April was one of CATB's "ladies on a mission" last month. Enjoy her reflection of the experience...I’ve been back from Haiti for three days now, three nights’ worth of sleep in my own bed, three days’ worth of making meals for the boys, cleaning up toys, reading and hugging and laughing with the two children that belong to me.
Haiti’s images wash over me, waves of sounds and colors, when I least expect.
It happens while I’m folding laundry, holding up the boxers that belong to Carter and I see him, the orphaned one whose name I never learned, running past me, rubble flying up, skinny, ashy legs, bottom covered only by boxers because no one cares about the delineation of certain clothes for certain purposes–it’s all function, down there, no luxury of what’s proper and what’s not.
It happens when Walker cries because his bottom is covered in red rash and I grab the ointment and a fresh diaper and I wonder–what do the mommas do when their babies cry? Why am I the one allowed the privilege of meeting every need of my child, never having to soothe only with my arms, with my prayers and my songs, never having to plead for his physical healing because a prayer is all I have? What would my motherhood look like with no doctor, no hospital for emergencies, no ointment for red bottoms?
It happens when I wake and I sense the physical distance we’ve created from each other here in this culture and my house, my neighborhood, is quiet. Too quiet. I long for the sounds of life, for the immediate sense of community, for the sounds of the roosters and the children getting ready for school, for the songs of the kitchen cooks, rising up to greet us, even for the honks of the tap-taps letting us know that another day begins, and will we rise to it?
There was beauty in Haiti and it belonged to no possession.... Click HERE to read more
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