal Cord Injury unit about a month ago and now I get to just visit her and be her friend, which is the greatest gift of all. She’s getting so much stronger. She smiles often and jokes with her friends on the unit. They tease me about my Kreyol and she speaks slowly and clearly to help me understand. She is one of my most favorite humans ever.

These two young men are in the Spinal Cord Unit, both paralyzed waist down as well. They have been through horrifying trauma, followed by emotional abuse and neglect from others as a result of their physical injuries, yet still have the biggest beaming smiles I’ve ever seen.

This teenage boy has taught me more about God’s faithfulness than maybe anyone else ever. I plan to share much more about his story another day, but for now just know that his life is a complete miracle. I saw him stand on death’s doorstep over and over again, but never give up- not even when we were doing CPR to keep his heart going twice in one week. Even when he was intubated and on a breathing machine he still managed to give me snarky teenager attitude. Just thinking about this boy gives me joy, let alone getting to go with him on a super fun outing for the first time in two months.

 This sweet kiddo is another miracle. He has a crazy wonky congenital heart defect that usually kids usually don’t survive past infancy without cardiac surgery. It is amazing and beautiful that he is alive and he is just the sweetest ever. He was so enraptured by the circus I could have watched his face the entire time.

So all ten of our entourage made our fashionably late entrance and formed our own front row during the sword swallower’s act. Then this happened…

Which I can totally do, can't you? 

Then a little of this…

Then the magician and his lovely assistant "cut an unsuspecting child in half"! I held my breath...

Can you feel the suspense?! 

Then the clowns, who also double as the super buff male acrobat duo did a fantastic routine to the Lion King instrumental soundtrack, made complete by the ominous rain clouds in the background. 

Not sure why you would want to, but they can

Who's the clown now, huh? 

So then the outdoor circus was interrupted when the ominous rain clouds became an actual downpour. We somehow got our entire crew under a tent, via a combination of wheelchair wheelies and piggy-back rides, to wait it out and had a dance party to the music of the impromptu rain parade. 

But the show must go on! And eventually it did just that...

And one of our friends even made it into the show! 

Then this happened. Yes it really did, in all its tight-panted, bedazzled-vested glory. This is the part where I actually almost peed myself from laughing so hard. 

We came up with a lot of names for this act, most of which aren't appropriate to share here. 

Boom, Baby!! That JUST happened! You're welcome. 

This is real life.

 

Peed. Myself. Laughing. 

Then the grand finale fire show. Definitely the way to go out with a bang. And fireworks, which I don't think any of the kids had seen before. Just amazing. 

Best. Night. Ever. 

What a beautiful celebration of life! The joy and laughter and smiles, oh man. I will never forget that night as long as I live. 

When we got back to the hospital and went to see our friends get settled back into the unit, I poked my head into the NICU and saw the look on the nurse's face. A short while later our evening ended with us holding a premature baby while she died. And you know, I wouldn't separate that part of the night from the rest. Because you have to take it all together. The joy and pain, grief and rejoicing. It's the realest, truest life I've ever experienced. And such beauty lies in the contrast, knowing that it is all God's, both sides a perfect illustration of his faithfulness and love towards us. He is the King of life and death; the author of big and small miracles, like boys who live and a night of circus joy. 

Sorrow and Suffering

"Jesus walked into the little girl's bedroom. And there, lying in the corner, in the shadows, was the still little figure. Jesus sat on the bed and took her pale hand.”

"Honey," he said, "it's time to get up." And he reached down into death and gently brought the little girl back to life.

 The little girl woke up, rubbed her eyes as if she'd just had a good night's sleep, and leapt out of bed...

Jesus was making the sad things come untrue. He was mending God's broken world." (Jesus Storybook Bible)

It has been a number of years since I told Jesus I would follow Him anywhere. Every day I learn more of Him and there will always be more of Him to learn. I could never have imagined all of the places he would take me over the last few years, the things He would lead me through. One thing I know, there is nothing else for me. There is no Kristen without Jesus.

Before a couple years ago, being a nurse was not even on my radar. I had this proud and selfish plan to become a rich, prestigious equine vet and have a big ranch and lots of horses. I’m thankful that God took that plan and replaced it with a love for people and serving them, doing the hard, dirty, undesirable tasks to care for them in their sickness that is nursing. I have learned more of Him through this journey of becoming a nurse than through anything else.

Long is the story that led me to Haiti, to this hospital, taking care of kids in tremendous sickness. It is nothing I could have dreamed up for myself. And I certainly would never have planned the part of the story that involved watching a dozen beautiful kids die over the last four weeks. A couple of them have been on palliative care, broken bodies with brains too injured from hydrocephalus to repair. We have loved and snuggled them until they were gone.

More often we have been fighting death to the last minute- in a code, with CPR, respiratory support, pushing meds, and willing the little bodies to keep going. When we have done all we can there comes a moment when we have to stop, and let go. That moment feels something like going 90-miles an hour and pulling the E-brake, I think.

I have been often amazed at the amount of peace God has poured over me in these moments. As we pull out IVs and wipe away blood and wrap the child in a clean sheet, as we silence monitors and parents start wailing, somehow there is peace. Because I know the Jesus that I serve. And He is there.

“May the Eternal’s answer find you, come to rescue you, when you desperately cling to the end of your rope. May the name of the True God of Jacob be your shelter. May He extend hope and help to you from His holy sanctuary and support you from His sacred city of Zion. May He remember all that you have offered Him; may your burnt sacrifices serve as a prelude to His mercy.” Psalm 20:1-3

Last weekend was different. On Friday morning, three of our kids on the unit coded before noon, meaning they required emergency respiratory support and CPR. Two of them we managed to stabilize. The third one died. It was an avalanche, it just kept coming. Saturday morning, one of the babies that coded the day before coded again and we lost him.

This time I wasn’t peaceful. That boy was so strong and healthy only days before. I wanted him back. I was frustrated with God. And I was frustrated that my boy, a teenager who has been my patient for five weeks, had coded again and was doing so poorly. I have been praying, begging God for this kid, he is wrapped up in my heart a hundred times over. Heal, Jesus, heal him, like you do in the Bible, like you have done in my heart so many times, like I know you can. Why is he getting worse and not better after all he has been through? These kids are so sick. Where are you??

 Fear, sadness, frustration, brokenness- it washed over like a storm. And like so many times before, Jesus called out and calmed the storm. He was there all along. He was holding us all in His hand.  

“As for those who grieve over Zion, God has sent me to give them a beautiful crown in exchange for ashes, to anoint them with gladness instead of sorrow, to wrap them in victory, joy, and praise instead of depression and sadness. People will call them magnificent, like great towering trees standing for what is right. They stand to the glory of the Eternal who planted them.” Isaiah 61:3

One of my dear friends introduced me to a book that has been an illustration for my life in so many ways, Hinds Feet on High Places, an allegory describing a young woman’s journey with the Shepherd to the High Places of Love. Along the journey Jesus chooses companions to help her on the way, Sorrow and Suffering. She doesn’t understand the choice and is fearful at first, but they are the strong helpers that get her through the hardest places and are ultimately transformed into Joy and Peace. I never thought I would be walking hand in hand with sorrow and suffering on a daily basis, but here I am. And it is difficult and full of pain, but blessed.

“There is absolutely no experience, however terrible, or heartbreaking, or unjust, or cruel, or evil, which you can meet in the course of your earthly life, that can harm you if you will but let me teach you how to accept it with joy; and to react to it triumphantly as I did myself, with love and forgiveness and with willingness to bear the results of wrong done by others. Every trial, every test, every difficulty and seemingly wrong experience through which you may have to pass, is only another opportunity granted to you of conquering an evil thing and bringing out of it something to the lasting praise and glory of God.

“You sons and daughters of Adam, in all your suffering and sorrow, are the most privileged of all beings, for you are to be perfected through suffering and to become the sons and daughters of God with his power to overcome evil with good.“ (Hannah Hurnard)

On a daily basis I discover more questions without answers; hard, ugly things I will never understand in this life, the fruit of a broken world. However, I am reminded over and again of the things that I do know to be true. Of God’s great and everlasting goodness and love towards us, I have no doubt. Because even when I’m broken and crying and banging my fists on His chest, there is nothing and no one else that is Love. And Love always wins. It is winning even now, in the moments when the last breath is gone and the mama is crying and it appears that Death is winning. That is the lie. Love is the Victory. He is making the sad things come untrue. So what else is there but to continue to love? I know of nothing.

I’m thankful to have stepped away for a few days, a chance to grieve. I’m thankful for an afternoon in the mountains. I’m thankful for beautiful, joyful living children that remind me what the Kingdom of God is about. I’m thankful for the reminders of people I love, pointing me to the cross and telling me that Jesus knows everything about the pain that I feel. I’m thankful for His very own words, reminding me to keep asking, seeking, knocking, never giving up. Every time this heart is crushed down and broken with pain, somehow He fills it full to bursting with joy again. That is just His way.

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done.

 “Love others well, and don’t hide behind a mask; love authentically. Despise evil; pursue what is good as if your life depends on it. Live in true devotion to one another, loving each other as brothers and sisters. Be first to honor others by putting them first. Do not slack in your faithfulness and hard work. Let your spirit be on fire, bubbling up and boiling over, as you serve the Lord. Do not forget to rejoice, for hope is always just around the corner. Hold up through the hard times that are coming, and devote yourselves to prayer. Share what you have with the saints, so they lack nothing; take every opportunity to open your life and home to others.” Romans 12: 9-13