Face to Face in Haiti

Haiti...It is very difficult to describe my experience in Haiti with words. There is an intenseness about everything that makes you feel like you can never quite catch your breath. This feeling still hasn't left me two months later. It wasn't that I was fearful, anxious, or uncomfortable in my new surroundings, there was just a heaviness all around. Stepping into a third world country for me feels like I am experiencing a little piece of Heaven, of what God sees that I don't get to most of the time. I was full of excitement and anticipation, but the feeling was more than just those things.
The hour long trip from the airport to HCRM (the girls orphanage) in Pétionville gave me valid mental picture and understanding of what the earthquake had accomplished (at least physically). People were everywhere, and there just didn't seem to be enough room for them (or for our vehicle to pass by them). We passed by many "tent cities"and mere fragments of what used to be someones business, home, church, school, etc. Eventually, the people seemed to clear as well as the dust as we wound our way up the mountains toward the orphanage. "Pétionville is a commune and a suburb of Port-au-Prince, Haiti, in the hills east and separate of the city itself on the northern hills of the Massif de la Selle. It is part of the city's metropolitan area, one of the most affluent areas of the city, where the majority of tourist activity takes place, and one of the wealthiest parts of the country." The orphanage is in one of these "nicer" areas with gorgeous views, yet the conditions there are not what we would qualify as "nice" by any stretch of the imagination (at least in the adequate, orderly, and cleanliness departments). The experienced leader of our team John Leininger had previously informed us that we would get unloaded and that our adoptive children would be brought to us separate from the rest in an orderly fashion. Therefore, we were all unprepared for the next scene that took place. The rest of us had no idea where we were or that we were nearing the orphanage facility. A good distance away we began to hear a faint sound of cheering that grew in volume and intensity as our vehicle drew closer. We asked, "What is that sound?" and John's reply was an anxious sounding, "Oh... no." Let's just say our arrival was the opposite of what we had been prepared to experience. It is one of those moments that replays in your mind and stays forever in your heart. We rounded the corner and knew instantly what those sounds were...our beloved children! All 120 of them! They were jumping and cheering and hanging over the tiered balconies in an alarming fashion, and there was no containing them. 

We found out later that the nurses, and nannies had tried, but the kids outnumbered and overpowered them. We were told that for the past few hours each time they heard a vehicle pass by the excitement would mount. When our vehicle rounded the bend, they could barely contain themselves! We had contacted and befriended a nurse that was already there in the weeks prior to this trip, and because of this we were able to Skype with our girls the week before and tell them I was coming. Climbing from the vehicle, and looking up at the sea of sweet faces, my eyes immediately met Marguerites. Then with her arms reaching toward me over the balcony, her eyes never leaving mine, and with the biggest smile I have ever seen she shouted to me "Mama! Mama!" 

Then she vanished from my sight. 

We were ushered up a flight of stairs and kids were everywhere. I didn't know where Marguerite had gone, and I before I had a chance to look up, something, someone, that came out of nowhere was on me...It was Delenda (who informed me her name is "Berlinda")! I had thought she was very shy, and that it would be hard to find her or for her to warm up to me. Instead, she found me! Her tiny legs were wrapped tightly around my waist and she cupped my face in her tiny hands and just stared and smiled at me in awe. 

I stared and smiled back in awe. 

Then she nuzzled her head into my shoulder and began twirling my hair like my Evan does. She repeated this over and over until Marguerite found us.  I was crying then, and the girls looked worried and began to search me for signs of pain. One of them found a hair band on my wrist that had left a ring around it (and I assume she thought this was the culprit), so she yanked off the harmful band. We all three just held each other, stared and smiled, oblivious to the rest of the world. 

This was one of the most joyful events I have ever experienced, and then one of the most sorrowful. You see, none of the children (other than mine) knew who had parents coming to see them. There were 120 of them, and only 10 of us. I have always known the need for adoption is great, but never truly realized that to these kids you are their only hope. I understood this truth at that moment. Still clinging to my girls and them to me, I looked out over the mournful scene. The cheering had stopped. Those with adoptive parents had been located, those without them were shattered. The sound of weeping from those precious children was also something I can never forget. There were not enough arms to hold them, there were not enough assurances to be given, and in that moment, they were left hopeless. I began to look earnestly for kids that I knew had adoptive parents "out there" and some I had brought pictures and gifts for from them. I found a few of these, and they understood that I "knew their mom". This gave them hope, eased their pain, and I somewhat became their substitute mom the rest of the week. It was still hard for them to watch us with our kids, and I think it was hard for my girls to be happy in that moment, when they were so burdened for their friends. I had two pictures in my backpack that I had printed out at the last minute before leaving at 4am that morning. I found these two little ones (Keemberlie and Jhony) and just to have the pictures was proof enough of their family to them. Little Keemberlie held that picture like it was her family in the flesh. Baby Jhony got so excited when I pointed to his mommy and daddy's faces and told him "Mama and Pappa" he began squealing for joy. His sweet squeals went on for nearly 15 minutes, as he would point to one face, squeal and laugh excitedly, then point to the other, and squeal again and repeat over and over. 

Click here to hear and see (well it was really dark) Jhony squeal for Joy

Shortly after unloading, we had the privilege of worshiping with these kids...and boy can they worship! To see the littlest of children singing and jumping and praising the Lord, was Heaven itself. The times of prayer were amazing. I have been to a few black church services in my days, but nothing compared to this! I just want to be able to worship like that! I have a feeling my girls will teach me more than I will teach them.

Click to view a sample of my worship experience with the children and our Esmee!

I spent the next 4 days learning from them, holding them, playing with them, laughing and crying with them, worshiping with them, and just falling in love with them! I will never be the same! Mother Teresa once said, "I have found a paradox that if I love until it hurts, then there is no hurt, but only more love." The hardest part was leaving them when it was time to return home. I left half my heart in Haiti on April 23rd, 2010. Yet even though a huge part of me was left behind, I definitely left with "only more love". This entire process has been painfully challenging mentally, emotionally, physically, financially, relationally, and spiritually, yet I daily remind myself that "To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable."
 ~CS Lewis, The Four Loves 

One door closed, another opened...

One Door Closed...

February-March 2010...We were strongly encouraged and told the probability was high that our girls would be able to come to us on humanitarian parole. Although we were not officially matched until after the earthquake, there was mounting hope that pre-earthquake orphans who now had home study approved families ready to foster-to-adopt them in the U.S. would also be granted parole through the H.R. 4603: Haitian Orphan Placement Effort Act (HOPE Act). This bill was introduced to "require the Secretary of Homeland Security to expand the humanitarian parole policy announced on January 18, 2010, to children legally confirmed as orphans eligible for intercountry adoption by the Government of Haiti prior to the earthquake on January 12, 2010, and for other purposes." Our girls fit into this category, and were anxiously waiting for their release under this bill. They watched 11 of their friends leave their orphanage on humanitarian parole. Everyone thought they were going home. We had 21 co-sponsors for the Hope Act and were waiting on a senator to sign it, when on April 14, 2010 Haiti suddenly requested that humanitarian parole efforts come to an immediate end. This was only three days before my flight left for Haiti April 17th to meet the girls for the first time. We had even raised money for their passports in hopes that we could secure them while I was there. This was a time of great sorrow for all the families matched with 47 of the children from HCRM. There was much that no one understood or that could be explained. It was however a precious time of crying out to God on behalf of these children that we had already grown to love as our own and had prepared to bring home. There was little time to consider what was next as I packed and prepared to leave for Haiti. We were blessed to receive donations for my flight, and many supplies donated for the orphanage which I was able to take with me. We truly believed that God had worked all the details out for me to go, and that no matter how things looked, He was in control of the situation. We believed we should move forward in faith and that God would not forsake us in the process He began. So at 6am on April 17th, I was on a plane bound for Haiti with 10 others that believed the same. 

Another Opened...

Shortly after humanitarian parole surprisingly closed on April 14th, adoptions surprisingly re-opened. One of our fears in adopting through the humanitarian parole route is that we may not ever be able to officially adopt our girls, or that there was a remote possibility that they could be asked to return to Haiti after being in our home for years. We were now free to adopt them through traditional international adoption. 
One of the reasons we had been unable to pursue international adoption in the past was the cost. Humanitarian parole offered us the possibility of an international adoption that was almost too good to be true with a cost of only $500 per child (plus home study fees and other paperwork fees in the future). The Lord knew that perhaps if we had not walked down that road, we would not have been open to an international adoption at this time because of the cost. He knew that humanitarian parole would close before we would be able to get our girls out, yet we most likely would never have pursued them (or found out about them) otherwise. And so because of this we are forever grateful that God saw fit to lead us to these precious girls through the hope of humanitarian parole, and that He also saw fit to open the door to adopting them according to His will through traditional adoption. Though the monetary costs are much much greater, and there is no longer a strong assurance that they will come to our home in the very near future, we have seen God's mighty hand prevail throughout this entire process. We are still unsure of many things, but are choosing to simply trust the One that knows the beginning from the end.