Decompressing

I am in a post-Haiti fog.
I am tired. I am sad.
I am conflicted with the excess in my life, yet in this world, still struggle to do all I need to with the funds I have.

I yearn for my Dimitry and find myself struggling with Alby's situation.

I have seen many sides of Haiti. . .
Post-earthquake, I took a crash course in caring for the poverty-stricken, wounded, afflicted people of this damaged country. I literally had my hands on people as they died, and likewise, those being born. I saw unbelievable wounds and injuries and was amazed by the resilience of a people so badly beaten down. I witnessed the symptoms of illnesses we only read about in the USA. I experienced limb deformity, parasites, aspiration, hemorrhage, and severe malnutrition. When we were able to sleep, it was in tents on top of gravel. There were aftershocks. There was screaming and voodoo drums in the night. The roosters were relentless.

Returning a year later to provide coordinated surgical services, I slept in air conditioned luxury where meals were catered, timely and complete.

I have a son who knows no little luxury. He sleeps in a room very full of other children, but they are fortunate to now have beds (do they share the tiny single bunk bed mattresses?) He has a uniform and shoes for school . . . his other clothing is too small, dirty, and torn. He wears mismatched Crocs that are small for him, when he has shoes on. Sometimes he has bread for dinner. Sometimes he is lucky and has beans with rice. They have electricity between two and three hours most nights . . . of course, that invites the mosquitoes who carry malaria and Dengue fever into the barracks where he sleeps. No one holds him. No one tells him he is smart, funny, talented, loved, wanted. Does he know how to pray? Does he think anyone is listening?

I have a son who has Sickle Cell Disease, in a third world country. He is fortunate to have nuns care for him, keep him immaculately clean, administer his medication, entertain him, feed him and worry about him "getting too thin." He sleeps in linens cleaned for him. He has meat, vegetables, bread and juice with his beans and rice. He is loved. He is held and hugged and encouraged. He knows his prayers and the songs of thanksgiving and praise taught to him. He has many outfits and new tennis shoes in addition to his Crocs.

I am certain that God opened my heart to the orphans in Haiti. I am certain that I am called to be an advocate for the fatherless. There is no doubt that the resources available to me are meant to be shared and I am a link between the two sides. My heart breaks for the children in Fondwa and for all the orphans sleeping alone, perhaps on a cold floor, hungry and without the security or comfort of love.

Anyone who has a heart for God's children without earthly parents knows that the orphan crisis is bigger than them . . . but certainly must cry for them as I do now.