home again.

Our team clockwise from me: Elsie, Joel, John, Dave, Will, Mandy, Me [Stephanie wasn't here for the picture] 

The older, sweet sweet  girls of Canaan

Our smallest malnutrition clinic patient yet, Gaile. Barely 9 pounds at 18 months. Look at her compared to my hand ... tiny. 

I am home safely to the States now. Thank you so much for your prayers, encouraging words, emails, and support. I could never have gone without you. Your prayers made everything possible – so thank you for being a part of saving children’s lives and spreading the word of God. I pray someday maybe you will get to go in person to see the beautiful people you have been praying for.

To sum up my experience would be impossible. I don’t know how to answer the simple question “how was your trip?” It was a million things each changing a piece of me. It was wonderful and fun, funny and exciting, heartbreaking, heart wrenching, difficult and easy, hot and cold, long and short, tiring and filling - - and a million other conflicting things.

I am different. I’m sure- as it is with most short term mission projects – that I am the one who did the most changing. God has opened my eyes to a world I knew existed but never grasped the depth of its reality. And now… I know He wants me to do something about it.

I would ask as I adjust back into the routine of American life that you pray I do not forget the lessons He taught me and the call He has whispered to me to change the world. That I never forget the hungry, the poor, or the broken. May my heart remain soft to those in need and my resolve to seek justice stay strong.

Thank you my dear friends,
Brittan

Cry, The Beloved Country

Cry, The Beloved Country

This is one of my neighborhood friends who loved to play with the goats. 

This man is from the northern mountain village of Cap'iat. We met while hiking. 

This is one of our beautiful malnutrition clinic babies. She is doing so much better.

Cry, The Beloved Country

Cry, the beloved Country
For you were beautiful once
Until the winds of time and pain
Weathered your sandy shores
Your leaves were green, your trees were tall
Until the sun beat them down.

Cry, the beloved Country
For you were beautiful once
The traces of your past rest in buried grace
And darkness tries to cover you in shadows

Cry for the people left in ruin
For the hungry
For the poor
Cry for those whose tears flood the country

Cry for the beauty of what once was…
For the theft of what was taken
For the pain of what was broken

Cry, my beloved Country
I hold you near my heart
May I bind your open wounds
And satisfy your thirst
I hold you close and watch you bleed

Cry, my beloved Country
For you were beautiful once.
I cry, for you will be beautiful again.
In a slow and aging dance, your beauty will return.
For brokenness will turn to grace
The shadow lands will bathe in light.

Cry, the beloved Country
For a day is coming when tears are needed no more
And more beautiful you will be, than you ever were before.

rocks. anger. and a different pair of eyes.

I threw the large rock into the sea, angry. Well, not threw, hurled. As if I could throw away all the pain I had seen these past weeks. Maybe, it too would get carried away by the waters.

I continued walking the long stretch of beach, toes crunching on the sand. I’d been sitting, standing, walking, then repeating that whole cycle for some time now trying to process my thoughts. Anger and compassion are difficult to reconcile. I couldn’t quiet the murmurs of my heart. Nor could I stop the tears tracing my wind and salt stained face. They made little rivers on my cheeks. Maybe, the little rivers could carry away all the pain. Maybe, but I doubt it.

I found a broken piece of concrete half buried by high tide and sat down. An appropriate symbol for this broken country – made mostly of concrete, dirt, and sky. I sat and wept. I wept for these people, this land, and the wounds you saw open and bleeding everywhere you looked. You saw the pain in the mother at the market trying to feed her four children; in the old man with the machete carrying today’s meager crop; in the dogs and donkeys, the pigs and pidgins with glazed, hungry eyes. They are roaming. Roaming… that is a word for this place. People roam here They don’t quite belong. Belonging constitutes safety, food, family. Roaming is more like scavenging or surviving. The land is roamed over, picked dry by tired, worn brown hands. And yet… somehow in the midst of the roaming there is home… there are moments of laughter, echoes of singing, and pairs of sparkling eyes. That is what most of my tears are for - - the beauty of this broken land- for what was and what could be again. No these people don’t belong to this land… they don’t belong among the ruins.

I couldn’t quit the tears. I’d been though this country and now this country was going through me. Over and over. Scenes, sounds, smells, sights…. Rushing and tumbling just like the waves. Fierce, painful – fresh and raw.

With my tears I had only one thought… how can I ever go home? Home to the land of the Free and the Brave , home to the land of plenty, home to the calluses that were sure to follow. It would be impossible to bleed or to weep like this forever. I fear that the calluses will come and maybe I’ll forget. . . how do I go home? I must, you know. I cannot stay here forever.

How do I explain all of this to you? How can your eyes see through mine? How can I show you the hunger and pain of these people? I don’t fully understand it myself. I’m not sure if I ever will… but I know I will weep for them. I will be different. And I too will see with different eyes, with their eyes… I will look with the eyes of the hungry, of the dying, of the desperate. I will look across the ruins…

And what to make of God amongst all of this pain…. That’s the reason I hurled the rock, angry… not at Him, but at the brokenness this world has… how this place is not in solidarity in its suffering, humanity is a brotherhood in that. There are millions dying, millions hungry. Angry - because there is so much that needs to be rebuilt. Ruins that need to be restored. There IS beauty in this tragedy and a home among the ashes. Angry – because at 23 I see this burden and don’t know what do to with it. I want to change it all. Angry – because I know I can’t.

I stand back up and run to the water’s edge. I dive in, fast. I swim the length of the beach in hard strokes. I want to leave it behind. I’m frustrated that I cannot change the world -arm over arm, breath by breath, heart pounding- But that doesn’t mean I won’t try.

After all, the One who made the Ocean I am swimming in, the One who made the rock I threw, the One who has walked the path of desperation, hunger, shame, and loss Himself … the One who bled - - He promises beauty for ashes and to be the place we call home.

** pictures are from our excursion to the mountains near Port-au-Prince **

the little girl and a God of Miracles

This is Edine, when we found her at her home. 

This is Edine when she came to visit us at the clinic. 

Again, at the clinic checking her vital signs and weight statistics. 

We didn’t even recognize her. She looks so completely different. But, I am getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you what God did….

On Wednesday, while working in our hospital based malnutrition clinic a nurse found me to ask if we could see this small child named Edine and possibly help her. [imagine that - - a hospital asking a random white non-medical person for help]. So with all our gusto and prayer, we went to little Edine’s cot. She wouldn’t eat or drink for us. She could barely hold her head up. We prayed with the mother and laid hands on the baby. What more could we do than to say when she gets better come to our clinic, we will help. Friday, we returned to the hospital to check on little Edine. We found the nurse and the mother of another patient in a nearby bed. Both said Edine and her mother went home. At first we were excited! Hospital release - - a good sign! No, not here. The mother took Edine home to die the nurse said. She was getting worse and worse. The IV wouldn’t stay in and she was having seizures.

Our team went to the courtyard stunned. We were too late. We prayed, I cried. Each of us felt God saying not to give up… We asked the nurse for her address, she came back with her chart [imagine that - - a hospital giving complicated medical records to 4 random white strangers, we didn’t know this nurse]. The chart looked very bleak. And again the nurse said Edine was at home to die.

Friday night was restless and each of us struggled over this little baby. Personally I wondered how many Edines there were here. I thought about the slow agony of the mothers. I thought about how easily she could get better with the right treatment – the only thing wrong with her was lack of water and food.

Saturday morning God kept us restless and we knew we had to try and find her. God was going to show up and do a miracle, we knew it.

There were so many things against us… for one, we had a scrawled address for a neighborhood we didn’t know in a town and 1 and a half away. Secondly, we didn’t have a car to get there or a translator to go with us. Third, we had the fear creeping in that God might show up, through us in a prayer and embrace to a weeping and lonely mother.

But like I said to begin with – we didn’t even recognize her! She looked so completely different. God did several miracles that Saturday. The first of which was the fact that we did indeed find little Edine in a town of thousands. We had a pastor here at Canaan who dropped his whole schedule to come with us saying “this is a life, I can rearrange everything for a life. That is what matters.” He felt lead to ask several strangers in the city where this house was, each leading us closer and closer. Finally, the last man we asked knew and pointed us to a small shack 50 feet away. And there was the baby we never would have recognized. She was alive. She was more filled out. Her eyes were shining. This child, sent home to die, was spared by God and graced by His healing.

A miracle.

God promises to complete his works, to be faithful, to answer when we ask and do not doubt. He is life and wants to give it. Why do I question that so often?

Thank you for your prayers on little Edine’s behalf. God heard your hearts, as He always does, and gave life to this precious little girl. Her road to full recovery is going to be long, but I trust He will heal her and that one day she will look back and see the miracle of how He saved her. Praise God that He has saved us all in so many ways. Praise God for the beautiful glimpses we see of His saving power.

In awe of Him,
Brittan

the little girl that broke my heart.

the little girl named Edine.

her tiny hand with the wrist IV resting on a bag of Medika Mamba.

Today my heart broke. I had to swallow the tears and force a smile and gentle touch. 

As you know, we are working in a malnutrition clinic. Today things were going as normal, we were checking children and giving out food supplements, and a Haitian nurse came running up asking me if I spoke French and English and if I could come with her. I said I spoke English, grabbed a translator, and followed her into the “pediatric ward.” [if that’s what you could call a dingy, humid room of cots crammed together, lit by 2 single bulbs… flies swarming everywhere.] 

There lying in a cot was Edine. A 16 month old little girl who weighed next to nothing. The skinniest human being I have ever seen. Skin was just sagging where there should have been muscle and fat. I asked the mother why she was in the hospital – dehydration, she said. I then asked what she fed the little girl at home and if they had clean water. She said and I quote… “I don’t feed her, I just give her some water. It’s not clean.” 

As we talk through the translator, the little girl’s hand keeps reaching out for the cup of water her mom is holding. The mom will halfheartedly allow the girl to hold it, but then casually pull it away. By this point, I am fighting tears and struggling to keep the “blanc doktre” [white doctor] composure – we have to earn their trust if we are to help. But inside I am raging- THIS BABY IS DYING. FEED HER, GIVE HER WATER!!!!! Compassion on the mother is hard for me, though I remind myself, perhaps she had nothing to eat either. 

A few minutes later, John and I returned to do a more through check up and enroll Edine in our malnutrition program. We measured the circumference of her upper arm- an indicator of malnutrition, it’s the smallest we’ve had yet. Praise the Lord, as we explained the program, Edine’s mother allowed us to enroll her. However, when we gave little Edine a taste of the medical peanut butter she wouldn’t eat it… once the food was in her mouth she didn’t know what to do with a tangible substance and thus kept spitting it out. Heartbreak again. 

This little girl is dying. John and I knelt to pray with the mother and the baby… Heartbreak once more. God is who this child needs to save her. Please join with us is asking God to give her life, to help her eat, to help her grow… to help her survive. Maybe one day she may look back to see the day God rescued her.

 - - - - - -

It is amazing how these people and this place seep into you... how a little girl you can't even talk to, can change your heart and bring on tears in less than a minute. And it is amazing how God can show up in the midst of a run down Haitian hospital with His compassion and beauty. I pray as He softens my heart, He strengthens my passion to help bring His healing for this land. 

thank you for your prayers.

both wrecked and rebuilt,

Brittan

Suitcases, Lizards, and the Risk of Love

Last night I was ready to pack my bags and get an early plane ticket home. I’ve heard that the second week mark is the hardest for “culture shock” and mission work. I agree. Last night, when I found the 3rd lizard on my bed, heard the pigs growl-snort-squeeeeel for the one millionth time, I realized all I wanted was a drink with ice in it, and to shower not wearing shoes for more than 4 minutes- I almost hit the “purchase” button on the American Airlines website.

But God has such a funny way of changing your mind. I was talking with a friend last night saying how I really didn’t think I was meant for this kind of ministry and that I couldn’t do it. I went to bed tired, homesick, and burnt out. But this morning when I rose at 6am for coffee with Pastor Henri [the “boss” around here], Sister Gladys [the “big mama” around here], Joe [our Canadian teacher/friend], and John [our faithful teammate]…. God said “Brittan, I want you to stay.” Well … in so many words that’s what He said. Through James 1 He reminded me of what builds character and what endurance is and how it is to be faithful in the midst of trying times. So as I added more sugar to my coffee [aka Haitian Sludge] I heard the argument in my heart. One side saying – Go home, you can serve Him there, you can hang out with your friends, have your quiet time, it’s ok to leave early, it’s what you want. The other side saying – Stay here, it’s not what you want, and that’s why you should stay. Serve when it’s hard, when you are tired and hot, when you aren’t liked, when you feel like nothing is doing anything and no one cares if you go or you stay. So…. As of now, I’m listening to voice number 2, God’s voice. I agreed and He has blessed me beyond measure today.

I went to our nurse and randomly decided I wanted to work in the medical clinic today. She was soooo grateful since 3 of the other nurses quit/got fired. Mondays she said are very full and hard days and she was praying God would send help. So down to the free, public health clinic we went, 2 young girls in tow to translate for us.

I’m not sure how many of you have ever worked in a third world country medical center –I hadn’t until a few hours ago. Now…. I’m no doctor but I know that when I’m hot I have fever, when I’m bleeding to cover it up, or when I am sick not to keep eating whatever made me puke. However, here the most basic health practices are completely foreign. I spent the morning seeing patients in excruciating pain… but for some of whom simple lifestyle changes would change everything. Clean water, regular bathing, clean food, vitamins…. It was insane. However, there were those patients with malaria, fevers, and hernias. It was difficult to see such pain, but good to offer a smile, a place to sit, water, and compassion. The last of those bringing the most change. For them to know that someone, anyone, cares is more than most of them ever get.

You see…. Caring here is dangerous. Life here is so unstable that to care too much is to risk too much of your heart. People die daily it’s almost not worth it to the people here to spend too much time building relationships or getting too involved. It is risky business to love. But this morning I held, Oslyn, a 3-week-old baby covered in sores, sick, and hungry. I watched her mom hold her, too. Hold her- but at a distance. It struck my heart how much this nation needs God. Needs our God who NEVER holds us at a distance. Our God, who knew the ultimate risk of love, yet loved without reserve. So I held Oslyn tight and prayed that she might one day know the embrace of her True Father –the one who wouldn’t let the fear of loss to prevent the joy of love.
All that to say… I am glad I am still here. May God use me to love through. May I be able to hold people, smile at people, serve people in a way different from all that surrounds them and above all may that difference point them to our Loving God.

Bring on the lizards, bugs, heat, pigs, interesting “food,” and everything else all for the Glory of God.

seeing the island.

here are some photos of the continuing haitian adventure. 

may you walk with me in prayer.

the view from the top of our hill where the orphanage sits. despite this country's brokenness it is beautiful. 

here are our friendly UN patrol cars that keep peace and that everyone but us hates. i think they are a welcome site and always wave. most people throw rocks. 

this is driving into port-au-prince, the capitol city. there is a "river" of sorts that flows through it. it is used for garbage disposal, bathing, bathroom breaks, drinking, cooking, cooling off etc. it is disgusting and seeing the kids and people in it is so sad. 

this is a view from the highest point on the island in the center of port-au-prince. the orphanage is way off to the left... you can't see it.

here is the capitol city and the beach.

me and a little girl at the malnutrition clinic. her mother was waiting to be seen and she let me hold her. this is a blessing and a praise, cause often especially at first the mothers are skeptical of us foreigners. also.. there is a local belief among children that white people eat kids. haha. so the fact she let me hold her and play with her is a big deal.

hanging out at canaan. in the cafeteria coloring. 

we took some of the older girls on  a walk to get a coke and a treat. these are a few of the girls who have really been kind and responsible and just had great attitudes. we wanted to reward and encourage them. the 2 other white people are mandy on the left and elsie, our nurse, on the right. 

here are a few of the guys posing as rappers while we were all just goofing off. 

introduction to the adventure.

from the dust on the roads to the cacophony of barking dogs to the fire smoking trash pits... i know i have arrived in haiti. my first few days have been amazing. words are difficult to come by, even for me... which for those of you who know me, is really something. 

as an introduction just so you will be familiar with where i am and who i am with here are a few photos...

this is the main [rocky, very rocky] hill leading up to Canaan. there are buildings strewn all along

[ok in true haitian style, the internet will not let me load more photos... i will try tomorrow, sorry]

i don't have a full team photo yet, but just so you know here with me there is  - joel&mandy, john, dave, will, and elsie. it is a ragamuffin, hodgepodged crew of incredible people. full of hearts to serve, willing spirits, and joyful outlooks. i am thrilled at the blessings they give me each day. 

so far this week has been full.

for those of you who don't know - here is the run down on what i am doing while here. specifics and stories will come later. 

1. we are running a malnutrition clinic, headed up by john. kids here are starving and grossly underweight. we measure and assess them then provide this peanut butter medicine stuff called Medika Mamba. it is PACKED full of stuff to keep kids alive and growing so their brain can develop. we also talk to parents about the importance of clean drinking water [which is scarce] and how to sanatize things [boil, clorox, etc] as well as we give them a few basic healthcare medicines, pray with them and give them a bible in their language. the moms and kids return once a week until the child has gained enough weight to be out of the "red or yellow zones" which are the most dangerous. 

2. we play with the kids and love on them as much as possible. this includes massive soccer games, holding puppies, coloring, running around waving sticks, going to the beach, tossing rocks, and numerous other random things to build relationships. we sing, we shout, we do nothing.... it is a hoot. 

3. we do anything and everything that needs to be done on campus. painting, fixing things, cleaning etc. the team has done incredible projects before i got here. but i get the feeling there is always more that can be done. 

ok... so back to the present- - -

this week has been wonderful and awful. in a few short days my eyes have been so opened. we had a child from our clinic die today. simply because he had no food and water. things i daily consume probably way too much of. things i take utterly for granted. a baby died cause he didn't have it. what a problem that could easily be solved, he wasn't sick or anything just hungry. it hurts your heart... that problem is everywhere. while heartbreaking, it is strong motivation when a complaining thought enters your brain or the heat starts to pound down.... God has ways to remind you of His will for us to take care of the widows, orphans, and least of these. 

i could write on and on... but for now i will wrap up with prayer requests and praises:

1. praise! - my team is amazing and so weloming.

2. request- the children here seem reserved and sometimes rude to us. pray God allows us to build strong relationships and they can see we only want to love them and show them God's love

3. request- [this will be throughout my stay here] - safety. haiti is a place of many dangers, may God's protective hand guard us and give us peace. 

4. praise! - several of the children from our clinic are doing wonderfully and gaining even more weight than we'd predicted.

thank you all so much! i love each of you.

from haiti,

brittan