Special deliveries in Port-au-Prince

More than five years ago Beth McHoul, co-director of Heartline Ministries, had a strong sense that she should start a new program. Beth desired to respond to the incredible need for quality, respectful, maternal healthcare in Haiti. Additionally, she hoped to encourage young mothers to raise their children and avoid poverty-driven decision(s) to place their little ones in an institution. 

Asking God for guidance, setting aside much fear, she  slowly forged ahead and began with a very small program that met each week to offer education and vitamins. Along the way multiple friends from multiple countries encouraged the growth of the program with their ideas, guidance, prayers, and donations.

What began as a very small and quite undeveloped program is now an organized, high quality, beautifully functioning prenatal and labor & delivery program. The number of women concurrently being served has changed from twenty to about ninety*.

*Forty-two pregnant, forty-five in early childhood development. This number does not take the Depo Provera Family Planning program into account. That program is serving more than 500 women. 


The dream and desire of twinning and even tripling the size of the prenatal program is alive in the hearts of the Heartline team.  Heartline owns a piece of land and with your help has already raised $145,000 toward building a new Maternity Center on that land.  

We are excited to be growing responsibly and looking forward to the day the money is raised and the new maternity center can be built.  We believe that these programs are deeply impacting the women in our community and saving lives.  

There is an enormous effort underway to spread the word beyond the current faithful base of Heartline supporters. We are excited to share more about that effort with you soon.  For now, we want to tell you about the weekend ... 


This weekend the five-year-old vision for better and more respectful maternal health care services equaled three precious new lives being ushered into the world safely.  
All three births were prayed over, sweated over, watched over, and very important to the staff at Heartline Ministries. 

1:

Lumana and her husband had been patiently waiting for the birth of their second child.  By her choice Lumana had lived in the Heartline postpartum room for about a week in late August because her home is far away and she feared she couldn't make it in time.  She waited for many nights and then decided to risk it and finish out her wait at home. 

Saturday morning around 7:30 am Lumana arrived almost completely ready to push her son into the world. 

The first baby to join us outside of the safety of his Mama this weekend was little Roodens.  Lumana delivered him shortly after 9am with the additional love and support of her husband who sat on the edge of the bed touching her head while praying for her as she pushed.  This precious little family spent about 36 hours in the postpartum area before Heartline provided transport home late in the day Sunday.  Lumana and baby Roodens will come to class each Tuesday for the next six months for further education, support, and follow-up care. We're so thankful for God's protection over this delivery.

2:

Nadege is the sister of a former client of Heartline.  Easily the shortest woman we've ever had in our program, we wondered how such a tiny person would fare during labor and delivery. Nadege arrived at 9:30 am on Saturday morning.  She labored beautifully and with much courage all throughout the day Saturday.  At around 4pm it became apparent that her little one's head was cocked at an odd angle in her pelvis and was not descending well.  With some guidance and prayers, attempts were made to adjust the baby's head. After a time it was decided that Nadege could not deliver with us and was in need of a C-Section.  At 7pm Nadege was loaded into the Heartline Ambulance and off we went in search of a hospital to receive her.  

The first hospital kindly reported that one of their two operating rooms was down and that because of that they could not receive her for surgery.  This is not an uncommon answer when searching for medical care in Haiti.  We went to a second hospital that serves those with high-risk deliveries and they were able to confirm that they agreed a C/S was the only option for Nadege.  They accepted her into their care.  Because of the high volume of need and the lack of beds, Nadege and her son were discharged 38 hours after her C/S and are now on their way to Heartline for post-partum care. Nadege and her new son will come each Tuesday for the next six months for further love, education, and follow-up care. We're grateful Nadege and her son got the care they needed.



3:
Shedlyne is a 23 year old first time mother.  She was married earlier this year and is blessed to be part of a large family that offers much support.  Throughout her entire time in labor she had a cheering section waiting on the front porch and taking turns helping her. At times her father, her sister, her sister-in-law and her husband were all there at once.  Other family members dropped in on occasion. 

Shedlyne was the first to arrive this weekend, and the last to deliver.  She arrived shortly after midnight on what was technically Saturday morning.  She labored slowly and somewhat unproductively all day Saturday.  She went home for a few hours around 7pm Saturday evening, then returned afraid and in pain again about five hours later.  Shedlyne had a long and difficult labor.  Not unlike many small first time moms it took her quite a while to find her groove and cope with the pain. After two+ hours of pushing and some fairly intense moments Shedlyne delivered her 5 pound 10 ounce baby girl at 2am Monday, 49 hours after she first arrived at the Maternity Center.  

Baby Regina needed a little extra encouragement and attention but got the hang of breathing after a few minutes.

Shedlyne and baby Regina will also come to class each Tuesday for the next six months.

Dr. Jen helping Regina start breathing better

the look of midwives that are thrilled for a happy ending to a 49 hour labor

Shedlyne & baby Regina

Please be praying for these precious new lives and for healing for their mothers.  We're so thankful to have the ability to call on the Great Physician during these unpredictable labors and deliveries. He has been faithful.

Please also stay tuned for more exciting information about the new maternity center and how you can help make it happen.

Thanks for reading.

saturday to saturday - babies babies babies

Lumana had a baby boy today at 9am - Proud Papa

Marie delivered last Saturday at 7pm and went home Thursday 9/6

Nadege is very close to delivery now

Shedlyne is in early labor now

The Heartline team and the ladies in the program(s) are all very grateful for your prayers and love.
We appreciate you. Please keep praying! 

Our turn to pray ...

EDIT: SEPTEMER 15 - MAMA Emmanuel was released from the hospital and is recovering further at her home in Petit Goave. THANK YOU for your prayers for her.

In 2010 after the earthquake we met little Emmanuel and his mother, affectionately called "Mama Emmanuel"   Emmanuel had been crushed in the earthquake and siblings of his had perished in the house where they all resided.

After tremendous loss Mama E impacted so many with her courage and joy ... Too many people to count. The proof of that and more of her story is found at this post from last year.  She prayed and encouraged and led many in worship at the Heartline field hospital.

Mama E ended up delivering Raphael (pictured on her lap) at Heartline last fall. (Nov. 2011) The birth was intense as those who love her collectively held their breath hoping for a beautiful, healing outcome for this family.

Last night word came from their home in Petit Goave that Mama E. was gravely ill and had lost a lot of blood.  Today the cause of her illness was determined and the afternoon brought dozens of phone calls as many attempted to find out if blood might be available for a desperately needed transfusion.

As of this moment some blood has made it to the location where she is hospitalized and we're praying and praying that her life will be spared.  She is in critical condition and will likely need additional transfusions. Please be praying for her and for miraculous provision as the system for receiving blood* is very difficult in Haiti.

Thank you.

*When you visit Haiti, (click to link to information) PLEASE GIVE BLOOD. 

Precious In His Sight

Imagine that you are a nineteen year old girl living in Port au Prince, Haiti. Imagine the struggles and difficulties that would entail, even in the best of circumstances; and these are not the best of circumstances.

Delmas area, Port au Prince. Heat. Pressure. Noise. Pregnant.

You were kicked out of your mother’s house – a two bedroom bare cinder block structure shared with a handful of extraneous family members smashed in between thousands of other similar dwellings. Your mother learned of your pregnancy and became angry. Physically angry. She cannot find enough work to support herself and your siblings, and has at times resorted to selling her body in order to eat. There is currently a man in the picture that she relies on for support - and your mother is certainly not going to risk losing that relationship on account of your unplanned pregnancy. You are now not just one more mouth to feed, but two.

You are on the street. The street is made up of gravel, dirt, sand, and garbage. Pregnant and vulnerable, you try to make a life with the father of your child who has little education and no work. It does not go well.

You leave the city to visit your boyfriend’s family in a smaller town in the south. You give birth to a baby girl surrounded by family that is not your own. You are thankful that you and the baby survived. You are not sure what will happen next. You never are. It is March.

You move back to Port to start the next chapter of life in a structure your boyfriend built while you were delivering your baby. It is made of scraps of lumber with tarps wrapped around it – tied in some places, nailed in others, crimped with bottle caps at the corners. It is built in a now-empty lot where a house used to be prior to the ‘goudougoudou’. There are many other homes like yours sharing this lot, many neighbors with stories mirroring yours.

Seven Months Later

You are sick. You stop breastfeeding your baby because you are afraid she will get sick as well. She gets skinny. You are afraid. Your boyfriend leaves you.

You are alone.

Your sister visits you and is concerned by your weight loss. She brings you to a clinic where it is discovered that you are HIV positive. Your sister is devastated. You are still in shock from the events of the past year. You go back to your tent and continue to try and survive with your daughter, who is also losing weight. Things have been so hard for so long that it hardly matters that your situation just got so much worse.

The clinic that tested you wants to test your baby girl and has concerns that you might also have tuberculosis. You decline the TB test. You do not want to know.

The good news that your baby girl does not have HIV does not change your situation at all – but it is good news all the same. A sliver of light piercing the black cloud over your days.

You reluctantly agree to go and take a test for tuberculosis at the government hospital. It is necessary before you proceed with treatment for HIV. There are clinics with medicines available that can slow down the AIDS virus and improve your life, or so you are told, but you are not sure you believe it. The last time you came to this hospital for help you eventually gave up discouraged and dejected after failing to gain admittance. You had an appointment. It didn’t matter.

Only the strong and assertive get what they want and need. You are neither.

Someone you have never met and who barely speaks your language comes to pick you up and take you back to the hospital to try again. You get in the car, because your sister is there and asking you to try again for your daughter’s sake. Your daughter is with you and instantly falls asleep. Neither of you have been this comfortable in a long time.

You leave your baby sleeping in the car with your sister while you go for your tuberculosis test.

The TB ward is housed in a temporary structure staffed by a volunteer doctor from somewhere else. When it is your turn, you spit into a small cup, screw the lid on, and drop it into a plastic bin sitting on the ground. There are many other cups in the bin already, with names written on tape stuck to the sides.

You are instructed to return the next two mornings and repeat this process. You don’t know how you will get there again. Next, you need to get chest X-rays. Some of the staff at the government hospital are on strike, and the radiology lab is closed. You will need to pay for a private lab. The X-ray alone will cost thirty-nine dollars. If you were fortunate enough to have a job in a factory, you would make five dollars a day. You do not have a job. Arrangements are made to cover the costs for you.

You check on your baby before going to the private lab. She is awake and soaked in sweat. Your sister needs to leave to run some errands. You walk the three blocks to the lab, passing vendors covering every inch of sidewalk along the way. During the walk you are harassed to make purchases, ridiculed for your appearance, questioned about your connection to the foreigner walking with you, and short of breath from the exertion of walking in the heat and carrying your child.

In the lab you sign in and wait. And wait. And wait.

You wait for over three hours. You are very discouraged and want to give up many times. You endure the stares and hushed voices in the waiting room...the forced advice on child rearing and proper attire.

When it is finally your turn you have to leave your baby in the hands of a stranger while she screams.

While walking back to the hospital you are criticized by other pedestrians for the way you are holding your child. One passerby encourages you to give your baby away since you are so young and poor and sickly. You are too out of breath and tired to respond.

You have not eaten anything all day. You ask to borrow money that you know you cannot repay in order to buy a styrofoam container full of oily rice, bean sauce, and vegetable stew. The food is sold out of pots on the side of the road being cooked over charcoal. You are heckled and cat-called while you cross the street. You share the meal with your daughter.

You are relieved when you return home to your tent, and given instructions about your future appointments. You stare blankly wondering how you will make it back to the hospital for the follow up testing and results, not sure if you want to know what they will say.

It has been a long and difficult six months for you. The initial test results were negative for TB. You are admitted into a program to receive HIV meds, requiring monthly visits. These visits became increasingly difficult as your body weakens and each trip is painful and taxing. You do not always make it to the appointments, sometimes you are just not willing to face the challenge of fighting for space on public transportation and being ridiculed by fellow passengers. Your condition has deteriorated greatly. Further testing is done with another program in another hospital and it is determined that you do indeed have tuberculosis.

Six + Months Later

Fortunately, and it is very hard and disturbing to say that this is fortunate, you are sick enough to be admitted into the inpatient TB ward, which is a large dome tent in a gravel yard. This is the best option available. You are thankful. Prior to the cot you currently sleep on, you were laying on a foam pad on the floor of a dark cement block room.

Your tiny frame is too weak to stand and walk. Coughing racks your body. The few family members and visitors you received when you were first admitted have dwindled and rarely come now.

The staff of the hospital say that you can stay as long as you meed to heal–this is an unbelievable blessing and rarity in the health care ‘system’ in Haiti.

Your appetite is coming back slowly. Twice now thieves have taken money from your bag while you slept; the money left there for you to buy juice and other food.

Yet you have joy. You smile and say, “With Jesus I will be well.” Others wonder if that means here on earth or when you arrive Home and see Jesus face to face – which seems like it could be any day.

Your nightly routine is to read some hymns that you are too weak to sing, then read ‘your Pslams’ to keep in your head while you fall asleep.

Life is fragile.

Things take a dramatic turn for the worse. Your heart can be seen beating through your chest as if it sat below a layer of tissue paper with no muscle or fat protecting it at all.

You fade.

This beautiful soul left her tired and weak earthly body on February 20, 2012. In the final weeks of her life many visitors came and sang with her and spent time at her side. Multiple people were touched by her life and the joyful spirit with which she battled disease. While AIDS ultimately stole her health from her, it did not steal her faith or her spunk. She did not die alone or unloved and she now is Home where her suffering is no more. 

“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.”

Pslam 116:15

~   ~   ~   ~   ~ 

*Thanks to Emily Berger, who took our three posts written about "K" and edited and complied them into this story for her monthly magazine, Earthen Vessels.

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels,

that the excellence of the power may be of God

and not of us. 2 Corinthians 4:7

do it afraid

Ten years ago this very week I got to watch my oldest son Isaac take his first steps.  

Considering we lived in two different countries at that point, it was great timing on his part. 

I was visiting our oldest Haitian kids during the adoption process. Isaac, Hope and I spent hours and hours in a hotel room. I was introducing him to Cheez-It crackers and other fine American cuisine when he stood up and showed me that without a ton of effort, he could stand and balance fairly well. 

He stood up against the wall of the room. After he stood he would look to me for applause as he wobbled and grinned - but no matter what I did to try to entice him to take a step, he stood in place. He was eleven months old and just as he is now, he was quite cautious.  

By the second day he stood with his back against the wall toying with the idea of stepping away from the wall that balanced him. He would take one step with one hand on the wall; he would laugh nervously at me while I motioned him to keep coming.  He'd put his arms up for balance and stand a couple of inches away from the wall. For hours a day we played that game. Over and over I'd tell him to try it.  Over and over he'd laugh and step back to rest his diapered butt on the wall. After a few days of coaxing and giggling and fear, he took his hand off the wall and took five unbalanced and uncoordinated steps into my arms.  

When he got to me he made the most peculiar laughing and crying combination sound.  He was so afraid to let go of the solid wall behind him, that when he found out he survived the risk he was both more afraid and more confident - at the exact same time.  

He trusted my arms but He didn't trust the process of getting to me very much. It took Isaac many hours to attempt the five steps from the wall into my arms a second time.  

He'd overcome his fear once, but subsequent attempts weren't less frightening.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  

Our youngest son Noah wrote about earthquakes a few days ago.

Well, I suppose technically he wrote about "eaethqakes" - which to me, sounds a lot like a delicious treat ... but I don't think he was talking about a cream-cheese filled breakfast cake sold in an Entemann's box.  

"We are very prepared", he tried to write, only it came out "prupard". 

As I ran a few miles around my neighborhood thinking about his confidence in our preparedness, I wondered, are we prupard?  What makes him think we are? For the love, NO we are not prupard! We are like Isaac stepping away from the wall the second time - we are simultaneously more confident and much more afraid.

                                         ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Most of us find ways to manage what we're fearful about, you do it and I do it. 

Sometimes our heads trick us into thinking that our previous tries and our previous success doesn't mean anything.  

Sometimes we forget that our Heavenly Papa stands nearby ready to help.

We conquer our fear, and then our fear conquers us. 

I am not afraid of another earthquake, until I am for a minute.

I am not afraid Troy will die someday in a scary hold-up, until I am.

I am not afraid of failing at my duties as a Mom and Wife  - until I am.

I am not afraid that my kids will someday have an accident here that cannot be treated, until I am.

I am not afraid of failure in my studies to become a midwife - until I am.

I am not afraid of facing incredible poverty that tears my heart out, frustrates me, and leaves me confused and screaming, "Where are you God?!?!"  - until I am.

So what do I do with all this fear? 

Truthfully, it lies quiet, dormant, and well managed most of the time ... except when it doesn't. 

I can talk sense to it. I can say things to it like "Fear is not of God." and "You've got this. You're doing fine. God is with you. You've done it before. You've got this!"

The fear can be pushed back, sometimes prayed away, other times ignored.... But on occasion the human, broken mess that is Tara Livesay cannot keep it all at bay. 

Not unlike Isaac, I trust the strength of my Father's arms but sometimes I don't trust the process of getting to Him. 

What then?

My friend Beth shared her favorite quote with me early in our friendship.  "Do it afraid", she said. 

Like Isaac on his second attempt to leave the solid safety of the wall, knowing too much and knowing too little, do it afraid.  

I've heard it said, "practice makes perfect".  I'm too much of a realist to believe that to be true in this instance. Practicing doing scary things doesn't really make me perfect at it. I'm still afraid sometimes. I don't know how to stop being afraid completely and consistently. I'm not finding 'perfection' as I continually practice facing both my rational and irrational fears. 

I only know that sometimes - I have to do it afraid. 

We all do.




Link: 2010 post about fear.

beginnings & beginnings of endings

In fifteen minutes the first first day ends. Lydia and I are eagerly waiting for the five kids to fight their way through 3 miles of Port au Prince traffic so we can hear how it felt (besides hot!) to be at school.

The young lady on the left walked out of the house at 8am this morning and went to her first day of school as a bona fide Kindergartner.  Her first first day as it were.  She gave her first presentation, which was really just a little interview conducted by her teacher, Ms. Becky.  It meant standing in front of the classroom and talking - like out loud - utilizing her voice.  Phoebe is not much of a talk-out-loud-with-your-voice-in-front-of-more-than-just-family, kind-of-girl  -- so it was a pretty big moment.

The young woman on the right went to her very last first day of school in Haiti, her very last first day of high school, her very last first day with her siblings underfoot. The next "first day of school" for Paige will happen in another country and will look and feel a whole heckuva lot different. 

(And honestly, let's hope for different. It took 53 minutes to travel 3 miles this morning. I have high hopes the infrastructure where she's headed is a bit more advanced.)

I remember the winter almost five years ago when we had just welcomed Lydia and were about to send Britt off to Baylor University.  The beginning and the end intermingled like a cruel joke meant to drive a tired postpartum momma over the edge.  The seventeen year span from the alpha child to the omega child has forced some mixed up (read: crazy-town!) emotions and some simultaneous beginnings and endings. 

Today we recognize yet another one of those absurd juxtapositional moments.

Ask Isaac Link

Ask Isaac: an ending, a beginning ...

are you prupard?

does love heal?

On a busy Friday, women coming in and out, she slips into the exam room.

"Bon jou. Write your name here for me please."

She shakes her head no.

"Can you write your name?"

Quietly she says, "M pa ka ekri."

She cannot write.

"Okay. What is your name honey?"

She replies so quietly that it cannot even be heard.  I look to Paige who is standing nearby.  "What'd she say?"  Paige questioningly repeats her name.

She nods.  We've guessed correctly.

"Ki laj ou cheri?"

"sèzan"

Sixteen

"Eske'w ansent?"

Barely audible,  eyes to the ground, "wi"

We say, "Please come back; our class meets on Thursdays".

Before she leaves she tells Paige, "There were a lot of people coming in and out of my house. He came there and he forced me."

She arrived  again early this week for her full intake appointment.

Her chart is filled out.

Things are noted.

90 pounds.
very short in stature.
emotionally flat.
states forced twice by same 22 year old man. no longer sees him in her neighborhood.
states maybe sister can care for baby.
states sister is 17. ultra sound says baby is due december 24.

What is not stated is what screams inside our hearts, reverberates off the walls.

She is 16.
She doesn't seem 16.
She seems like a little girl.

I think of my daughter Hope.  This girl is a frail version of Hope.  Not much taller.  Not much heavier. Probably going to give birth on or around Hope's eleventh birthday. She may as well be eleven.

Does love heal?

Maybe we'll find out.

you can smoke

but please, no smorking

Baby Book Entry 6: mid-2012 edition

June 11, 2012

(Posterity, this is for your sake. Written slowly in the month of August of 2012) 

My dear children,
I last wrote specifically to update you on your growth, change, and ever-so-interesting personalities all in one place back in December of 2011.  According to my own dumb goals, I hoped to pull off about two or three of these posts a year. Yet, here we are at the end of August and I'm willing to admit this year we may only have this one post on record.There is no room for legalism with what we're juggling so I won't even bother to fake regret. I have been living life with you and have shared your goony quotes and adorable observations other places as we go along, and now I will try to recall as much as I can about the last eight months and especially about the summer of 2012.

I've never wanted to lump you together as one unit of kids  -  I really TRULY want to notice and celebrate the ways you're all wired differently and have unique characteristics and gifts you bring to our family.

In the middle of 2012, this is what I have to say to you about you:

In no particular order ....

Phoebe Joy - 5.75 y.o. right now
When I write about you, it strikes me how difficult you are to describe.  You're quiet, but not without things to say. You're silly, but in a coy, back-door sort of way. You're all four seasons in one day. Sometimes when you're angry at us you let us know with crayons on walls.  There is a part of us that thinks because you're so quiet, maybe you color on walls to be heard.  Really, it isn't even that you're quiet -- it is more that you don't waste words. You're not going to chit chat non stop without saying anything (like a certain big brother) but you'll say what you need to say in a succinct less wordy way. As I typed this I asked you, "What do you like to do most right now?"  You replied, "I like playing cars and dolls with Lydia, 'cept when she annoys me and 'bes' rude, but I still love her."  Compared to 9 months ago, you and Lydia get along much more frequently. Sometimes you make it entire days without fighting. We like the sweet days where you are buddies and you walk around pretending to be pregnant together.  In less than two weeks you will officially be a kindergartner. My guess is that you'll be able to do the work of Kindergarten and some of 1st grade this year because you seem like a quick study to me. You know your letters and how to write your name. You'll go to school five days a week. That's a big change after so many years at home. I feel like your personality puts you in the background sometimes, that makes me sad. I am glad you get to go to school and shine. Maybe we won't forget this particular fact when we are old, but I will note it just in case: The worst day you can imagine is a day having your hair braided. You truly hate having your hair done.
What makes you different: mysterious and coy personality

Britt and Chris - 22 and 26 y.o.-
Again, how do adults get a "baby"-book entry?
Like this -when I include them. That's how.
I watch you from a thousand plus miles away and I see that you're all self sufficient and I am super proud and not really even a tiny bit surprised. Oldest children you are. (textbook!) Waco, TX is constantly in my thoughts and by Waco, TX  -I mean both of you.  I am excited that this calendar year I will get to be on your turf two times. Britt, I loved following your training and seeing you accomplish your goal of running 26.2 miles. In less than a year you'll both hold graduate school degrees and you'll take your fancy selves onto the next big adventure. We eagerly watch from here and pray for you both. Thank you for letting us try to get out of our thirties before you give us a new title that starts with the letter G.  -  Praying for that little person in advance of his or her existence and always cheering you on from a distance.
What makes you different: driven, perfectionist, planners

Paige - 17 and constantly reminding me of how few weeks there are until you are 18 -
2012 is the year of health challenges for you. We spent April feeling afraid and figuring it out with lots of appointments and specialists. Thankfully things are under control and you're attitude is so upbeat that you've weathered the storm well. We managed 7 weeks of separation this summer.  We did just fine all things considered.  I think this means we're doing okay at preparing for our future lives in different countries. You spent your summer riding horses, making deep friendships, and proving you know how to drive a car in America. Not gonna lie, that driving part surprised me. People wrote me to tell me how you blessed them over the summer. Now, that didn't surprise me. I nodded and smiled as I read the words about you. One person said: "She has only begun to bless our planet.".  I agree. You've been digging on the same boy for a year now. We approve and adore him almost as much as you do. As we watch your relationship grow we worry about protecting you from the judgment you'll face and feel as an interracial couple, but you've assured us that you're up for that battle - because we know you are an overcomer, we know that you are indeed up for it. You'll begin your senior year of high school in just a few days. (tears flowing) You'll be applying to college(s) in the coming months. (don't go!) Things happening now are "lasts" in Haiti for you and us. The grieving happening now isn't even considered "early" grieving anymore. This stuff just got real. You are a source of the light in our household. We're glad we get this last year with you before we launch you into your next exciting adventure.
What makes you different: funny, compassionate, wise beyond your years

Isaac - "I am going to be a palindrome in less than a month Mom!" (soon 11)
My first son. You are a trip.  Oh my goodness you make us laugh. This summer you took questions and wrote answers to publish on your own personal blog. We think it will be very fun to read those to your kids some day. We keep waiting for the world to teach you that happy, bouncy, peace-filled, loving optimism isn't the way to go - and hoping you won't believe it. We're grateful you refuse to care about any other expectation or reality - but to just be who God made you and nothing less or more. Someone said, "I don't think he'd fight or stand up to someone that came against him."  We agreed. You're more likely to say something like, "Hey, I know you hate me but can't we just enjoy this beautiful wonderful day together?" We love seeing the unique spirit of peace you've been given and we celebrate it. You love learning. You ask us questions like, "What is the difference between schism and chasm?" You're entering the fifth grade. Last year I noticed that every.single.day as you left school you said, "Thank you Mr. Jimmy and Miss Becky for teaching me today." You help us all be more thankful. You bring joy to every moment of our days.
What makes you different: everything - but mainly your joy and curiosity :)

bike riding in June

Noah 8

Exactly one year ago you could not read.  Not one word. We were about to start first grade and you had very little confidence. As I type this your puffy curly-haired head is lying next to me reading Harry Potter and asking "what does reverberating mean?". The rumor is that you'll sort of of skip second grade (zip through it) and be called a third grader this year.  As your Mama I kind of like the idea of calling you a second grader for four or five years, but your teachers say they think you're up for the challenge. You're still our chattiest child and sometimes Dad and I wonder if we've ever met a boy that likes to talk as much as you do. Sometimes you stop yourself and say, "Do you need a break from this?" We almost always say, "Yes!" Your current favorite things to do: play with the dogs, be with your Daddy, play video games, and go swimming. You truly love and admire your big brother. The other night Paige walked by your room and heard you crying. When she went in to check on you, you told her that you were so sad that Isaac is going to leave for college and you'll be without him. We didn't know you were an early griever, but it seems that you are. Way to get started eight years early, son. The only new thing since the last update is that you seem to be emerging as the comedian of the family. If you think it will make someone laugh, you're willing to sacrifice your body with some random act of dancing, flailing, or falling.
What makes you different: most talkative, comedic talent

Hope 10.5 y.o.
You'll be a fourth grader this fall.  Socially you seem much more 10th grade than you do 4th grade. You love to sit and chat with (listen to) adults. You fly under the radar enough that we figure you pretty much know every single thing we ever say and are aware of every ministry, life, financial and other concern we have. The good news is, you're loyal and can keep a secret. Your brothers always try to include you in their activities and plans but you're most often found somewhere on your own doing your own thing. You spend a lot of your time drawing faces and you're getting very good at it.  You still love singing and have just started piano lessons.  You enjoy reading but never choose the same books as your brothers. Dad let you sing with him on a few Sundays at church this summer and you look and sound like a natural.  You're still showing frequent interest in is cooking.  For obvious reasons this pursuit cannot happen under my tutelage, but Geronne enjoys cooking amazing salty Haitian feasts with you by her side.
What makes you different: sweet, servant heart, artistic

Melissa Alberts and your first lesson

Lydia 4.75 y.o. 

I recently wrote about some of your quotes. Each one tops the next. Like Noah, you really seem to like the sound of your own voice. Today Phoebe was singing and you said, "I don't like that song Phoebe, it is not about me." A new phrase you've added lately is, "I'm gonna need" so you might say, "I'm gonna need some ice in my water." or "I'm gonna need the air conditioning vent to blow on me." The rest of us all accept that you are a force to be reckoned with and we trade knowing looks when you tell us what you're "gonna need". We laugh at your narcissism but sure hope it is a passing phase. You are white rice and chocolate fortified and pretty much pull your nose up at most other foods. "I hate pizza" is one of the more peculiar of your recent pronouncements. You always ask for "silly sauce" for your rice. Nobody has the heart to tell you it is called Soy Sauce. Just now you came up and said, "Mama, what day is this?"  I said, "Wednesday". You said, "No I mean what day is it before it is tomorrow.  Is Tuesday before tomorrow? Or is it yesterday after Wednesday?" You didn't wait for me to answer.  Thank-you. You are going to go to Pre-School/Kindergarten two days a week this year. You LOVE to cuddle and are very affectionate. You give hugs and kisses freely. We're amazed by how quickly you have an answer to everything. We've decided four and three quarter years old must be when we know everything.  You're the baby of a big family, everyone plays their role and understands you command a certain level of control. It's good to be you, Lydia!
What makes you different: contrary, passionate, confident

April 2012

May 2012

May 2012 when you were all in one place

singing and dancing with daddy Aug 2012

The thing about parenting, nobody tells you how difficult it is to be consistent.  Everyone talks about being tired, being stretched, being in love with their little people ... but nobody says, "One day you will have all sorts of rules and schedules and plans -  and the very next day you will just barely get yourself to make your children bathe and brush their teeth. Oh, and then they won't bathe." Maybe consistancy is for young, new parents? I think back to the days when I made Britt and Paige finish their food and once (to Paige's utter horror, which caused life-long scarring) made Paige eat an entire piece of vegetable lasagna.  I used to have so many rules and really took pride in my ability to force compliance.  Now I fairly regularly agree that a single bite of real/healthy food equals enough compliance to have chocolate dessert. Compliance? Ha!!  That's SOO hilarious. I don't know if I was a good parent then or if I am a good one now ... or if neither is true... I only know that we pray for grace and wisdom - try not to sweat the small stuff - and make it up as we go.
You all make each day very interesting and fun.
We love you so stinkin much it hurts.
We're excited for you as you begin the new year: finishing grad school, and entering 12th, 5th, 4th, 3rd, Kindergarten and Pre-K in just one week.

This concludes installment 6.

XOXO
mom

of tropical storms and birth

Friday night we laid quietly in our beds wondering what to expect.  

The power left early in the night as wind took down poles. City power is a privilege, not a right, so nobody will be too worked up if that isn't fixed for many days or weeks. 

Somehow in the years we've lived here we have never experienced a storm like that. (Although I do think as far as natural disasters go there have been quite enough. We're not complaining!) 

movie & post tropical storm larding & cuddling

Where we live we mainly had high winds all night long, the rain was soft and steady but never torrential downpours.  There was more pacing and checking than there was sleeping on Friday night.  It is interesting how much something like that activates the fearful feelings we had during aftershocks - I'm no ptsd expert but Troy and I kept comparing our heart rates in the night as the wind whipped and we heard lots of unknown loud bangs.  There must be a correlation just based on the feeling of no control. As the wind violently whipped I wondered how mothers and babies were faring if they had no cement walls to protect them.  A number of the ladies in Heartline's programs live in tents and I think we'll all be anxious to see them on Tuesday and hear that they are hanging in there and made it through the long night of high wind and T.S. Isaac.

During the height of the winds, around 2:30am Ketia called to say she was having what she thought were contractions.  I talked to her mom and said that I needed to call back. I wasn't thinking a ride would be very easy in pitch dark and 70 mile an hour winds.  Troy called them back for me because he is more skilled with telephone Kreyol and we all agreed that it was early labor and we'd talk after daybreak.  In the morning they called again and headed to the Maternity Center.   

Ketia, a first-time momma, labored all day Saturday and finally delivered a baby girl that she named Juliana at 11:45pm Saturday night. Her mother and aunt were with her all day supporting and encouraging.  Lydia had met Ketia when we gave her a ride a number of weeks ago and felt like she should stop in to say hello.  It made me laugh when I said to Jen, "Yeah, Lydia thinks she knows Ketia and needed to come for minute."  Lydia emphatically stated, "I DO know her!"   Lydie rolled with Ketia's crying and yelling in pain and said hello and then quickly gathered her lollipop treats and headed back home.  

Different areas of the country had more rain and flooding that our area of Port au Prince. It definitely feels like adding insult to injury when so many have not even resolved and replaced what they lost in 2010,  we're grateful in that we know it could have been so much worse. The last we heard seven people died as a result of the storm.

The main internet provider  and the power are still out.  In Haiti a lot of people have their regular plan and then their 'degaje' backup plan. I am currently using Jen's back-up plan to post this. It might be quiet this week with limited internet access, just wanted to quickly say thanks for your continued prayers for Haiti.