First date awkard

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 2010

First date awkward

my favorite book title, taken. The name of my first idea...taken. The name of my first childhood dog...taken. The whole world must be blogging to have taken all my seemingly personal titles. Blogging? Really? Not for me, I have been completely sure. So, now I will have to give a lot of excuses why I am not blogging, only writing...in the year 2010.
My Dad is this really amazing writer. Growing up, I experienced delectable bites of life through his writing. Slowing down an everyday experience and serving it up with a splash of wit, heavy helping of observation and oh yes, the bleak Irish humor. All that being said, I offered him a birthday present last year. I would write about a childhood memory, mail it to him and then he would write one of his. and Wa la! we would have his most hilarious stories preserved to tell my sons. Alas, we are both horrible at data entry...so this is my sneaky fix. A blog! automatically typed and saved in cyberspace! We shall see if he buys into it...
Past all the quips, I have felt this tug at my insides lately, as regular as my daily paper and my son exclaiming about his " poop-castle" after he has his daily constitutional, This tug shows up. An overwhelming sense of being kicked in the pants to "write it down". I know that it is my bestfriend and creator, nudging me in a good direction. So here I am. Daring to put thoughts on paper. Lately, I hear Him telling me to write down the daily stuff....so I won't forget so quickly the truth, or mabe the proverbial bus is going to run me down soon and this could be my last will and testament on this earth. I so desperately want my son's to know that each day I spend with them is a beautiful gift to me. That I have discovered the world and myself a thousand times over in their simple questions and toddler presence. Staring, I still can't quite get used to the miracle sitting next to me on the couch...how did God make this little person? will I ever get to know him completely? What is he going to be like? Grown inside me, his existence completely started in me....yet I still can't wrap my mind around the magic of his existence! The favor God has given me in getting to be part of his life. Wowed, I have tasted afternoon picnics, swinging high until you don't even remember what it looks like from the ground. Swearing I am now half bird, I don't even want to stop. I am promising myself that I will unashamedly write what I want....refuse to delete anything and put down the red pen of editing. This is a beautiful salute to life lived messy, gut wrenching moments and ugly emotions panned for gold . I won't give up until I see God's redemption in my story, in our story.
To my husband, who fights for me and bleeds with me...I want him to know the amazing stuff that I sometimes forget to tell him...that I am living the dream. He has made my whole life a dream.....thank you. Even when I forget to tell you anything but the rant. Thank you for being in my corner, always choosing me, and laying yourself down for me. I experience Jesus in you...and I can't wait to intertwine our fingers in heaven and worship forever together.
To my Dad, I really had every intention to write memories for you...but the things that I want to write are about Iraq. It is a messy, ugly story that I feel the tug to write. I know I shouldn't be ashamed to let you read about my story, but I am. I think it might hurt you, hearing how a big war and inhumane people bested your Duaba. I don't want you to feel hurt or uncomfortable...but right now, this is what I have to share. The more I don't write about it, I am frozen for writing about anything else. Mabe if I just write the worst of the worst, the "rest of the story" I will have freedom to write about other things. Like how, I am pretty sure that God is giving me the vacation/adventure I have always dreamed about, but disguised it as being a "stay at homer" with my son's. Imagine if this is better than all the brochures I have read and collected over the years, but He dressed it up as my "everyday life". What a kick that would be! How God is that....always flipping things upside down. Instead of pinning after a vacation from my real life, in reality I am living the vacation...daily. and years down the road, when my peanuts are grown I will realize it. Creatively amazing God is..the first will be last, if you give away your life you will actually find it, if you forgive you will be forgiven, what you did for the most overlooked you actually did for the king of kings! oh, yeah...I think this hypothesis has merit...God is feeding me my fav dessert, all dolled up to look like a nutritious carrot. what do you think?

From Haiti with love!

Isn't it easy to lump things into two categories, “best” and “worst”? Even as I pull up a chair, slide up to the computer and attempt to write down my adventures in Haiti, I am immediately tempted to sum it up into those two quick categories. Did you know that is a “cold culture” way of communicating? Before I left, some of the orientation included an article highlighting the differences between Cold Cultures versus Hot Cultures (Foreign to Familiar by Sarah lanier). There is no doubt in your mind if you are from Duluth which one we are. If you're not sure, its based by how close you are to the equator. “cold culture” values efficiency and information giving during communication. Hot cultures on the other hand, value building relationship and putting people at ease during conversation.

Interesting to “catch” myself, not being myself, but practicing the culture that has been given to me. There isn't a right or wrong, but each culture is practicing what they value. Man, I think the Haitian's have slam dunked this one!” Relationship over the task” sounds like a value that you will never regret, and in fact, might allow you to get the most life out the days that you live. Another comparison that rang my bell was, “in Cold cultures, prestige is determined by ones accomplishments and accrued wealth.” Yeah, I really don't see how this could apply to Americans right? “hot cultures identify themselves as a group, not individuals. So, individuals do not expect to have to stand alone in life. I almost feel a little like Haitians have a total head start on us. Americans struggle with building lasting relationships their whole lives...divorce, friendships, broken families. We have the ability to accrue wealth, yet depression, anxiety and loneliness is, by the numbers crippling us. Suicide rates for kids under 14 are rising in our society. If these issues trickling down to them, its bigger than I know. We desperately want relationship, but our culture doesn't practice valuing it, in our everyday way we communicate.

At this point, I haven't even gotten on the plane yet, and my heart is being sucker punched by sadness. I am leaving my beautifully-boring (after Iraq..boring is a blessing to me), affluent life, because I feel like Jesus asked me to. He asked me to set aside my pursuits, and the treasured people in my life and get to know more of God's family in Haiti. To put on my boots, and work side by side with people he loves, as they struggle to survive another day. And yet, they are rich in relationships! They don't have healthcare, clean water or food, but they are able to relate to Jesus, and each other in a way that brings real hope. Kids are killing themselves because of feeling utterly alone and hopeless in the country I am leaving. Being honest, I don't know how to process this. But what I do see, is hope. The hope that allowed Haitians to keep going after the earthquake was having a tangible, experienced relationship with Jesus. And that same Jesus is the antidote to a wealthy country that is hurting.

And then I got on the plane......

Crinkled up eyes sat low under his dusty cowboy hat, while his hands pried open an old western book that looked so old, I wanted to ask if the reprint date was from the 1920's or if john Wayne lost his book. It was triple thick, and held together with a paper clip the size of a small dog. Yep, this was my seatmate on the flight to Miami. Anyone who knows me, can anticipate this being a major high light for me. Given my uncool love of rodeos and all things cowboy. But not today folks. I was rattled. Given the teary goodbye, even Jake wasn't sure I was going to snap out of it. I was rattled by my own rattledness! There was a group of tornadoes in the Midwest that caused a total shutdown and cancellation of my flight. When I showed up the next day to catch my flight ( total groundhogs day moment) they said the computer had automatically re booked my flight, but whoops! Not my return flight. I had visions of maybe making it through their computer glitches and getting to Haiti....but standing in the airport in Haiti with no ticket home, only a sign that says, “will work for plane ticket”.

From the very beginning of even thinking about going to Haiti, its been uncomfortable and hard for me. And getting rattled at the ticket counter, was only the beginning. When I felt Jesus kinda poking me in the ribs about Haiti...then finally feeling like He was inviting me to go. I kept getting the sense that He was asking me to give up all the things I find security in, and make space for Him to be those things for me. And He wasn't talking about mushy feeling stuff...He was talking about the gritty, practical I-am-going-to-a-foreign-country-totally-alone reality. Jesus was my only security blankie, only person who knew me..and in my mind, the only person I was going to blame if this went really pear shaped. Things weren't starting out great for me. When things happen, I usually rely on the fact that if no one is shooting at me, its really not a crisis and its going to be okay. It might not be easy or fun, but its all going to pan out. Standing at the ticket counter, it felt like someone might be shooting at me...or shooting my confidence in myself down. “When there is less of me, there is more of Him”

Port Au Prince, Haiti. Touchdown! To those who have ever tried to deal with an unhelpful airline when they lose your bag......I now join your ranks and understand while you pack yourselves up like a donkey with all those carry ons. Given the language barrier, and the fact that I had no idea if who ever was picking me up would wait for me...I pretty much waved aur revior to hopes of getting my bag back..

My plane was late, and I was really late given the bag fiasco and panic started creeping up my spine. I would jump in a taxi and take my chances, but it was getting dark by now. And that seems like a different gamble. I leave the ticket counter and say I have to look for my ride, keep in mind....I have no idea who this person is, I could be walking right by him. A guy has a crumpled up index card in his hand that says, “MTI”. Whew! The knot in my stomach loosens, and hope starts to breath again. Until we get outside and he starts to hustle me for money when I see the real MTI guy in a bright red shirt with MTI printed on the front. It helped that an RN from portland just flew in and was waiting with the MTI employee. People from Portland make duluthians look tan....just say-in..it helped me to see him in amongst everyone else. After the day that I had, I heard myself telling this fake MTI guy and his three friends who were harassing me to pay him ,”Don't be a Bully, dude”. And slamming the door in his face. Mabeduluth's anti- bullying campaign is really working?

Driving through Haiti, felt oddly familiar. Keep in mind, I didn't say homey, just familiar. It looked like Africa, smelled like Africa and had my favorite thing...round a bouts! Besides, a near extinct group of indigenous Haitians who look similar to native Americans, everyone who lives in Haiti is from Africa. The french captured Africans and brought them to Haiti to be slaves. Which is Haiti's bragging right, They have the only successful Slave-led revolt in history. It was bloody, and took 20 years but they did it, and kicked the frenchies so bad they went home and invented french fries to soothe themselves. Alright, that last part is not approved by Wikipedia...yet.

Africa was in my nostrils, but a more masculine sounding french was tickinglingmy ears. And to confuse my senses even more, I left Miami two hours ago, and landed in a place that screamed “Africa” to me. My first time, I flew 27 hours before I saw outside my plane window the red, dusty soil of Africa, that I had grown up pining over in the national geographics in our basement, not two hours. So close to the U.S, yet so far away.

“You both are angels. You could be on any beach in the Caribbean, but you chose to come to Haiti, thank you.” That is Fabienne,the medical director's greeting to us as we walked into the house.

She grew up in Haiti, went to nursing school in Miami, was working there when the earthquake happened and she felt like God called her back to Haiti. She gave us a 20 minute run down, which started with, “5am tomorrow you guys leave for La coma.” She is lucky I even kept listening to her. I get carsick, and La coma is across the entire country, up until you hit the opposite coast. It can't get any farther away or I would be catching a boat back to the states. To get there would take 8 hours of crater filled driving, and driving through three different rivers. All this screamed carsickness to me, and all I had was the shirt on my back and the undies I was wearing. Spending 10 days in the Haitian wilderness was making me really miss the bag that got lost. I wasn't going to tell them that I get car sick, and puke y when I have to drink dirty water in a foreign country. La coma wasn't set up to have teams go up there yet, no team house, no electricity, no clean water or a cook to boil everything so us forieng
wimps wouldn't spend the week puking or in the outhouse. I was supposed to be trusting Jesus, for everything. And my mind was screaming that I would spend the whole week puking and He wasn't going to change that, and as much as I wish I could have been really trusting....I wasn't. I was freaked out. Puking in a land rover for 8 hours without my hubbie to care, or hold my hair back sounded like a nightmare that I wouldn't even want to have, much less live. That night alone in my room, I realized how much of a wimp I am. If I could spill all my crazy fears to someone, it would sound less scary than having them run the gerbil wheel in my head. Its easier to be part of a group, than to be left alone with my own thoughts. Stretching...uncomfortable stretching seemed to be the mainstay of this trip. And it didn't seem to be letting up.

Day #2. Road trip day. Bag was found, Wes, the other RN got carsick also so we rode three across in the front seat, think summer on the equator people, and the Land Rover with the help of a 8 year old boy guided us as we drove straight through three rivers. 8 hours later, we rolled into La coma, all of us sporting head and neck whiplash injuries and poor Wes, some bruised ribs from getting slammed into by me and the driver. Inertia and “corner!” can do nasty things. We made it to camp! It felt like a weeks worth of traveling, sweating, and being pretty scared. But tomorrow will only be day #3.

I am going to take my time, and process through and write through my days in Haiti. No rushing for this cold culture junkie! I don't want to miss anything, I don't want to write a movie preview or synopsis of Haiti. The really great stuff is like panning for gold, and I want to be willing to sift through some dirt so I don't miss the gold pieces of God in the big stuff and the little stuff. So this will end with the dreaded words...”To be continued...”

But I will tell you that I met more of God's Family...my family in Haiti. It felt like finding yourself at a family reunion, and you had no idea that you are part of such a sweet, amazing group of people that you didn't even know. Totally humbled, that this “family” would allow me to be part of their group. That they claimed me, as their own. I don't want to have my head down, self focused on only my family, and miss the big family of God. If I choose to only be a citizen of my country...its going to be a small story. But if I choose to be a citizen of the world, I will get to be part of a big story, and a big ol family.