It’s time to go public
March 20, 2023
Haitians know how to grieve. And they know how to laugh. And they know how to suffer. And they know how to hold onto hope in the face of impossible odds.
And they are my people. So what better place to spend the last few days than in this country of contrasts, of joy and of sorrow, as I prepare to fight the toughest battle I’ve yet to face in my 52 years.
As I shared with the church yesterday, I will fight this with everything I am. I will fight this because of the boys at CERMICOL, I will fight this for the children of CCS, I will fight this for the community we have built at Haiti Awake, but most importantly, I will fight this for the six boys who have become the sons of my heart, if not the sons of my flesh.
It’s hard to look into the faces of those you love and break their hearts with the news you bear. It’s hard to say, “I have every intention of coming back, but I cannot say for certain I will.” But as I told the boys on Saturday night, “I have always told you the truth, and I always will.”
We talked about the fact that I will lose my hair, that I won’t look the same. Wesly and I broke the tension of it when I told them not to call me “Tèt Kale” when they see me, and Wesly told me he has plenty of caps I can borrow. Goodness. I love being able to laugh when it seems we should cry.
As you can see from these photos Hudson, Steeve, and I took, we laughed - so much, we cried - a little, we hugged, we hoped, and we faced reality - together.
In the days ahead I pray I can continue to step forward with the same courage, determination, hope and strength I have learned from these beautiful people who have become my extended family.
There was a song we sang at church when I was a child, and in recent days these lyrics have played in my head:
“I know God makes no mistakes. He leads in every path I take along the way that’s leading me to Home. Though at times my heart would break, there’s a purpose in every change He makes. That others would see my life and know that God makes no mistakes.”
Glwa pou Bondye.
The boys
March 23, 2023
The letters.
When I left Haiti each of the boys gave me a letter. I held them and didn’t try to read them as they felt like sacred writings in my hand, something to be saved for a time when they could be read with great care and given the attention they deserve.
When I read them, my heart was overwhelmed by the words of teenage boys - boys I know do not share their emotions freely. I was most amazed to read what Stanley wrote:
“It is the grace of God with you who removed me from under the hand of Fedrick.”
The hand of Fedrick. Sometimes I forget the hand of Fedrick. Sometimes I forget the children’s stories as they have a new life.
But the children? The children will never forget. They lived that nightmare. And it will, in some way, always be with them - that darkness - no matter how much light floods their lives these days.
When did these six go from being kids we were caring for to kids that I knew were my own? When did they become my sons? As I told them on Monday morning, “We do not have papers, but we all know the truth. You are adopted.” And they are.
And they are loved. So deeply. I do not want to be another loss in their lives.
