ee!

Week by week, Joshua, Olivier, Joseph and I have turned page after page of the Jolly Phonics storybook. As each letter and vowel combination is introduced, we flood the chalkboard with words where we hear the sound, and then we take the letters and turn them into art to be plastered on our classroom walls... We are getting quite a fantastic collection!

Friday we didn't waste any time getting down to business... Joshua was eager to create a boat complete with stick-mounted sails for the 'oa' sound. Olivier grinned all the way through his creation of a mouth, teeth and lips to end with a winning smile for his 'ie' sound. And I sat down beside Joseph to tell him about my idea for his 'ee' sound... It was going to be messy one. But as you can see from that look in his eyes, he is always up for a good challenge.

After a few giggles and his nod of approval, I pulled the paint tubes from their shelves and snatched the biggest brush I could find, while Joseph took off his shoes and socks.
And then, with a confident sweep of bright blue paint on my brush, I took a breath and painted his feet.
As the cool, wet colour covered his toes, his heels, and the ticklish arch in between, his sole swerved and scrunched and he let out many uncontrollable shrieks and kicks. The look in his eyes was a combination of despair and pure thrill. I'm sure the gardeners outdoors were questioning what on earth we were up to this time. Joshua and Olivier stopped their work to watch the show, and by the end we had all reaped a generous dose of laughter for the day.

Several dozen wet wipes later, we had exactly what we had hoped for: 2 perfect footprints to hang on the wall for 'ee'.
'ee' for Joseph's feet. And 'ee' for all of the squeals.
Mission accomplished.

Window seats.

It's a perfect day for flying, and I'm soaring over Haiti. Below me are the barren mountains, the hazy clouds, a jigsaw arrangement of block homes, and the Mission. I see the Hope Village long houses, and  follow the goat trail of a road to the tin roof of my classroom, where Noah, Caleb and Corinne are working diligently even now.
As the ground pulls back from this plane in our ascent, I can see far off into the blue, and my heart is full. Full of love for this place. Full of gratitude for the life below me. And as my mind shifts towards my destination, full of anticipation for all the coming weeks will hold in my roots.

Almost 2 weeks later, I sit in Chicago. Mumford and Sons have a song titled 'Hopeless Wanderer', and here on the ground, that is what I suppose I am. After countless baby cuddles and belly laughs, I find myself here again. Wandering foreign terminals and feeling estranged in body and spirit. Spotted across this continent, I have lighted homes and warm-blanketed beds and steaming cups and bright eyes and tight hugs. But in these airports I feel small and easily forgotten. The chill in the air seeps into my heart. I feel alone and vulnerable and long for a place to belong.

Time ticks by, and we board. Weary hands carry bags and tired eyes gaze out a small port window into the hollow darkness. Then we lift off, and I see it.
The softest glow of a horizon. Through the darkness, there emerges a line. The bluest of hues that grows ever wider. And then my eyes behold the beauty of new colours, evolving and emerging from the darkness. In a matter of minutes, the once-hidden horizon is all glory in a majestic climax of a sunrise. My mind is awakened and my heart warms once again as I marvel at His love lavished upon me. That high above a sleeping world and overcast clouds, I am gifted with a window seat to be reminded that He is still with me.

Thank you Jesus that just like the sun, you are radiant and ever present. And though I find myself lost and wandering, I can rest in your faithfulness and constancy. That despite my fears, my doubts, my weaknesses, and these ever changing circumstances, your right Hand holds me fast and leads me into Your marvellous light.

 You are chosen by God, chosen to be a holy people, 

God’s instruments to do his work and speak out for him, 

to tell others of the night-and-day difference he made for you

—from nothing to something. 

~ 1 Peter 2:9-10 (MSG)

Selah.

I've seen it italicized in Habakkuk and the Psalms, or as a title to a musical interlude on a worship album. But this morning I was prompted to dig a little deeper.
Selah is defined as a musical direction, but more than that, it is rooted in the word 'connect', which expands to meanings such as 'stop and listen', and 'let those with eyes see, and with ears hear'.
I resonate with these words because lately the Lord has really been putting it on my heart to 'selah'. To intentionally seek Him in a quiet place. To pause and reflect in stillness, because it is here that I can truly listen and tap into the deeper layers of His word. As the light from my window streams in ever fuller in the early morning hours, so His light shines down on my path ever clearer.

I appreciate your prayers in this time. That the Lord would reveal His perfect plans and peace in my heart as I tread onwards.

The Sovereign Lord has given me his words of wisdom,

    so that I know how to comfort the weary.

Morning by morning he wakens me

    and opens my understanding to his will.

⁵ 

The Sovereign Lord has spoken to me,

    and I have listened.

    I have not rebelled or turned away.

~ Isaiah 50:4-5

Pote mwen.

Pote mwen.

These Creole words were some of the first I learned upon my arrival in Haiti. At church, at the Hope House, or visiting a local village, you hear it countless times.
It means 'carry me'.

Sometimes in the heat of the day, you question the idea of clinging to another sweaty body, but the little children of this country could care less. They scramble to your side, take a hold of your hand and look up at you with those twinkling eyes. It doesn't take long until they give your arm a gentle tug and yearn to be lifted up... Up where their dusty (usually barefoot) feet can rest easy. Up where they can touch the overhead palm leaves. Up where a shoulder is a perfect match for a pillow.

This past Sunday, the Church of Hope was hosting a youth camp, so the pew benches were packed to the max. After scanning around for an empty seat, I finally found myself in the standing-room-only section at the back of the sanctuary. As the worship team began to sing, a little girl who wasn't much older than 5 years old approached me. We exchanged smiles, and she stood by side for a minute before leaning her body against my legs and uttering those familiar words. All during the worship set her skinny arms clung to my neck.
On the way back up the hill after church, my mind kept focussing back on the simple act of being carried, and I felt the Lord probing me to dig a little deeper...

Isaiah 46:4 says that 'Even in your old age and gray hairs, I am He who sustains you. I have made you and will carry you. I will sustain you and I will rescue you. 

This verse brings one of two reactions. The first is relief. There is such comfort and peace knowing that I can be rescued and carried by the One who is greater than I.
But deep down, I react to the verse a different way. Avoidance. Because as much as I long for a sustainer, being carried means that I have to be vulnerable. To be carried, I have to admit that I'm weak.
Frankly, I often care too much about outward appearances, and would rather struggle through a task than ask for help. I want to be independent and able. I want others to think that I am competent. And so I try to do it alone.

The simple act of carrying that sweet little girl at church was an important reminder to me. A reminder that I was never meant to go it alone. A reminder that we as followers of Christ were made for one another, and that carrying one another and being carried is how the body functions.
I was also reminded of the Lord's faithfulness of how He has carried me in the past. All of the times looking back where I had nowhere else to turn, and yet how He sustained me even then.
And last but not least, a reminder of what is to come, as was written in Isaiah - that whatever the years before me will bring, come what may, I can be lifted from my tired wanderings and rest safely in His everlasting arms.

Thank you Jesus for making me in such a way where You knew that I would have to be carried. May I embrace the areas that make me weak and burdened, knowing that You hold it all, and You hold me.

Wash day.

It feels like forever that I've sat at this empty text box. Between rat raids and mid-term report cards, amongst the visiting Cancrete team and other past staffers, my days have been brimming with activity. With February's theme of LOVE in the classroom, I've been bringing it on with post-it hearts full force - each one marked with an action of love we have either been shown or will show that week - and it's been so fun to see our classroom evolve into a pink paradise. With Valentine's Day just around the corner, we're looking forward to more festivities surrounding our month verse from Mark 12:30-31.

This month, I also get to visit Abby-girl in Canada which is highly anticipated to say the least, but in the meantime I'm doing my best to make the most of these days...
Earlier this afternoon, I visited the mountain families with Robenson. In my most recent visits, the girls have been doing 'concerts' for me, where they all line up and sing worship songs from church. Sometimes they even add a little dance to their songs, which always gains an extra squeal when they watch themselves on video with my camera.
As we approached the homes this afternoon, Shaylyn came dashing out to meet us with many of her younger sisters and brothers not far behind. When she took my hand, I noticed it was cool and wet and when I asked her about it, she replied that she had been washing clothes. Soon after making my rounds of greetings and kisses I was invited by her, Dida and Marie Rose to help out with the laundry, which I couldn't pass up. I plopped down to the edge of the giant 'kivet' (basin) and watched as the girls modelled the proper hand scrubbing technique. I took hold of one of the baby shirts and tried to mimic their action, which brought forth a chorus of giggles. Beside me, Marie Rose assisted in adding more soap and water onto the fabric and encouraged me to keep scrubbing. It wasn't long before the rest of the family was hovered over watching us, and just like that I had become the day's entertainment. As the laughing continued, Dida (the youngest) managed to compose herself and in her most authoritative voice she shouted out 'Pa ri ti moun!', which translates to 'Stop laughing, children!', which of course made us laugh all the more.

Just another wash day in this beautiful place... More soap please!