Heaven, Haiti, Home

Heaven, Haiti, and Home....

"The decision to have a child is to accept that your heart will forever walk around outside of your body."

Remember when you had your first child, and you had no idea that your heart could experience such a capacity for love? And then you had your second and the guilt of bringing another child to share that love weighed on you until you laid eyes on them and you realized that your heart grew once again? I have experienced these emotions more times than I can count, and I consider myself incredibly lucky to know that the capacity of the human heart knows no bounds.

I could never have known, as a young parent, that I could love someone enough to let them go. When my son was hurting, I could no longer put my own feelings first. It would have been so much easier to trade places, but that wasn't an option, and so I had to tell him that it was OK to move on without me. A huge part of my heart is in heaven, and will remain there. Nothing will ever replace that space.

My biological children have been home for a week now, living their busy lives without us. I miss them terribly. They each occupy different parts of my heart and I can't wait to wrap them in hugs again. Part of my heart is at home.

And now I have daughters who have stolen yet another piece of me. Part of my heart is in Haiti. I cannot adequately describe the love and the connection I feel to two little women who just two weeks ago, were strangers. From the moment I laid eyes on them, I felt that pull at my heart. Its ability to grow and create space has not been lost, and I'd feared it had for so long. Their hugs got longer each time I left them. And the last day, I was sure they'd never let go. Watching them cry tears of sorrow as their Dad and I left, broke me. We watched as their friends circled protectively around them, knowing all too well the pain of watching your parents leave and hoping against hope that they would, indeed, return for you one day.

While my heart stretches from heaven, to Haiti, to home, I recognize the gift in that truth. I have learned and experienced the capacity of the human heart and it's more incredible than I could have imagined. I have wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember, but I had no idea just exactly what that would mean for me. Now I know....

Heaven, Haiti, Home....

Bel Ayiti

I'm here again. The air is sticky and although I've just showered, I can feel the sweat dripping off of my forehead. But coffee, I still need coffee. The nights are short in Haiti and the days are long, and caffeine is needed. The coffee still has the same deep, rich flavor. The rooster still crows. The early morning, still my favorite time of day in Haiti. But something is different. And although I know that it's me, I can't always pinpoint the words to describe in what way I'm different on this trip than on others.

There is the obvious reason. I met my children on this trip. I experienced a life changing moment, and several of those to follow. But that isn't it entirely. I think that in times past I would lay out every detail of my trip. I would try to do my emotions justice with words, but how does a mother describe correctly the feelings she experiences at the "birth" of her child. I certainly can't, but I also don't want to. And that's a way in which this trip feels different.  I know I will share details here and there about what we have seen here this time, just as I've alays done. But right now I feel like it's not entirely my story to share.

I'm going to be raising two more little girls. They are my children and I love them beyond measure, and although I'm forever grateful to be added to the story, I am not their WHOLE story, and it isn't mine to tell.

So instead I want to share with you what I want you to know about my daughters. I want you to know that their country is beautiful. I want you to know that it is a thing to be loved and not to be feared. I want you to know that if you are more fearful of this place than you are of your own home, then your fear lies in ignorance. And I truly don't mean that in a judgemental way. I'm simply saying that if you haven't experienced the beauty, felt the sticky air, poured your teeth brushing water from a bottle, woken up to a rooster symphony, then you can't know. And there isn't anything wrong with that. But please don't assume that this is a scary place based on things you may have heard.

I'm certainly not rescuing anyone. In fact, I struggle with guilt every day about whether or not I'm doing my daughters a favor by bringing them home. And that's not to say that I'm not proud to be an American, that I don't know the beauty, power, and opportunity that lies within its borders. I absolutely do. But I do not feel that it's MORE beautiful, MORE powerful, or filled with MORE possibility than that of Haiti. As many things as we do well in America, there are some things that Haiti just gets right. I've never met a more optimistic, or resilient people. I've never experienced a big city atmosphere where people smile and acknowledge you like you're in a small town, the way I do in Haiti. The point is that my girls aren't being saved. There is likely some "saving" going on, but they aren't the recipients.

Adopting my children doesn't make me feel like a heroine. I simply didn't give birth to my children and I had to go about getting them home with me in a different way. I'm grateful to have the opportunity to do so.

I will do my very best to keep the love of Haiti and its traditions and its people alive and well in our home. I'm so excited and terrified and grateful and feel a major sense of responsibility to do justice to the gift that is having a piece of Haiti in my home. Because Haiti is not a place to be feared. It is a place to be loved.

Bel Ayiti  (beautiful Haiti)