Ah, Haiti...how I had missed you! This trip was incredible, as was the last. But this time I was able to share it with my husband. I got to watch someone I love, fall in love with something already so near and dear to my heart. He felt the tug early. I could tell by the way he took everything in, that he was hooked right away. At first, he was interested in seeing the country from a teacher perspective. He wanted to share his multi-cultural experience with his classes and tried to log everything in order to do so. But then that curiosity and that interest changed. It grew into something deeper, something stronger, something with more staying power. His heart began to take on the beauty mixed with pain, and I'm grateful to have witnessed that.
I don't like the word missionary. I never have. To me, that word implies that I'm giving something or doing something selfless. I don't feel that way in regards to Haiti. I go there to restore my faith in humanity, to restore my own soul. There is something about this country and its people that speaks to the deepest parts of my being. I feel completely and utterly selfish in my desire to return. We painted some classrooms, provided some gifts and some food, but ultimately what did that do? I held children for brief moments in time. For one week, I was the hand on their backs, the voice in their ear. But how can that last a lifetime?
I was very aware of touch while in Haiti this time. Every trip to the orphanage made me more conscientious about the importance of human contact. Every child I saw got my hand on their back while we spoke. I wondered how often they go days without the loving touch of an adult who cares for them? And that's not to say that the nannies and caregivers at the orphanage didn't love them. Those people were truly amazing. They bathed and fed 65 children every single day. The kids are clean, and well cared for. But what of human contact? Is it possible to physically touch each one of them in a loving way every single day? I'm not so sure that it is.
In America, children between the ages of 18 months- 3 years want to be put down. They're developing independence and they don't want adults to hinder their desire for adventure. In Haiti, children of this same age reach up their hands and beg and plead for you to hold them. They've learned to say, "Mama! Papa!" as you walk by and they nearly break their little backs trying to reach for you. Even when you do pick them up, something normally distracting to an American child, like toys or candy are within walking distance, they will not let go. You try to put them down to play and they cling to you as tightly as their little bodies will allow them. Who knows when they'll be held again?
At one point my husband made a comment about how awful it was to see that kind of desperation. I agree with him, but I also know that even though it is awful to witness, and it would be easier for me to have never seen that kind of pain, it doesn't mean that it doesn't exist. It's there. It was there before we got there. It was there for the full week that I cradled as many babies as I could at one time, and it will be there long after I am gone. And although we are on our own adoption journey, and I do truly believe that my children are there, I am equally as passionate about orphan prevention in Haiti. How wonderful would it be to nearly eradicate the need for the over 700 orphanages in that country? What if we could help empower families, and help them find sustainable income in order to keep families together? I believe that's the ultimate goal. And I want to always be aware of that. Long after my children arrive safely at home, and we become the family I know we're supposed to be, I will continue to hope for and to support in whatever ways we can, the efforts at orphan prevention in Haiti.
While on this trip, Jeff and I were able to meet other potential adoptive families from our agency. That was a gift in and of itself. It was so refreshing to be able to speak about the process and the difficulties related to Haitian adoption with others who truly understand. I'm grateful for those contacts and for those three special people we now consider friends.
We also met our agency liason, and we'd previously only corresponded through email, phone calls, and texts. She's a truly incredible young woman and her heart for Haiti is beautiful. We are so privileged to be working with her, and I'm even more excited for the hundreds of children's lives that are touched by this beautiful soul.
We are often asked how the adoption is going and if we know how soon it will happen, if we've met our kids, etc. The answer is that it's going exactly the way it's supposed to. My children are there and they'll be home with me when both they and my current family are ready. Have I met them? I have no idea. But this trip helped me to see that no matter what happens, the people who are supposed to live in my home, will be here someday. And we'll fit perfectly. I can be patient. I have a lifetime to wait to see my son again, so the next few weeks, months or years of waiting for my Haitian children will be something I can handle.
I will go back to Haiti. I know this to be true as much as I know anything. My heart is there. And each time I even think of returning, I am filled with excitement, gratitude to those who help fund and supply my trips, and a peace I can't put into words.
Mesi, Haiti.
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