Photo of the Week 4/2-4/9

I was walking through The Hole with one of the short-term mission teams and as I passed by a little alleyway, I saw her.  I am rarely taken back by anything in The Hole anymore but for some reason she made me stop.  She hardly noticed me at first but I don't like to take pictures of people without their permission so I quietly greeted her in creole and asked if I could take her picture.  I snapped a shot of her and her son and then asked in Spanish how old he was.  No response.  She didn't speak Spanish.  I pointed to him and then held up a number one, then two, then three.  She shook her head and held up the number one.  One month old.

I am not sure why she struck me so.  I've seen a Haitian woman before.  I've seen a Haitian baby before.  I've even seen a Haitian woman bathing a Haitian baby before.  But she caught me unexpectedly.

One of the biggest commonalities our two cultures share is motherhood.  And I can't even tell you how much my eyes have been opened since I've become a mother myself.  And although I only stood at her doorstep for twenty seconds, I couldn't keep her out of my mind for hours after.

I wondered about her life and the things she did daily.  A simple task like bathing a newborn can be a little more challenging in a washbasin with cold water.  Her son clearly was not enjoying himself.  I thought of my own babies during bath time in a comfortable baby bath shaped like a cradle with warm water and lavender-smelling suds.  Neither of my kids ever made a peep during their baths.  In fact, I would suffice to say it may have been their favorite time of day.

I wondered if she had a husband that cared for her like mine does.  Someone who supports her dreams and encourages her in all aspects of her life.  Do they lie in bed at night talking about the funny things their other kids say or the new noise the baby is making now?  Do they go through the next days' agenda, planning out who is going to do what and where help is going to be needed? Do they even have a bed?  Or an agenda?

Does she have a mother that adores her and who sacrificed everything so that she could go to school, play sports, indulge in creativity and art?  Or a father who taught her how to shoot a perfect free-throw or who played catch in the front yard as the sun was setting on the day?  Or sisters who fought with her, like all sisters do, but when push came to shove would drop everything to be there for her?  Did she even have a mom? or a dad? or sisters?  Were they there when the Earthquake hit?  Did they make it through? Did they only come to Santiago because everything they had in Haiti was destroyed?

I know nothing about her and I have never walked a mile in her shoes -- or an inch, for that matter.  But for all I know she is happy.  Basking in the glow of being the new mom of a healthy baby boy.  Going about her day, checking things off her mental list of things to do, taking one moment at a time.  Something as simple as bathing her baby; him, exercising his voice box -- her calm and peaceful, reminded me of how many bath times I've rushed my kids through.  Sometimes raising my voice at them because they wanted to play longer than I wanted them too.  In no time at all, her little newborn will be walking and talking and in no time at all I will be sending mine off to college.  

I think it's time I stop and smell the lavender suds.

Photo of the Week...7/17-7/24

we'll just call this week's photo of the week, broken heart: week #2.

although i cannot share all the details of this story, just trust that it's a good thing you don't know them.  and although it would be easy for me to make this entire post about how unfair life is and how awful people are, God showed me very clearly that regardless of what humans do, He is still in control.  He will take what people intend for evil and make it good.

***

as he strolled into the clean, church building you could almost cut the tension with a knife.  people's eyes were already welling up with tears, although we were trying hard to not let him see.  he calmly joined the silent group with a tentative smile on his face.  i tried to smile, wondering how on earth he could even muster one up.

this week was for him.  and although others were there, he was the inspiration.  a deaf teenager, living in a trash dump, never learning an actual language to communicate with others.  on this island, children with deformities or disabilities are often cast aside like the daily trash.  they are not cared for.  they are seen as a hindrance.  most of the time they are taken to a government orphanage so someone else can deal with them, that's if they aren't aborted first.  but Yordy's mom loves him.  maybe not the way some judgmental hearts might want her too, but she loves him the best she can.

as spanish signing cards were waving around and new conversations formed with hands and expressions, his eyes lit up with hope.  he wasn't the only one anymore.  there were people here that wanted to give him language.  that wanted him to know that he is anything but a castaway.  that he has value and that he belongs to a kingdom that reigns above the dirty river his home sits next to.

i watched him closely, looking for the remnants of his recent horrific situation.  instead of angry or hurt eyes, he smiled so often that i was blown away by this young man still so filled with joy.  but there were moments.  when no one was looking, and just i was watching, the smile would slip away.  his eyes would look downward and his mind would wander.  remembering.  but almost as quickly as his smile left it was almost as if his heart reminded him that today was a new day, and his smile reappeared bigger and brighter than before.

i can't really explain all that those few hours taught me in a room full of people, signing a language i barely knew.  but God showed me through a deaf teenager whose future, according to this world, holds nothing but disappointment and ridicule, that joy can be found in every moment.  even amidst our worst nightmares, God has a redemption plan bigger than we could ever imagine.  and His grace extends beyond language, culture or circumstance.

Photo of the Week-2/12-2/19

meet linda (pronounced leen-dah; means cute, adorable, beautiful). hey there, pretty girl. she lives in the hole and she's been my photo of the week before. except before, i didn't know her. before, she cried at the sight of me. before, i hadn't stepped into her world.

it's been a strange transition working so closely to the ministry happening in the hole. i figured i would become more emotionally numb to it since i see it at such close proximity. but, quite frankly, the opposite has happened.

i remember when i was explaining life in the hole to a short-term missions team for the first time after i began working there. i said my usual stuff, expressed the need there, shared how tough life can be. and i cried. like, to the point that i just wanted to jump out of the van, find a corner and curl up in it. it no longer was just a story i told. it was her story. linda's story. i know kids now whose parents leave in the morning to go to work, lock their kids out of the house and make them fend for themselves until they get home. i know girls who are basically child prostitutes with no self-esteem or feeling of worth. i know parents who hardly have enough food to feed themselves, let alone their eight children. and it breaks my heart even more knowing their real life stories.

but for me, what keeps me coming back, what keeps me taking the long staircase down into this dump are the smiles i get when i turn the alley to the church. linda, who was so petrified of me two years ago, is now one of my most enthusiastic welcomers. she will stop whatever she is doing, run barefoot and jump over trash and dirty water just to rest comfortably in my arms. talk about redeeming people. god's already working on her little heart, changing it from fear and uncertainty to trust and love.

Photo of the Week-10/11-10/18

i used to think he was too strict with the kids. he needed to love them more and hug them more. he needed to greet them with a smile and a "Jesus loves you," as they entered the nutrition center.

i was naive.

felix loves these kids more than any of us could ever imagine. he loves them better than any of us ever could. yes, these kids need love and hugs and "Jesus loves you's" but more than any of that they need to learn respect and responsibility and discipline from someone who spends day-in and day-out with them. he shows them love, not just by offering them a passing hug or twenty minutes of holding their hand; but being in the trenches with them. going to hospital visits with them and sympathetically patting them on their head when their father was, yet again, dragged out of their home and arrested for drug possession.

the more time that i spend in The Hole the more i realize what kind of "job" Felix has. he told a group this week that out of the 600 or so families that live in The Hole about 90% of them are, in some way, involved in the drug business. whether it be selling or using or storing or guarding money or being the "debt collector." he is not just trying to win souls for christ. strangely, that could be the easy part. but what happens if they do want to accept christ and change their lives? the next step is saying to these already starving families that they need to leave their only source of income as well. do you want to tell them that?

eleven years of working in the trenches. eleven years of offering hope to people who's only hope lies in white powder and their next fix. eleven years of loving children born unjustly into households enslaved by darkness.

i think twice before i say to myself, "come on, felix, it's ok if he doesn't wear his sandals into the nutrition center." because if felix doesn't expect more from these kids, who will?

Photo of the Week-6/7-6/14

do you see it? do you see it in his smile? the joy of feeling loved written all over his face?

being able to freeze a moment in time is one of the most incredible parts of my job. i have the opportunity to capture life in its purist form. without bias. without agenda. i get to see little ones be loved by people they sometimes only meet for fifteen minutes. and if you only knew how much these little ones crave it. how desperate they are for it. even today two brothers got in a huge fist fight right in front of me. a team member asked me why they were fighting so hard. i told them, "they are fighting over which one gets to hold your hand."

could you imagine? fighting for fifteen minutes of attention? fighting for fifteen minutes of feeling loved by a stranger? its reality for them. someone to love them and hold their hand and tell them they are loved in a language they don't even speak.

pray that god can let them hold onto that truth. that they are loved. even when their new friends leave. even when they feel alone. even when they can't make sense of the things surrounding them. that they find their identities in Christ, and only him. that they understand they are more than the sum of their circumstances. that they realize they are heirs to the throne of an almighty god, who in his sovereignty, intimately knows everything about them.

My Little Minino

Most days he's crying. He either was spanked for doing something wrong or just crying because he's still just a baby. Either way, when I see his giant tears rolling down his little cheeks it gets me every time.

I don't know if I'm the only one he has a "special" bond with or if other people feel it with him too but there's something about that little Minino that makes you feel like you're the most loved person in the world.

He's pretty neglected. His mom just turned 20 and he has 5-year old and 1-year old brothers. I suppose its not easy to raise three kids when you're still a kid yourself. Either way, he is starving for attention most of the time. Most people think he's awnry and a trouble-maker but that just makes me love him more. He's feisty, he almost has to be to survive the older boys picking on him all the time.

He almost always has a bump or a scrape or a bruise and has already knocked out one of his front teeth. He eats entirely too much candy and drinks way too much soda for a toddler. But those things are just accessible where he lives.

But when he sees me, he smiles. Sometimes he likes to pretend that he's not going to smile and it makes him smile even bigger. And sure enough, before long I have this tiny 2-year olds arms wrapped around my neck. I'd squeeze him harder if I didn't think I'd break him.

He's so capable of love and is so in need of more of it. Sometimes I forget that I'm supposed to be doing my job because I get lost in loving this little boy. And sometimes I don't want to put him down and say good-bye because I know it will be three or four more days before I return. Even sometimes, I feel guilty that I love him so much because I have my own son that is about his age. But its almost because of Landon that I can love Minino like I do.

So today, as me and my little guy sat on the stairs leading up to the church he put his little hand in mine. I thought, "Would it be cheesy to take a picture of this right now?" I opted for a "no" and shot it quickly before he decided to take it away.

Now I have a reminder of the love of a little boy that steals my heart weekly and makes me want to be a better mom to my own little boy.

A rare photograph...

Since I am usually behind the lens, it's a rare thing to get a photo of myself. But today I was playing with Minino (my favorite little guy from the Hole) and another one of our missionaries, my friend Lisa, grabbed my camera and started snapping away. So I just had to post one of the photos because it was such a great couple minutes with my little friend. Thanks Lisa!