The Door and the Light

There is a door in the wall.

Last year when Dave and I went to Haiti to build a house, with a team from our church, we saw the door closed.
The community that was adjacent to that side, known as the Grand Ravine side of the seminary, was riddled with gang initiated violence. The shooting of a seminary watchman closed the door.
When Dave and I built last year, we built on the other side of the seminary. There have been over 30 houses built in that community. As the workers gave physical shelter the seminary students built relationships in the community. People have, and are, coming to Christ. Although the sights and smells were shocking to me last year, they were also alive with hope. People in the community smiled and sang with us, they nodded when we talked about Jesus. You could see God's Spirit at work.

This year we ventured back with our four children. We had heard that the gang leader from the Grand Ravine had approached our friend Mason, who is a missionary at the seminary, and asked him to begin building houses in the Grand Ravine. We rejoiced in this yet we were a little surprised when Mason told us we would be building on that side. Remember the four children part of this story?
We flew into Haiti on Monday and began work Tuesday morning. There were about 15 Haitians working on the house, plus Mason and our family. The first thing we did was make a human chain to transfer 100 concrete blocks onto the foundation to begin the walls. I passed a block to Rose and she promptly collapsed. The blocks were as heavy as she was and my only defense in handing her one was my optimistic nature. Rose was out. Then, I saw Dave pass a block to Avonlea. I saw all color drain from her face. Avonlea was out. We finished the block and the girls had better luck spreading mortar.

Rowan with some of his friends from the Grand Ravine

Dave and Grant holding the ladder

Rose washing her own clothes in the sink!

Jennica, our first friend in the Grand Ravine

After two hours Rose announced she was done. As I walked her back to Mason and Lauren's house to play with their kids, she asked, "Why are all these African Americans in Haiti?" Ummm. She wasn't quite ready for that history lesson.

The rest of the day was spent hauling block and concrete, playing with the kids, and building concrete frames.

At night we had dinner and hung out with Lauren and Mason. They were wonderful hosts.

The second day was more of the same. We built relationships with the children. I was amazed at the difference between the two sides of the seminary. The children in the Grand Ravine knew none of the hymns I tried to use to engage them. When I talked about God they shook their heads in confusion. The door into the Grand Ravine was open, but the darkness persisted.

Throughout the day I noticed a change. We taught the kids a Teen Mission song called Walking In the Light. We taught them This Little Light of Mine. We played and laughed and sang. The seminary students walked around and talked to people, sharing the gospel. I could see the Light starting to penetrate. As we left that day the children held our hands and accompanied us out of the door while we all sang Walking In the Light. Praise!

The house before the roof went on

playing with the kids

The Grand Ravine

Rosy's favorite friend Venessa

Thursday we went to Merger to see our sponsored children. Merger is a slum town where our church partnered with a national pastor to start a school. We played on the playground with the two little ones. Our older student, Ricardo, took us to his home. We had a translator and had a good conversation with him. Then we prayed over him. Rose first, then each of the children in succession of age, just like we pray at home. Dave and I prayed a benediction of Light over him. I was crying as we left. At lunch, we were told that one person in the Grand Ravine had responded and accepted the gospel while we were gone in Merger. Praise!

Merger kindergarten class

Rose was surrounded by cuteness

Ephraim

Schmide

Rose was a little overwhelmed by the love

 Thursday night at 2am (Friday morning) I woke to incredible pain in my stomach. It felt as though my insides had been put in a Vita-Mix. This frothy concoction was anxious to exit through any possible channel. I was sick. At 3am while still excreting, the generator quit and the lights went out. I was in totally darkness, directing my vomit toward what I believed to be the general direction of the toilet. The darkness, the pain, the smell (later I found there were dead mice decomposing under the sink) were other worldly.

Share.My.Pain.

Rowan was sick by 7:30 am. All of us took antibiotics. Rowan and I stayed in bed all day Friday. We missed the key ceremony and house dedication. We missed breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and a last night of fellowship with Mason and Lauren. But by Saturday morning, we were able to board a plane and head for Florida.

The scenery in Florida is beautiful but it doesn't hold a candle to the beauty of Haiti. God's creation is lovely, but the people He created are loveliest of all.

Oh the beauty of them!

This trip was a great gift. I was able to hold and love beautiful children. I was able to watch my children interact with all types of people. I could see the fruit of unconditional love in them, an acceptance of others no matter how dirty or naked. I was given a period of sickness to taste, for a bit, the darkness and despair of those around me without Christ. I was given fellowship with my husband and our friends, Mason and Lauren. I was given a front row seat in watching God open the door.

Walking out together

The door.

The door in the wall is open and the Light is pouring in.

Praise!

Soon

Our pastor calls it "I spy a lie." It's the ability to spot what is false in this culture of ours.

It makes me think of detectives who study legitimate money so that they can quickly recognize counterfeit bills. The ability to spot deception comes from intimacy with the truth. That is a fact.

So we sit in a dark movie theater watching the previews before the cartoon cast of Frozen begin to let it go. In one of the previews, a girl looks at a boy and says, "You can do it because I believe in you." Rose spies that lie.

"That's not the truth!" she whispers loudly. "It doesn't matter who believes in you, it only matters who you believe in!"

Yes. It matters who you believe in.

Last week we got the call that Dave's Grandma was going downhill rapidly. She's 96 so this shouldn't have been a shock, but when are we not surprised by death?

We went to see her on Sunday. She was sleeping and wouldn't wake up when we talked to her. Avonlea played the harp and Dave stood next to Grandma and held her hand for a long time. And Rose's words in the theater came back to me, they coursed down my cheeks with salty truth.

"....it only matters who you believe in."

When it comes to this, death, Who you believe in is the only thing that matters.
But it mattered very much in life, also.
Grandma has 4 children who all love Jesus. Grandchildren that love Jesus. Great-grandchildren that love Jesus. It's this Godly heritage, this legacy of God-loving, man-serving people that came about because of Who Grandma and Grandpa believed in.

When it was time for us to go, we said our good-byes. Truly good-bye on this earth, for Grandma went home to Heaven two days later. We all told her we loved her. But Rose's strong sweet voice broke through the tears and said, "I love you Great Ma and I'll see you SOON!"

Yes, truly, soon. And until then, we will live out Grandma's legacy of believing and living our whole lives in light of that belief. And God willing, the Truth will continue to pervade the generations.

Submitting

2006 was a particularly bad year. My dad died. My son contracted a blood disease that necessitated a blood transfusion to save his life. Dave felled a tree that landed on a neighbor's shed and flattened it. My son fell headfirst onto protruding stone and split his forehead open. I could go on.
On January 1, 2007 our family celebrated the fact that 2006 was OVER! I prepared a big breakfast. We drank a toast. Dave and I locked eyes across the table and I said, "It's over. May we never have to live a year like that again!" And I kid you not, at that very moment, Grant choked on a piece of bacon. Choked, as in, couldn't breathe. After several frantic moments we sent it flying and Grant went back to his eggs blissfully unaware of the fact that he just ruined our party.

This January felt something of a repeat of that. 2013 wasn't necessarily terrible but it did end badly. Dave and I felt all beat up and let down and we just wanted to spend January regrouping. On the 16th I had a doctor's appointment for Avonlea. We had done some tests and were going to get the outcome of them. I am a very positive person. It really didn't even cross my mind that anything could really be wrong with my thirteen year old daughter. So when the doctor told me that she tested positive, 100 percent positive, for Lyme disease, I went into shock. Instead of the doctor sitting before me, I saw a 2 year old's chubby face. Avonlea's little baby face. The baby I sung to and laughed with and prayed for. The baby whose whole future was just altered by what this man said to me.

"I'll wait till your eyes stop dilating and you can focus on my face."

He was talking to me. The baby face disappeared and I fought to focus. The doctor went on to say that she had also contracted several viruses and heavy metals because her immune system had been compromised. He went into a treatment plan that left me reeling.

We left the building after the appointment and I bawled like a baby in the front seat of the car. Bawled for a baby that I had dreamed of having a healthy life.

Avonlea answered my questions on the way home. Of course she still wanted to go on her mission trip this summer. No she wasn't scared or sad or angry. "Actually," she said, "I'm kinda happy to have something exciting to say in my testimony."

Ah, exciting. I had somehow missed that part of it.

Later that day Grant tried to get Avonlea off the computer and I heard this, "Grant, be gentle with me, I have Lyme disease."

As the days have rolled by I've asked myself some questions. Can I accept this as being God's plan for my daughter's life? Am I scared or sad or angry? Can I let go of the "perfect" healthy life I envisioned for my daughter and help her thrive regardless of what her body endures?

Yes. Yes. And yes.

She asked me last week, "Is my Lyme disease in submission?"

I answered, "No, it is not in remission, but yes, it's in submission."

And so am I.

On the job training

On Friday I told my woes of mating cats and a new story emerged. A friend worked with a dog breeder. She told how male studs were worth thousands of dollars and how a female could damage a male by pulling away too soon. So...she had to sit with the dogs and hold them together until the act was consummated. Wow. I had to watch the cats but never assist. She held out her hands and said, "sometimes I would just think, what am I doing here!" But her madness had method and the goal was new birth; life.
This week I have echoed her sentiments. The fevers have soared, the coughs racked little bodies, reams of tissues clog every waste basket, Avonlea has broken every blood vessel in her face, once again, vomiting. I throw my hands out and ask, "What am I doing here?" They need a nurse or at least someone awake and naturally compassionate! It's not the first time I've asked this question.
When allergies descended and I was left to bake a birthday cake with oats and maple syrup.
When I called poison control and gave my last name and they replied, "Oh, Rowan's mom?"
When the math problems were all wrong and they replied, "But mom, you helped me with them!"
When my four year old told me I need to talk in a big boy voice.
When the days are long and utterly demanding and I think, I wasn't trained for this! I can do ballet, write poetry, sing, tell stories but this.............
And I remember, "So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Cor. 4:18)
So yes, sometimes I think my children would be better off with a trained nurse, a chef, a scholar, a philosopher, but God entrusted them to faulty, (though entertaining), me. And what is unseen is the fact that I am assisting in the great work of God in bringing my children to new birth; true life. And I'm being trained on the job.


PS Just a note, mustard plasters and cough suppressents are counter productive