A CHERISHED CANVAS: Haiti In My Heart: One Year Later

"We are a little pencil in the hand of a loving God writing a love letter to the world."--Mother Teresa

One year ago I was sitting by the window on an American Airlines flight looking down into the crystal clear Caribbean waters and upon a horse-shoe shaped country called Haiti. The 4x6 glossy prints of this nation I once held between my fingers would be brought to life in my arms and heart. Seven days is all it took. In seven days, my world was shaken and my heart was touched. I close my eyes and I’m taken back to the day at Mother Teresa Orphanage. The juxtaposition of beauty and pain encompassed the four walls of this home.

On that day I wrote:
"'We are a little pencil in the hand of a loving God writing a love letter to the world,' said Mother Teresa. Those words caught my eye on one of the doors at the Mother Teresa Orphanage in Port-au-Prince. We walked in through the gate, down the 12 steps into the building where hundreds of children called this their home. When we entered, there were 25 beds in front of us with very sick babies and about ten more beds in the corner with more sick babies. Some had IVs, others had bandages, and only a few had enough strength to muster a courageous cry. I stood for a moment, soaking in this scene. Beauty. Pain. Love. Hurt. Anger. Compassion.

I saw the sisters never stopping...moving from one baby to the next, taking care of each baby's moment-by-moment needs. I moved around the metal cribs in this humidity-filled room, and my eye fell on a little one I couldn't pick up because of an IV and oxygen tank she was depending on; her skin looked like leather on her sweet legs. Crack. My heart broke. I picked up her limp hand and she clasped her five precious fingers around mine.

My ear heard the tenderness of a wailing cry, and I followed the sound to her crib where she reached up to me without hesitation. Crack. Another break in my heart. She quickly stopped crying and within minutes her head was on my shoulder. I held her for awhile, praying over her and singing her a little lullaby that was close to my memory from when my kids were babies. I carried her outside and the nurse that was out there asked me to place her on the table; it was her turn for a check-up.

My feet took me up the stairs to a room full of toddlers. My mind was still wrapping itself around the rooms full of children. My heart was embracing each second I had at this sacred place. Thirty metal cribs with low bars lined the room and each crib was filled with an eight month-old to two year-old. Our team was there to help the sisters in their mighty task of taking care of the least of these. Diapers changed. Sheets changed. Feedings. Laundry. We found crackers and make sure each child has one. I hear part of our team outside laughing with the older children. And I look at the faces before me, and I wanted time to stand still.

I met a little girl who had just arrived a few weeks' prior. She was smiling, trying to talk, and adorable. I lifted her in the air and said, "weeee," forgetting that meant "yes" in French! She kept nodding her head and giggling, and I kept lifting her and joining her in the joy of this moment. I put her down and walked around to a little one that had a tired look in her eyes but her two frail arms lifted in the air.

I picked her up and she wouldn't let me go. We were told that in the orphanage, the ones that have an identity tag of identity on their right ankle are not necessarily orphans; they are children who have been taken in by the sisters because their parents know they can't provide for them in tent city or the slums, and they are better off in the orphanage where they get food and water and their diapers changed. In this room of 30 babies, the little one in my arms was the only one without a tag. She was an orphan. The others in the room may (or may not) go home one day, but this one won't, unless she is adopted. She had colorful hair ties like my daughter's in her hair, and she clung to me like a koala, just like my little one used to when she was scared or insecure. I pressed her head against my chest and began rocking her. As her eyes closed, I felt her body go limp in mine. I was overcome by this sense of immense need yet a trust in God's goodness and a peace in who He is even when life doesn't make sense. Injustice surrounded me: hundreds of orphans in distress in a place of poverty that has experienced a natural disaster that devastated much of the country. Beauty surrounded me: willing servants, like the sisters, being Jesus to these little ones, and the value of each of these in the eyes of the One who created them.

I held her for awhile longer, and as I held her I saw a few other children reaching for me to hold them. I tried to lay the one in my arms down in her crib, but she sensed it, woke up and started crying, clinging onto me as if her life depended on it. I grabbed her back in my arms and found a chair where she curled up and fell into a deep sleep. I didn't want to put her down. Ever. Crack. Another piece of my heart. I eventually set her gently in her crib, and moved to the next crib where Emilie's arms were waiting for mine.

And then it was time to go. I have pieces of my heart left at this beautiful, difficult place."

Gratitude infuses my membranes when I think about this day that will always grab my heart. Perspective. Haiti is a beautiful country of resilience and hope; they have endured (and are continuing to endure) so much, and the cracks in my heart have allowed room for moments of growth and humility and shown me grace and love.

The words of Audio Adrenaline's song echo in my ears and it becomes my anthem:

"Little hands, shoeless feet, lonely eyes looking back at me
Will we leave behind the innocent to grieve?
On their own, on the run when their lives have only begun
These could be our daughters and our sons
And just like a drum I can hear their hearts beating
I know my God won’t let them be defeated
Every child has a dream to belong and be loved

Boys become kings, girls will be queens
Wrapped in Your majesty
When we love, when we love the least of these
Then they will be brave and free
Shout your name in victory
When we love when we love the least of these
When we love the least of these

Break our hearts once again
Help us to remember when
We were only children hoping for a friend
Won’t you look around these are the lives that the world has forgotten
Waiting for doors of our hearts and our homes to open

If not us who will be like Jesus
To the least of these..."

In those seven days, I was given a glimpse at His majesty by holding and being with those closest to His caring hands. My prayer becomes...please keep cracking, breaking and chiseling my heart for the things that touch the heart of God.

*I wish I could share pictures, but cameras were not allowed into the orphanage.