When It's All Been Said and Done

The day was closing when the gatekeeper came to find Shiela. Someone from Lagosette was pleading to come in to see the nurse. A young man and his sister were supporting a frail woman, their mother, as she hobbled through the gate. She wore a blouse and fitted tweed suit coat, and a linen skirt which tried to escape her thin hips bones. She had dressed well for this important visit, despite her obvious pain. She wore a lace handkerchief over her head to protect her sensitive eyes from light. She may have been 50 years or more, though it was difficult to tell from her sun-aged skin and worn expression, as her pain was her most prominent feature.  She moaned quietly under its weight.

Shiela stopped delivering the meds she was ready to dispense in the baby house and gave her full attention as the young man tried to explain their plight. I was not clear on all the details with my preliminary Kreyol, but from what I could understand, the family had scraped together all their money for a surgery the woman had received a week ago, but since that time, she had experienced blinding pain in her head. They had prescriptions written on well creased paper in hand -- they had not had the money to fill them, but at this point no pill or potion was going to be adequate to address what seemed to be going on inside this woman's head.

They begged for an answer. The pleaded to be able to borrow the money to see a doctor at Milot (MEE-low) hospital. There was nothing Sheila could do to help them with what they wanted. She touched the woman with tenderness and addressed the young man with compassion telling him she understood how difficult this situation was, but in the end she sent them away, believing there had been some complication after the surgery causing a clot, an infection, or some other thing that now left this woman in unbearable pain and possibly dying.

Sheila does not have an exhaustive skill set, medications, or resources to address the need of this one person, let alone the many others who would follow if this family were given the money. She does not have the time in addition to the many children who call COTP home. All she could give was her love, which she did. But this story of one person's life is merely one in a long line of individual people who have come to the gates of COTP in desperation.  As in this case there is not always a happy ending. 

While I saw the love of Christ demonstrated through Shiela's hands and heart, I also saw the raw depth of the curse of sin, alive and well, stealing life and joy and hope. Here I am, in a place where a woman will likely die, and if not, will experience excruciating pain, because she does not have the money to go back to the doctor who operated on her. She has no “back-up plan” for such emergencies. Her children, who desperately sought whatever help they could for her, will likely watch her suffer and expire. There is so little justice for the poor in Haiti. There is so little hope for a brighter tomorrow.

I felt despair in that moment and thought, “Oh Lord, where are you in all this mess? Why am I here? What good can I possibly do in the middle of so much suffering? What do I have to offer? Lord, how I need your eyes to see and your ears to hear. How I need your touch! Oh how Haiti needs your healing balm to wipe away its sin and pain and sadness! Show me how to be a healer in this place, for at times I feel helpless to do a thing on my own!  What do you want me to do?”

I have to confess that I have not been following the prompting of the Spirit in my heart. A number of times lately I have noticed a thought to pray for someone and have not, and I cannot tell you why I didn't just pray for this woman right then and there, except that I just let the moment pass. There was so little to do for the suffering woman, at least from my earthly standpoint, but perhaps God was offering me an opportunity to let go of my own “can do”' mentality and take up a bit of His “I AM”.

I wonder if he is challenging me to seek him in prayer when I feel most helpless and allow him to be God? Perhaps when I am most vulnerable is when I am most teachable. I am working at responding to the tug in my heart and pushing away the inner scoffing that says it is silly, untimely, or unnecessary. I want to live Christ's love and I am learning that in my broken state, all God wants is for me to be used.

This song ministered to me today:

When It's All Been Said and Done (Robin Mark)

When it's all been said and done

there is just one thing that matters

did I do my best to live for truth

did I live my life for you?

When it's all been said and done

all my treasures will mean nothing

only what I've done for love's reward

will stand the test of time.

Lord your mercy is so great

that you look beyond our weakness

and find purest gold in miry clay

making sinners into saints

I will always sing your praise

here on earth and ever after

for you've shown me heaven's my true home

when it's all been said and done

you're my life when life is done.

Stormy Night

Thunderstorms are not the same in Haiti as in MN. In MN, I could watch the clouds gather and grow and growl across the prairie miles before reaching the sky above me, watching from the safety of my sliding glass door. The lightning would first shimmer in the west, gradually growing in intensity and strength.

There seems to be nothing gradual about the development of a thunderstorm where we are living in Haiti. Nearly every afternoon I expect something when the sky takes an overcast light and the mountains rumble with thunder in the distance, but rarely does anything develop. Perhaps that's why this evening's storm was so successful in sneaking up on me. The sky exploded with a gun powder crack and a flash of light, echoing off the distant mountains and reverberating through the valley. Thunder never seemed so near! It was followed by rain with the kind of heaviness that the tree leaves submit to in drooping form, and branches ready to release their hold fall to the ground with loud groans. Two ripe coconuts and a yellow grapefruit fell with a thud, somehow dislodged by the weight of rain against them.

The one-eyed dog came slinking to the porch, whining like a squeaky tricycle, parking beneath the stair to take shelter from heavy drops against his mangy coat. A softball size toad sat in a large puddle enjoying the deluge. The sound of water against the earth was like the constant of car tires on rainy city streets, with louder splashes where the rain pooled and hurled itself from the roof. And oh, the sweep of cool air that rolled in with the rain! A sweet low air, moist with rain, but cool and fresh against the mugginess of the day – completely delicious and calming.

In MN most storms pass, eager to speed across vast spaces, but here the thunder rolls around the hills and valley, bumping against mountains, turning over in the plains. It lingers, using all it's energy before it lays to rest, like a wind-up toy waiting to fully expire before dropping it's chin to it's chest. The storm here feels more raw and present, as many things do.

The only thing that feels the same is the illumination of landscape for a brief flash of light – the kind I remember laying in bed as child, watching the farm flash into view and then disappear back into darkness.

What feels the most different, though, is the knowledge that as I experience this storm within the safe confines of my concrete walls, not far from me people lay side by side on the dirt floors of their homes while the driving rain leaks through their tin-shad roofs. The lightning brightens the one room they all sleep in through the cracks between the bamboo or rice sack walls. This reality existed before I left the safe world I existed in before coming to Haiti and I rarely gave it a though. Now the truth is too close to ignore. God have mercy on me for ignoring the obvious plight of the poor for so long.

A Trip to the DR

Today after our morning staff meeting we decided to take a trip to the DR to buy some groceries. While a number of the same items are available for sale in Cap, the grocery prices are cheaper in the Dominican, and since a visitor needed to return to the DR today, we decided to make it a grocery trip.

Erin, Nikki and I grabbed our shopping bags and squeezed into the cab of the small pick-up with the woman who needed to go the DR. Rikerns drove. Driving in Haiti feels very little like driving in the states. The dirt roads are so filled with potholes and rough rock that “keeping to the right” has no meaning. The bumping and jostling causes your sweaty skin to rub and chafe against whoever you sit next to and those with propensity toward motion sickness are just in trouble. Of course this is the description for riding up front. Riding in back of any vehicle is another story entirely, and I havn't even come close to riding Haitian style in a crowded tap-tap or moto.

There is a good paved road most of the way to the DR, so after riding on rough rural ones, the smooth surface is a treat. Though the speed limit sign indicates 50 kph Rikerns drives at speeds well above and below the limit, using the horn to communicate his presence and intention. The road is shared with numerous vehicles, animals, and people. Motos (motorcycles) bearing anything from a twin size mattress to a family of 5 with bags and packages stuffed between, speed along the outermost part of the lane and we honk to inform them of our advance. There are a few other pick-ups or four wheel drive vehicles, many of them not-for-profit labeled, but some by working Haitians or the wealthy. Interspersed are larger dump truck which rule the road and proclaim their dominance with loud honks. Then there are the tap-taps. These vehicles are usually pick-ups outfitted with a cab and metal railings in which 12-20 people stuff themselves. Sometimes the roofs are also covered with items or additional people. A guy in the back acts as bouncer and fare collector, monitoring who gets on or off.

On the roadsides people ride or drive donkeys and horses with heavy loads. Women sit sideways in woven saddles with woven bags filled with market goods.

We were stopped by Haitian police, twice, doing road-sides checks. They requested our passports, spoke with Rikerns inquiring of our business and allowed us to pass.

Rikerns whizzed in and out of our lane, slowing for speed bumps and children, speeding up in the clearing while acrid smoke burned in my nose from intermittent ditch fires. The land changes from tropical to semi-arid and back again during the drive and the wind in my face and sun on my arm feel comfortable despite the stickiness inside the cab of the pickup.

We arrived at the border around noon. The crossing consisted off a short bridge with a Haitian gate on one end and a Domican Republic gate on the other. No one talked to us or asked for identification. We simply walked across with others. Some guards were busy spraying off tires of vehicles crossing, in an attempt to limit the spread of Cholera, which has not yet reached the DR.

I have just begun to form sentences and thoughts in Creole, but as we crossed the border everything became Spanish. My brain ached as I tried to bring up a simple “hello” in Spanish. As if in gridlock the only foreign words I could form were Creole! I could understand some of the speech but was helpless to respond. By the time we stopped for lunch a short time later, I could remember enough to ask for water, but not much more.

We walked a few blocks further to reach the supermarket. In this town the roads were paved on every street. There were gutters to take waste water and little trash littered the road. Little storefronts lined the streets with quite modern looking items within. The supermarket itself was clean and orderly, like a small version of what you might find in the States. Pricing seemed to vary depending on availability. A small bag of oats was about $6 USD and a box of Cheerios was just over $5. I left the Cheerios in favor of a local box of cornflakes for $2 and splurged on a small tin of olive oil for $7. Local items were better priced such as a local variety of pop for $1 for a 3 litre as was a small bottle of lime juice for the same price. I was also able to buy a large ball of Dutch cheese for $8, which I will split with the Vande Lune's.

We left the store with heavy bags, hailed a modified moto to load up the groceries on. Nikki rode with the moto and our groceries where she'd meet up with Rikerns to load them up, and Erin and I walked back the border crossing to meet her, enduring cat calls and hissing as we walked.

All in all, it took us 5 hours and $300 to drive to the border, have lunch, get groceries, and return home. Things that are easy and inexpensive at home are not so easy or inexpensive here. Of course, adapting to local foods and tastes will be far less expensive, but I guess we take this one step at a time.

Night of Drums

Tonight beyond the song of cicadas and tree frogs there is drumming and chanting loud and long into the night -- clapping, whoops, and frenzied beats. To be honest, I feel unnerved by it and it makes me a little jittery behind my shuttered screens. When a heavy green coconut bounces off the roof and falls to the ground behind me, I jump.

Today there were disgruntled neighbors upset that a goat that had wandered onto the property. It had been cut free from the rope that tangled it in the brush, and sent out the gate. The villagers wanted to know what had happened to the rope and wanted it back, never mind that their goat had been on the property and endangered my laundry.

Personal property is held in a different regard in the sense that if something wanders onto your yard or even out in traffic in front of you, it is your responsibility to keep it from harm. You hit a chicken, you owe some lady for it. A goat comes on your yard and gets hung up from it's long rope catching in the thorny bushes and dies of thirst, well, you just bought yourself a goat for not releasing it sooner. This notion may take some time for me to integrate in any meaningful way! Meanwhile I am watching and trying to learn how to resolve conflicts, Haitian style. Mostly a lot of yelling and gesturing and then negotiating in loud voices.

So even as I type these words, I pray in my heart, for the Lord of Lords and God of all Gods to reign over Haiti tonight. Pray for the peace of Haiti, for true worship to live in her heart, and for the people to be blessed in the worship of Jehovah! I pray for protection of not simply gates and a thorny fence, but the hedge of protection brought by the angels of the Most High! Come, Prince of Peace and claim the heart of Haiti as yours! May your blood make foolish the blood of foul and the waters of your baptism wash cleaner than the waters of the rivers and oceans!

After the pace built and built, the drums stopped and voices rose in ritual chorus until the drums and percussion joined again. Noah and Elijah have slept through it all which is best given my own feelings of uncertainty. Eventually the ceremony concludes and the music ends, and I allow myself light sleep.

Please remember to pray for peace for Haiti, and safety for us when the darkness feels near.

Roosters and Coconuts

Friday, September 14, 2012

Roosters do not crow simply to verify the break of dawn. They call at all hours of the day and mix in with the sounds of noisy crows picking berries off the shade tree to the left of the porch, and the oriels that swoop and sing. They blend with the neighborhood children laughing at their own cleverness as they stretch garbage bags over bamboo, and attach strands of t-shirts, too tattered to wear, to make kites that bob and dive in the air above the dusty road. Roaming chickens cock their heads to take note of the call, then continue their pecking at fallen mangoes beneath a canopy of leaves, filtering the mid-day sun. Before living in Haiti I thought of roosters as only the mythical herald's of the morn, but they already are blending into the commonplace of the rural Haitian landscape.

I have lived without my watch since coming to Haiti. I will need to observe time again, soon enough, but for now I am pleased to bed after a few hours of dark and to rise with the brightness of day. I am beginning to fall into the rhythm of life here at COTP.

After getting up this morning I washed a few items of clothes in the kitchen sink and walked from our apartment at Manna to COTP. I saw the girls for a few minutes before breakfast. Today was french toast day and I found my appetite had returned some with the smell of warm cinnamon. Fresh pineapple, avocado, and tomatoes were also set out. Not my usual breakfast combo, but ok.

After returning from breakfast, neighborhood friends showed up at the gate asking for Noah and Elijah -- McKenzie and his older brother Tony. They introduced us to the many fruits on the trees of this compound, eager for us to sample, and ready to laugh at our varied responses to the unfamiliar textures and flavors.

Gracie, Karys, and Elijah standing in our front yard
 with a prize coconut.

Locals eat the coconuts when they are green on the outside. The coconut “water” is clear and sweet, and the pulp thin and slippery. The boys laughed and pulled faces when I told them I like my coconut “old and brown”! Crazy “blan”! I took the coconut water, some grapefruit, sour orange, and mango and squeezed it into juice mixed with 7-Up and shared it with the boys. It seemed to be a hit. Elijah and Noah loved it!

Knowing what to share and not to share is a major dilemma. McKenzie wants Noah to bring out his DSi and give it to him, which I said “no” to. But sharing our delicious fruit punch was an easy yes. Then there is the whole spectrum of yes and no in between. What is going to bless our relationship with new friends? We know they sometimes do not have enough to eat and that a few days a week they pick up the large empty milk cans which have been filled with our leftovers from brunch and mid-day meals. They eat our scraps so their stomachs do not go hungry in the evening. These same children then come over the next day to play ladder ball and have nut wars from the roof of the volunteer center with the boys, while the girls jump rope, giggling when I get in and jump before declaring I am too “fatigue” (tired) and “cho” (hot) to continue. Just some normal malnourished children..... there are some realities and discrepancies here almost too big to think about. It's no wonder that as infants sometimes their mothers would rather give their infant to a stranger than watch them hunger and thirst through years of childhood. It's a thought too hard to contemplate. Can I blame a child for becoming so bold as to ask for a DSi or bread? God give me wisdom to find the right balance in a place where creation and stomachs groan for Maranatha (Christ come quickly).

Home Sweet Home

Thursday, September 12, 2012

Last summer some of the great people we met were Bill and Darla Moxon, and their daughter, Emily. The Moxon's live next door on the Manna compound. Many years ago they were instrumental in starting Manna, worked and served with Manna for many years, and returned stateside after a time of civil unrest in Haiti. Last summer they returned at the encouragement of their youngest daughter, Emily, who had been an infant when the family left.

The Moxon's are a family with great heart, open to the Lord's leading in their lives, and willing to open their hearts in fellowship with other believers. They are not ashamed of their flaws because they are able to praise God for the on-going work he is doing in their lives to make them more like Him. They have an amazing life testimony of their own, but suffice it to say we are happy to have been reacquainted.

Today, after talking with Nick (the COTP Director) we talked with them about the options for living at Manna.  Before leaving MN this had been the plan we had discussed with Jamie.  The choices were between remodeling a half of the bunkhouse/volunteer guesthouse or cleaning up a small 3 bedroom cement-walled apartment, attached to the main house. The Moxon's have lived at Manna on their own for some time now, and asking them to make changes on short notice is asking quite a bit. We decided on the apartment and Moxon's agreed to allow us to move in. While it is a very small space, it is somewhere permanent for our kids to call home and get settled into.

So we got to work on the cleaning project. Kirk told Moxon's we were ready to get started and went to find someone to help with the exterior. I went to the Depot for cleaning supplies. While there “Tiernacielle” told me she was assigned to help clean the house. She was a godsend! She could clean circles around me and seemed to know just what to do. Do you spray poison first to kill the hand-sized spiders or take out the screens to remove the coating of dust and bugs? (Oh man, Grandma Breems would cry!) Okay, spray first, is the right answer! Soon Kirk arrived with Blan and, you guessed it, or maybe you didn't, a power-washer. They sprayed from the inside out, blasting the walls and ceiling, and then from the outside in. Then after brooming out 2 inches of water, mopped the floors. All very handy, I must say. By late afternoon the bulk on the apartment was done and floors were nearly dry. Not as clean as what I like my house to be stateside, but frankly, good enough to move in and call home!

This little lovely was on the back porch... thankfully, dead!

The “master bedroom” is just big enough to fit two twin beds side by side with a small space to walk around on each side. A bunk was taken apart to construct our bed, with one 3 inches higher than the other. It has metal bars with a piece of thin press-board over them, and a 3 inch foam mattress above that. There is a 4 foot length of shelf with a bar below for our clothing, and large windows with slated metal lever blinds on the outside of screens. Metal bars form the outermost layer. You can crank out two different areas of levers for air and/or privacy. After they were washed and re-installed, Kirk put duct tape around many of them to help seal out mosquitoes and bugs. So far we are not sleep with a mosquito nets, and are not getting too bit up in the house.

The boys will be sleeping in a small room next to us, with metal bunks and the same set-up for clothes. The girl's room currently houses Bill's workshop including a motorcycle and motorized bike, but he will soon empty the room and we'll clean it prior to the girl's arrival.

Noah was genuinely happy about the small room to share with Elijah and hugged me saying he was so glad to have our own home. He is thankfully much more content than on the first night – which is an answer to prayer. Elijah is not so sure. He's concerned it might be too small and wonders where a couch will go. This is a fair question as the main living space is one small room with cement and tiled counter tops. There is a makeshift “island” in the center of the room, and Bill and Darla have kindly left a few plastic deck chairs for our use for the time being. Those few items pretty much take all the available floor space. The long term plan for a little more living space may include an addition.

So after a long, hot day of work, we hauled our yet-packed suitcases over and proclaimed ourselves “home”! Thank you Lord for providing for our needs and wants. Lord, build our house, lest it be built in vain.

We Wanna Go Home

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

It is 9 PM. The bedroom we all sleep in is now dark and quiet. It's the same room we stayed in last summer during the month of June when we first visited Haiti. The past 17 ½ hours have not been a very pleasant reintroduction to our time at COTP and Kirk and I have looked at one another and actually wondered aloud, “what have we done!”

It seems days ago we walked out of the hanger in Ft. Pierce just in time to see the sun begin to tint the sky with hues of brilliant orange; our B-3 a silhouette in the foreground. Noah began to have stomach pain and nausea before stepping onto the plane. He could not be sure at first what seemed to be causing the trouble but later could understand it as anxiety as he said, “it's just feeling so real now!” After some struggle to regain control, he calmed and joined the pilots in the cockpit, listening in on his own headset from the jump-seat.

Unfortunately his recovery was replaced with Elijah's unprompted vomiting and motion sickness which continued for the rest of the day until bed.

Once again the drive from Cap Haitian airport filled my emotions with a mixture of all of Haiti's joy and pain. The beautiful dark mountains in the background and the busy street life of the town with the poverty of gaunt faces, bony ribs, and tattered clothes; unstable shacks with jagged tin roofs which people called homes – not quite as nice as the raggedy garden shed we left behind, and yet “home” for some family. Men push ox-carts full of water tanks, push wheel barrow with freshly butchered beef, push their way through crowded streets with almost full bike tires. Children sing and joke, stare and shout. Women carry infants or plastic market sacks, or heavy loads on their heads,swaying their hips as they stroll to or from the market in the morning sun. There is so much pride, beauty, and strength right along side brokenness, weariness, and hopelessness. Perhaps not so different from home...but I feel a world away.

There were no plans or expectations for us when we arrived. We were warmly greeted by friends, old and new. It was great to see those I've only connected with on Facebook, as well as friends we met last summer, and, of course, the VandeLune's.  I felt comfort in the familiarity of friends and the hope of fellowship.

The mid afternoon meal was served, but I had no appetite for it. We unpacked a bit and shortly after the babies nap time, we went to visit Natalie and Rose. They were in the field across the road from the main gate, sitting in the grass with the Nannies. Noah took up with Rose right away, making her giggle at his antics. I sat nearby watching and making eye contact, encouraging the play. Soon I spotted Natalie, and kneeled down and talked to her. She was a little shy but may have recognized me from the picture she has of me.

It is a strange feeling to see the child who is yours, who is not yet. The girls have little to no concept of who we are. Natalie has looked at our family picture book and can put the right names to the faces, but beyond that does not understand what it will mean for us to be her family. Perhaps we don't really understand yet, either. I now feel a deepening tug to bring them into the safety of our home. But I know that home in Haiti does not yet exist, so we need to have a place and space for the boys to feel safe before we move forward with the girls. We focus on this first: establishing home for the family that existed before moving to Haiti in order to create as safe place for Natalie and Rose to join us. A place to live is urgent. We will talk with the necessary people to make this plan a reality.

This evening was tough. Elijah was feeling sick from his previous motion sickness and wanted to be home, Noah was feeling anxious and homesick. The noise and centrality of the guesthouse was not feeling restful and Kirk and I felt we needed to make a move to something permanent ASAP if we wanted this reintroduction to Haiti to succeed for the boys, as well as us.

So that's the plan for tomorrow.  We've arrived but now we need to find home.

The Page Turns

It's hard to imagine all that has transpired in the last 24 hours.  Last night at this time I was sitting on the floor of my parents 3-season porch finishing the last of the re-packing, bleary eyed and numb.  I am now sitting at the end of the bed in a hotel in Tampa, while the 3 men in my life breathe the deep sighs of sleep.

Yesterday morning we finished cleaning the house after a late night of final moving and packing, ran last minute errands and good-byes in Willmar, began the re-packing to weed out items not completely necessary.  Kirk thought the Sure-Jell for my idea to potentially make jam at some date in the far off future, was pretty cool but just not practical insane.  Random items that had been tossed in the "Haiti" pile with a "this could be useful in Haiti" needed to be tamed, and the checked baggage cases needed to fit in just under the 50 lb limit per bag.  How I torture myself between thoughts of "what if I need this" and "I can do without it"!   The later the hour, the looser my grip on all the "important" things that seemed so useful hours before.

After a brief 5 hours of sleep we piled into a minivan with my Dad at the helm.  Most of us napped on the way, and after a tearful good-bye we checked our bags and awaited our first flight.  From MPLS to Midway in Chicago, then south to Tampa, and finally to our hotel by about 7:30 PM.  (Tomorrow we drive across the state to the East Coast. We'll stay two days and fly out early Tuesday morning, likely in Haiti by noon.)

After all the emotional good-byes and farewells to life in Prinsburg, the page has turned.  As if in our very own wrinkle in time, we are between the two lives.  Two days of limbo to do as little as possible besides swim, sleep, and share time with just us four before we take the first step into the next part of life.  It's not all so smooth... emotions are still high and it's far too easy to snip and snap over minor irritations, but we are trying hard to keep "kindness" up front and increase our patience with one another as we share in this time of transitional stress and anticipation for what's next.

If I am willing to take the time to notice, there are moments of satisfaction and joy even during the the hard moments. 

• The day began at 6:18 with a text message of biblical blessing from a dear friend.  As I began my day she was starting hers, covering me in the Word of God!   
• The familiar faces of my parents with their routine care took on special significance knowing the time is long before we're reunited.  Mom baking scones at 11 PM because I had wanted to try "that mix"; Dad getting up early when Noah couldn't sleep and unable to walk away until we were out of sight at the security check in.
• Giggling with the boys as an airline pilot took his break in the game room and expressed his disappointment with his performance at Battlestar Galactica with boyish groans and whining.
• Connecting with a woman on the flight to FL whose heart has known ache for her family's triumph's and crashes and yet sees rich tapestry from the diverse strands that make up her life.
• Watching my skirt ruffle in the warm Gulf air as the boys do ninja moves at a pool party for two.
• And now hearing my boys sleep a rest well-deserved, and praying my daughters sleep in peace as as our arrival draws near.

How good God is!  How rich is his love, care, and provision.  My heart is full knowing I am held as are those I love, now far from me.

 

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Oh how the good-byes are getting real!  This past week they packed like ice flows in the arctic and broke loose one by one...
Between fits of packing and moving, there have been sleep-overs, and suppers, gatherings, and travel.

Thursday evening we had supper with dear friends from our former small group.  How we have lived through ups and downs with these souls!  We have watched them face life challenges that caused us to tremble and yet instead of crumbling, we witnessed their faith grow and blossom, and see how God uses unconventional ways like "beer and bible study" to draw hearts to him.  They have truly understood when we've walked through dark days and stood at the ready to encourage and understand.  Thank you Lord for "chance meetings" and kindred spirits!

We said our official good-byes at Willmar Christian Reformed Church this past Sunday. They sent us off with prayers, blessings, hugs, hand-shakes, and cash. How blessed we've been to have TWO church families! This family has welcomed us warmly, never letting us out the door without someone catching us, looking into our eyes and daring us not to feel loved. They have encouraged and liberated Kirk in his ministry with the youth, have accepted challenges for growth, and have been steadfast in building him up in his work. We will miss these dear people!

After church on Sunday morning we went to my Grandma Breems' for Sunday dinner.

No one can cook Sunday dinner like grandma!  What mystery there is in her ability to take simple ingredients and deftly create wonder!  How is it that even her green beans taste better than mine?  Or her roasted chicken, carefully cooked in the garage to prevent unpleasant odors and grease in her tidy kitchen?  Though her tired back is now painfully rounded, her eyes sparkle when she comes to the door and her jaw sets in satisfaction when the boys take a second helping of orange jello with mandarin oranges.


She carefully set aside envelopes with the correct amount for each grandchild's birthday in the year ahead, for us to take along and give at the right time.  And though we don't leave for a week, the tears came easily when it was time for us to leave.  "I love all my grand kids but you've been so near."  That's been one of the perks of living in this place, close to loved ones, close enough for my boys to know 3 Greats... good-byes with these godly matrons is hard.



Our church small group met for the last time in it's present form on Sunday night. Somehow this group has been the incubator for farewells with the Fishers and Pluimers, and now us, leaving. Joe and Wendy have stood like a lighthouse weathering storms of their own, and providing steadfast light and predictability for those who seek safe harbor in their friendship and home. Sometimes it's hard to be the ones who stay... Steve and Ang have trusted us enough to risk vulnerability and showering us with hospitality. This group has buoyed us through rough seas! They have prayed over us and our children and home, over our coming and going, over our hearts. Parting is sweet sorrow with these folks, knowing they will continue to be our intercessors before the Lord but missing face to face fellowship!




 Monday we took our final trip to the farm in Edgerton to say farewell to Kirk's folks and Grandma.










The kids drove around the hills and ditches for hours with hair blowing back in the sweet, grassy air, holding playful kittens, and eating hearty grandma-made meals 3 times a day, like farm boys.   They don't know it now, but their days of childhood on the farm are fleeting, so Mom watches with bittersweet joy knowing these moments are precious.  There were some tears and homesickness at bedtime one night as the reality of leaving the familiar sets in.  We assurred the boys that we are in this together and sadness for the losses is okay.  There is joy ahead and taking time for the sorrow is good.

 
 

 We parted with hugs, holding back tears, not knowing exactly when we'll be together again.  But we know they pray for us each and every day and we will remain close in heart.

 

 
Kirk's Grandma is 100 years old and lives at Edgebrook nursing home. She was wakened from her afternoon nap to say good-bye, and though she repeats the conversations we've already covered, she still remembers names and God, and lavishes love and smiles on us.  Each time we visit we know this goodbye might be the last on this earth, so we treasure her and days we have had.

And finally, last night we had a "back-yard-movie-night-party" for the boys, inviting neighborhood and schoolmates to stop in for a time of fun and farewell. 

The air was cool and still, a blue moon rose in the east, a million pinpoints of light twinkled overhead, warm popcorn greased 30 little pairs of hands, and the sound of children's laughter drifted through the houses and trees of Prinsburg.  It was completely idyllic and my heart was content.  Tea and friendship at the kitchen table winded down, school boys wandered away without committing to good-byes, and a good night was done.

Tomorrow morning we have a "Commissioning" service at Unity where our church family will bless us and send us off,  we travel for a few more days of family goodbyes, a "son" comes for a personal goodbye, and a community farewell is planned for Wednesday evening.  Then just a few hard personal good-byes with parents and close friends and we leave for new adventure, a union with our sweet girls, and whatever else God allows.

Despite all the difficult farewells that are turning the page on this chapter of life, I am at peace.  That's not to say I don't have any anxiety or stress right now, but there is a calm space deep within, knowing with certainty, that I am held, connecting with God's great plan, and feeling safe in his care.

Thank you to all who continue to pray - we feel your covering of prayer, for all the kind words of encouragement - we feel lifted in spirit, and for all the gestures of friendship and fellowship -- we feel so blessed.


Added note: Our fundraising for the year is now at $46,000!  Praise God - He is good!