Waiting... and other profanity

I like plans. I like having a plan. A good plan, that sounds clean and well-thought-out and impressive. I like being able to tell people that I have a plan and it’s a good one. In fact, I am totally freaked out and unhinged by the lack of a plan, especially when it is in fact my life that is plan-less.

 There is also apparently this phenomenon where, when you live in community with other humans with whom you converse and who know you or are marginally acquainted with you, they ask you questions and want to know things like, “what are you up to now?” (translation: What’s the plan?). That is all well and good when you are a well-composed human with one of those good plans to tell people about.

I, on the other hand, am neither well-composed, nor plan-having, or perhaps even truly human-feeling these days. Since my return to the US almost five months ago I have been flailing about and almost drowning in this disorienting, directionless ocean I call Waiting.

For me, Waiting has mostly looked like some conglomeration of activities including, but not limited to: living with my parents and working at the family cigar shop, going to College Station to see horse and people every other weekend, sitting up late at night and googling hospitals then wondering whether I should apply to them then freaking out and not being able to fall asleep for a long time, thinking about Haiti a lot, traveling with my best friend in Memphis and having an epic road trip adventure to the Grand Canyon, moping about in self-loathing over the fact that I am “that loser college grad living with the parents and not having a plan,” routinely thinking each month that maybe this time next month I’ll be back in Haiti.

But even more than all that, I think Waiting has been an exercise in resisting the Lord’s attempts to still me, quiet me, teach me, refine me. Because when I give in, He shows me how beautiful Waiting can be. He is trying to show me that I don’t need a plan, I need Him and if Waiting is where He wants me, then it is the Holiest place I can be; that there is living and loving and serving to be done right here in the Waiting and it doesn’t require a plan or career or mission.

He is trying to show me I can walk on these waters if I will only keep my eyes on Him, but the waves are high and scary and I can’t see the shore that is coming next and people are asking me “what’s the plan” and… that’s why I am choking on saltwater instead of walking hand in hand with Him. I have been living in fear of people instead of fear of the Lord. So instead of Waiting being the sanctuary He intended, I spit it out like a bad word and try over and over to compose one of those impressive-sounding plans.

Forgive me, Lord. You are the Author.

“He said to me I was a tree in a story about a forest, and that it was arrogant of me to believe any differently. And he told me the story of the forest is better than the story of the tree.” –Donald Miller

Not The End

I’m not sure how this is possibly true, but it is already November 11th which, besides meaning that I’m another year older, lamentably means I am getting on a plane to the US tomorrow. (I am also lamenting that twenty-four doesn’t rhyme with “fancy-free,” but that’s not important.) I would expect myself to be a conflicting mess of emotion on this last day in Haiti but I am finding myself remarkably peaceful today. It is hard to be anything but thankful. Thankfulness fills you up like too much guacamole and makes it rather impossible to concurrently be sad or stressed or anxious.

Last year I read the book One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp and learned a lot about practicing thankfulness. And it does take practice to be thankful. If I were to make a list of the things I am thankful for from the past three months I can’t even fathom how long it would be. There are simply no words to describe how incredibly blessed I am.

I honestly don’t want to try to come up with some eloquent speech about all of the lessons I’ve learned and the moral of the story and the conclusion to my time in Haiti. For one thing, my overwhelming feeling is that this is not the end, that I have more adventures awaiting me in this beautiful place. The planes fly both ways and I’ve got a lot of Home Sweet Hispaniola to still explore.

I also know that each chapter is beautiful in its own way. God likes to amaze us and He is never going to run out of creativity in doing so. There is enough of Him to keep boggling our minds for endless centuries. I feel like my vision in seeing Him has been sharpened here and I want to keep seeing the beauty in everything. I want to keep living this vibrant life, and it’s not just here; it is in Him.

I’m going to keep learning from the past three months for a while to come. I am looking forward to talking about it over and over with a bunch of you people who I’ve been dying to see. There is so much more to tell you about the part of my heart that is staying on this side of tomorrow’s travels.

Today I’m thankful for all of the incredible people I told goodbye today- co-workers, patients, neighbors. I’m thankful for the big, beautiful painted sky above the mountains. I’m thankful for fried plantains, pikliz, and Haitian Coca-Cola. I’m thankful for flowers and bumpy roads and sweating and colors and Kreyol and hugs. I’m deeply, overwhelmingly thankful for Haiti.

The Ones That Stick With You

The Ones That Stick With You

Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it. -Confucius

The five year old boy who came in with altered mental status and irregular respirations. He was intubated and sedated, but kept fighting the vent so was taken back off of it. Had crazy breathing patterns, like really crazy. Other than his disoriented grabs at the ETT tube in his throat when sedation was waning, I never saw him move. I never saw a glimpse of the beautiful normal boy he was before getting sick. We did all the tests we could do. Doctors emailed other doctors and we all scratched our heads. He got worse. Respiratory failure. Heart block. Brain Death. We watched him die without any answers, any idea why. It was hard to see the beauty that time.

The seven year old boy with a massive complicated growth disfiguring his tongue, which hangs out of his mouth letting secretions pour down his front side constantly. I have no idea what caused the mass or what doctors and surgeons will be able to do for him. He also has a strange skin disorder and eye problems. My first interaction with him involved trying to hold down all of his limbs as he tried to fend off the nurse attempting to clean his mouth out, screaming all the while. After that rude introduction I didn’t know how receptive he would be to letting me assess him. Haitians are generally extremely wary and unreceptive of people with any sort of physical disfigurement, so I’m sure this poor boy and his mom had been given a wide berth for some time. With a friendly voice and smile I had a new friend. When I listened to his lungs and heart with my stethoscope he was curious and wanted to take it from me. So I helped him listen to his heart with it and then mine. That got an attempt at a smile out of him. Later in the morning we had to hold him down again so I could pop in an IV and we could clean his mouth again. A tiny toy car reward won him over again and we raced it up and down the bed. There’s no telling how much of his drool I got all over me this week. He gradually started helping us clean his mouth out instead of fighting. He would cry when his mom stepped out for a moment, but if I sat with him and talked to him he would sometimes stop. Love conquers all.

The ten year old girl who had typhoid which caused her bowel to rupture. She had one surgery, got better for a few days, got worse and had another surgery. She came out of the second one with a large abdominal wound and an ileostomy. I held her hand through a lot of dressing changes and tried to reassure her in many, many moments of terror. Her mom couldn’t even stay in the room for dressing changes at first. We all talked ourselves blue in the face with her and her mom, trying to explain what was happening. She didn’t understand. She was so afraid. Yesterday we put a vacuum dressing on her abdominal wound and I tried to calm her while she cried for Jesus and said she was dying. She wrote a note of a prayer asking God to forgive her for her sins and her mother’s sins, which were causing her to die. My heart is broken for this girl. I am so angry with myself for getting so lazy in learning Kreyol that I don’t know how to tell her Truth with my own words. I held her hand and stroked her head and smiled and said the few encouraging phrases I had. She liked to play with the end of my long ponytail and touch my face when I was sitting close to her. I am angry at myself for not having the words for her, I am sad and broken-hearted for the physical pain she is in, I am devastated that she doesn’t understand the earth-shattering love that God has for her. My prayers just don’t seem like enough.


My best friend introduced me to one of my favorite songs, “Farther Along” by Josh Garrels. I listen to it a lot here. Because I don’t understand why any of these sad things happen. I want to trust God that He’s always good. Maybe one day I’ll understand, maybe never. Until then it is enough that He knows.

I’m glad He is big. I’m glad He is a mystery. If He was a God that my small mind could understand He wouldn’t be a big enough God to save me, or any of us.

Farther along we'll know all about it

Farther along we'll understand why

So, cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine

We'll understand this, all by and by

Tempted and tried, I wondered why

The good man died, the bad man thrives

And Jesus cries because he loves 'em both

We're all cast-aways in need of rope

Hangin' on by the last threads of our hope

In a house of mirrors full of smoke

Confusing illusions I've seen

Where did I go wrong, I sang along

To every chorus of the song

That the devil wrote like a piper at the gates

Leading mice and men down to their fates

But some will courageously escape

The seductive voice with a heart of faith

While walkin' that line back home

So much more to life than we've been told

It's full of beauty that will unfold

And shine like you struck gold my wayward son

That deadweight burden weighs a ton

Go down into the river and let it run

Wash away all the things you've done

Forgiveness alright

Farther along we'll know all about it

Farther along we'll understand why

So, cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine

We'll understand this, all by and by

Still I get hard pressed on every side

Between the rock and a compromise

Like the truth and pack of lies fightin' for my soul

And I've got no place left go

'Cause I got changed by what I've been shown

More glory than the world has known

Keeps me ramblin' on

Skipping like a calf loosed from its stall

I'm free to love once and for all

And even when I fall I'll get back up

For the joy that overflows my cup

Heaven filled me with more than enough

Broke down my levees and my bluffs

Let the flood wash me

And one day when the sky rolls back on us

Some rejoice and the others fuss

'Cause every knee must bow and tongue confess

That the Son of God is forever blessed

His is the kingdom, we're the guests

So put your voice up to the test

Sing Lord, come soon 

Farther along we'll know all about it

Farther along we'll understand why

So, cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine

We'll understand this, all by and by

Night Shift

Canucks 

On Tuesday when I stepped onto the unit (‘cause I played hooky and went to the beach on Monday, remember?) it was super weird, like stepping into the twilight zone. I looked around and not a single Haitian nurse was to be found. Instead, there stood half a dozen blonde-haired, blue-eyed white chicks from Canada. I knew this was coming, but I was still startled to find a whole bunch of people who looked like me. Trippy.

This large group of volunteers not only exceeded the number of volunteer bunks at the hospital; it provided an opportunity to do several in-service education days with all of the Haitian nursing staff for the Peds unit. Of course I participated in the classes, because I’ve been here long enough and picked up enough Kreyol that I’m pretty well Haitian now. We made use of the education center in the new hospital buildings across the street that we are expanding to. We went over assessments and ventilator settings and NICU protocols and new unit procedures. It was a really constructive and much appreciated opportunity for the Peds staff. Meanwhile, I got the impression it was an overwhelming few days for the volunteers who were left manning the unit on their own.

When we were on break from the class or done for the day I would go over to check on the ladies on the unit. It was kind of fun to see how comfortable I was with the chaos that was making some of them spazz out. The chaos is totally normal to me now. I embrace it, it feels like home. In lieu of having Haitian nurses I played hostess for them in some ways, being the person most acquainted with where things are, how things are done and so forth. That little overstuffed building feels like home now and it’s fun to feel like I’m not a guest anymore but part of the family.


Night Shift

Since there were so many volunteers in this week it really didn’t seem imperative for me to be at the hospital. I just floated and helped out around the unit, mostly cuddling with the two orphaned kiddos we have on the unit right now or running errands and tracking down supplies. But I just enjoy being at the hospital too much to not be there when there are such fun people to be around and you never know what you will get to see or do there.

Since I could afford to be flexible and my friends Sam and Kensy were going to be working night shift in Peds at the end of the week, I decided to try out my first night shift and see a different side of the hospital. So I lounged around the house all day yesterday, tried unsuccessfully to take a nap in the afternoon, drank a Coke and headed to the hospital at 1700.

It was super chill, quiet, laid back. I started off helping out in the NICU and at midnight I traded with another nurse who was coming on and wanted NICU, so I took a few patients out on the Peds unit. I didn’t ever feel super tired like I was going to fall asleep. I jammed to some tunes on my iphone for a bit. I took time to cheer for the NBA games that were on TV in the unit. When my babies woke up I fed them and held them and spoiled them a little bit. I chatted with my friends. I stood outside and admired the sky. It happened to be the Haitian holiday Day of the Dead yesterday, which didn’t change much for me, except to add the occasional background music of gunfire to the nighttime soundtrack for whatever reason. Before I knew it 0600 was upon us and I handed over my kiddos to someone else and stepped outside.

I knew there was an empty bed where I could lie down if I wanted, but I was too jazzed up from the adrenaline of the night and Coke number two. People commented on how perky I was. I too was surprised at my own energy. So I went up on the roof to enjoy God’s gift to me- my reward for being alive and with open eyes at that hour of the morning. He really knows the way to my heart.

The adventure didn’t end there either. I got drowsy after reading on the roof for a little while so I decided to try to go to sleep in the bunkrooms. Unfortunately, that was also the time that the abundantly large group of Canadians were packing up their things and talking loudly right outside the room. That, combined with a few more bouts of gunfire from the rough part of town behind the hospital put an end to my attempts at such a foolish activity as sleep. So I gave it up as a bad job and joined the crowd outside the rooms and ate some delicious breakfast spaghetti. I wandered around the complex a bit and harassed a few people, then found my way back to the unit. It was turning out to be quite busy in there so I made myself useful by holding cute babies and such. Then it got really busy and despite my excuses about being ridiculously sleep deprived, I felt quite alert again (I was onto Coke number three) and when the Meadows arrived to pick me up at 1230 I had just masterfully placed an IV in a little baby and was giving a fluid bolus.

Which brings me to this point- sitting upright at 1730, almost 36 hours from my last pillow-contact. Not really sure how this is happening. I think I am starting to slightly detach from reality. I have snapped back a couple times from zoning out while typing mid-sentenceeeenaoiwdnwfoa;iewnt……….

Whew. I’m back. There you are. At this point it only really makes sense to persevere for a few more loopy-headed hours and then crash in a major way at Senior Citizen hours. I will say though, I never thought I would enjoy and have the energy for a night shift, but when you are with awesome people doing what you love, midnight is no different from noon. I was also legitimately bummed to leave the hospital when I did- there was stuff going on and I didn’t want to leave, not for sleep or anything. That’s when you find out that you really are doing what you are meant to do. When you don’t want to walk away for food or sleep or a shower, because it’s just good and it feels like it matters and it fills your soul more deeply than any of those other things. And even though I’m just volunteering, this work is making me rich, deeply rich.


Pray
I still don’t know what happens next. Please send up some mega prayers for direction. Pray that my last week (ack!! super lame-o!!) is purposeful and so good. Pray that I would have peace in leaving, even if I don’t know for sure when I will be back.

Thanks, friends!! I’ll be seeing most of you very soon!!

Clarity

Clarity 

The rain stopped on Saturday morning. Saturday turned into the clearest, most beautiful day I have yet experienced in this country. The blues and greens were so vibrant. The mountains in the distance looked touchable. No dust. No smog. Dazzling. Like the four straight days of relentless rain were only a fading dream, driven away all the faster by the striking color of real life.

It is amazing to me how quickly I could forget about the misery of the storm in the beauty after the fact. As we drove down the mountain to our new house that we were thankfully able to move into given the abatement of rain, it was almost easy to overlook the evidence. But there it was, the signs that showed how insulated we were in our four strong walls and how different the previous few days were for so many other people.

It worries me how easy it is to forget as soon as the thing has passed. We pray and pray for the crisis and feel it so acutely, and then the sun comes out and it does, it fades like a dream and we forget that we should still be praying- in thanks for the sun, for healing from the wounds. If only the crystal clarity that I saw in the day-after would be afforded to our minds at the same time. I feel like mine is far too often stuffed dumb by bits of lint and bad music. What if we kept praying?

 I was once compared to Dori from “Finding Nemo”- I can only hope due to the elastic versatility of my face in pulling many humorous expressions much like my marine animated doppelganger. But also, what if my attention span is too much like hers? What if I am too quickly and easily distracted? I get up off my knees too readily, it’s uncomfortable and I start to squirm and think of how my feet are going to sleep and I’m bony and the ground is hard and….

I also wish I could speak whale….

 Case closed. For those of you that are less easily distracted, please kick me in the shins and let’s keep praying for Haiti and those that are hurting or homeless from the storm.

Hair

Today I enjoyed tagging along with my friend Cody and his family on a return trip to the beach. Man, I still love the countryside. It has more green things and animals and space and naked children. Fantastic. We made the drive in a turd of a van with no AC, so windows down. I loved it.

I have to brag a little about how I also achieved what I considered to be the perfect windswept surfer chick hair today. My lion’s mane usually tends in the direction of that type of thing when it tends towards anything, given it is not accustomed to taking orders of any kind and more often does what it wants. If you were wanting to know, the trick to the PWSCH (perfect windswept surfer chick hair) do is a combination of the hair product salt + chlorine + seaweed + street dust, and the stepwise styling techniques of soaking + sun frying (repeated 4-5x) + car window drying. The downside to the PWSCH do is that it smells like a combination of dead sea creatures and burning trash and it required half a gallon of conditioner and a miniature pick-ax to undo it. Ah, the price of beauty.

On another note, I would like to open pre-registration for the Winter Tan Competition. It is open to all of you people posting statuses about Pumpkin Spice Lattes and scarves and fall while I am enjoying the perpetual summer of my tropical paradise. In exchange for me getting to flaunt my brown skin when I get back to Texas, you get to laugh as I go into climate shock since I haven’t worn anything but shorts for the last 9 months.

Cheers! (My favorite Aussie/British-ism, learned from my new Aussie/British friend, Sam!)

Floods

Floods

This is day two of sitting on a comfy bed in a strong house and watching the wind and rain pound against the walls. It is the first time since being in this country that I have worn jeans and a sweatshirt, which is refreshing even though I am a good Texas girl that loves the heat. We discharged half of the pediatric unit at the hospital on Tuesday and there is a large group of volunteers in this week, so I know no one is the worse off for the fact that I am unable to make it down to work. So I can relax and enjoy the opportunity to read and watch movies and think and pray.

But I cannot ignore that there are hundreds of thousands in the few miles around me that sit shivering under tarps or tents or shanties in the mud, soaked through along with all of their few possessions, in fear of floods and mud and collapsing roofs and falling branches. It is for them that I keep asking God over and over to please, please calm the storm, end the rain, dry the waters. His voice has commanded storms before, I know it, so I am going to ask and ask again until He does.

At the end of last week I feel like God was showing me some ways in which I have become complacent, even in this place. I see how I have been content with less than everything God could accomplish through me. I wonder at how easily I can make it through the day, surrounded as I am by suffering, poverty, hunger, sickness and not pray, not speak the Gospel with my words or actions, not live with any sense of urgency or eternity. Blegh, disgusting! It is as if the enemy is in the background of our mind, playing a lullaby to slowly and subtly sway us into spiritual sleep. We can be on guard against outright attack and not even notice that he has already lured us into ineffectiveness for the kingdom. I can delight in the Lord’s graces and beauty in this land all I want, but if I am focused only on receiving then I am not bringing God’s kingdom here on earth; I am useless.

I am seeing a lot of ways that I haven’t been actively conditioning myself as a warrior- in prayer, in proclaiming the Gospel. It is not enough for me to serve my patient’s physical needs or be a joyful and uplifting presence among the hurting. Those things aren’t bad, but they are not enough.

Speaking of enough, you know that movie “Enough”? Where J-Lo gets driven to her breaking point by her abusive ex and gets all ninja and kills him so he can’t hurt her or their daughter anymore? Great movie. That’s kind of how I feel about my spiritual state. Jesus is in this temple turning over tables. Enough is enough! Get behind me Satan! I’m sick of being lured so easily into spiritual sleep! We are at war! What will it take to live in the power of the Spirit? That’s what I want!

Whew, sorry. My mind is such a mess. In addition to these realizations, I have been reading Radical by David Platt and trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do with my life after this initial stint in Haiti. I feel torn open, like all these thoughts are too big for my little mind. Like the floods that are happening outside all around, the Spirit is flooding my heart. Pouring all these things into me at once, I can hardly sort them out or catch my breath.

So I think I’m just going to let go. I’m going to be swept away. Because this flood is overwhelming and it is wild and good and it is taking me closer to the heart of God and radically transforming my life into one that is never content with enough or lured into sleep but is effective for the kingdom of God and the Gospel in this world. I am a warrior, and wherever my next battlefield will be, or where it is currently, I must be on the offensive. No sleepy-headed, lackadaisical guard duty for this girl.

Your love is deep, Your love is wide

And it covers us

Your love is fierce, Your love is strong

It's furious

Your love is sweet, Your love is wild

And it's waking hearts to life!!

(Jeremy Riddle, Furious)

Home

Light bulbs 

It is so easy to take for granted the things that are always there. One of the great things about being in Haiti is that you can hardly take anything for granted, nothing is consistent enough. Not water, or electricity, or supplies. We almost had a party in the Peds unit this week when we got a special delivery of blue UV light bulbs to treat our jaundice babies. For quite some time we have had 3 semi-functioning bili lights out of the 12 bulbs that are needed for our three units. I almost danced a jig this weekend when my friends shared their chocolate candy with me. I feel such immense relief every evening that I get to take a hot shower, since there have been many times that I have been super nasty and we haven’t had water or electricity to take one. I was so excited when I started an IV on a tiny baby this week. Hopefully that will one day be a simple thing for me and even then I want to be glad each time that I have the ability to do it.

Furthermore, it’s hard to take for granted things that people around you don’t have. I have never in my life worried about having enough to eat. But when I hold a malnourished baby or talk to a parent who is thrilled with a single meal in a day, how can I not be thankful? I guess this means I am always going to be a cheap date. It’s refreshing to be easy to please; your heart is always joyful.

As I get nearer to heading stateside I find that I’m fearful. Here my heart is so content, so thankful. Life seems simple and beautiful and such a gift. I never want to lose this. I always want to get excited over the little things like light bulbs and hot showers. I want to be content with hardly anything. I want to sit and watch the stars or the sunrise or sunset and feel as rich as royalty. As I walk back into America’s holiday season consumerism I want to be a fortress, my heart immovable. This is my prayer.

Home

“Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid.” -Frederick Buechner

In orientation classes this week we practiced code situations, when the patient needs CPR and respiratory support. It turns out that was great timing. Thursday afternoon we received a six-month old from another clinic that was in respiratory failure and needed to be intubated. Nothing like walking out of class and seeing the procedure and giving the meds you just talked about- getting the supplies, sedatives, paralytics, problems getting the tube in, bagging the patient in between attempts, taping the tube, setting up the ventilator. Knowledge in action.

On Friday I walked on the unit and took up my post for the next few hours. That same girl was not getting enough respiratory support from the ventilator and so I spent two and a half hours bagging her with an ambu bag while half a dozen people tried every different setting on the vent to get it to support her oxygenation. I would have to switch hands every so often when my hand was getting tired. My friends and I joked about how muscular my thumbs were going to be and I told them how I was going to dominate them at thumb war after that workout. Despite our joking we knew that she was not in good shape. When there weren’t people buzzing around us I would stroke her head with my free hand. She was so beautiful. Please God, this girl needs your help. 

Her lungs sounded like they were underwater. She was developing signs of shock. We alternated between giving her diuretics to try and get fluid out of her lungs and giving her fluid to try and maintain her perfusion. The ventilator didn’t work as well as my bagging because the fluid made so much resistance in her lungs and I had to use a lot of pressure to push air in. We had to start her on dopamine to support her circulation. We needed to start another IV and no one could get one in. I felt like my eyes were glued to the monitor willing the little waveforms and numbers to stay high enough: enough oxygen, enough blood pressure, enough heartbeats in a minute. After bagging her for almost three hours we finally got the settings on the ventilator to replicate the motion of my tired hands and I got to go have a break and get some breakfast.

It wasn’t long after I came back to the unit before her body gave up the fight. For about thirty minutes we fought for her. We pushed meds in her veins, pumped her heart, bagged her lungs, and willed her body not to give up, willed it to keep on living. I was mostly on medication duty- drawing up doses of epi, bicarb, calcium gluconate. But I took my turn at chest compressions and it was my very own hands that had to stop pumping her heart when we decided to let her go.

When we finished pulling off monitor leads and tape, taking out tubes, washing off blood and fluids, changing her and wrapping her up she was the prettiest, most peaceful little girl. I didn’t cry for her. She is home. And God is still good. He is always good, even in the hard things that I don’t understand. Especially in the hard things.

I recently re-read the Chronicles of Narnia. The final book, The Last Battle makes me long for heaven like nothing else. That is our home. Glory be to God that He made a way for us to get there.

“It was the Unicorn who summed up what everyone was feeling. He stamped his right fore-hoof on the ground and neighed, and then cried: ‘I have come home at last! This is my real country! I belong here. This is the land I have been looking for all my life, though I never knew it til now. The reason why we loved the old Narnia is that it sometimes looked a little like this. Bree-hee-hee! Come further up, come further in!’” (C.S. Lewis, The Last Battle)

We had another little boy, about a year old, at the hospital on Friday that was abandoned by his parents. That afternoon we didn’t have a bed for him, so I just held him and we snuggled while he fell asleep on my chest. I thought about how God was holding that little girl who died. I thought about how precious that little orphan was to him. Snuggling that sweet boy blessed my soul. It was one of those moments when this world feels a little like my real home. He is so dear to our Father’s heart. What a privilege that I got to love on him. I love my job. The hard things are hard. The beautiful things are so beautiful. God is at the center of both.

Escape

Yesterday my friend Cody took me to the new Rebo coffee shop. Uhh-mazing. What a freaky experience, in stepping into that swanky, air-conditioned building we stepped right out of Haiti. Seriously, I was transported back to Italy, thinking of sipping cappuccinos in Castiglion Fiorentino. It was far too fancy to remind me of the coffee shops that I practically lived in throughout my time at A&M. It was a perfect little escape. Weird to step back out and find myself in the noise and dirt and crowds of hungry people. I love a good coffee shop. And I love Haiti, too. Thanks, Rebo.

Pray 
For every second of my time here. For boldness in speaking of the Lord to the people I work with and care for, to pray for them. For remembering whose I am in all of my interactions. For what comes next.