the young and now

I woke up early this morning because Ben was crying, his chubby leg wedged in the crib bars again. But as soon as I got moving, I noticed the beautiful, long-prayed for sound.

Young-me never would have thought that now-me could clearly differentiate between the sound of a motorcycle, car, truck or fuel tanker going down the road from my bed, but I can.

And the long awaited FUEL TANKERS TRUDGING BY sound started my morning with Ben...I counted seven before 8 am.

Today was predicted to be RELAUNCH the protests, roll back out the barricades, burn it all down...and the sound of the fuel tankers brought me great joy, because I knew NO ONE would be lining up with bottles and stones when they could line up at gas stations, FINALLY, with gallon jugs.

So they did, the masses following the trucks.

I know it was a huge mess.  I know people waited 10, 12 hours and got NONE.  I know many people won't, from only 9-10 tankers. I know we didn't get one drop at Emmaus, though we tried, though we've paid already, though Junel and Maxi tried all day.

I know 10 tankers of fuel don't fix all the problems, or many of them, really.

But it was something loud and GOOD and I was rejoicing with many and getting carried away...maybe schools could open soon? Maybe there will be more trucks tomorrow? Maybe fuel is coming for ALL? Maybe all this is over-ing?

It was with that happy rumble that we plunged into day 7 of Matt gone, prepared for teaching next week, the girls wrapped up another homeschool week and I nauseously shared some of the things God's been laying on my heart in chapel about our job as Christians in times of crisis.  I was thankful to have such mighty brothers and sisters to encourage...and am thankful that now I don't have to preach in chapel again until next semester.  That which Matt SHINES, I cower!!  Public speaking is NOT my skill set.

Knowing the road would be open at least today while everyone was still tied up in stations, knowing that today might be my only chance in WEEKS to finally see the Hari's down the road, knowing how good it would be for all of us to spend a few hours away and with them, we made plans and a cake to go.

Micheline and Gertha wrapped up to head home as I was pulling the cake out of the oven (the young-me also never predicted that the now-me would be making celebratory gasoline cakes), and Micheline kind of half-heartedly out of nowhere said, "I heard your girl is dead, huh?"

What?

I felt my heart quicken in my chest as I instinctively listened for where Lily, Sofie and Nora were playing, trying to think through what she was saying.

What girl? What are you talking about?

"That girl, you know, the pregnant kid? From Konpech? The one you guys used the gas for when no one else would, to get her to the hospital?"

Ok, I'm following now. I told you about her.  But...WHAT?

I spoke to Maxi every day for many days after, and he kept telling me the emergency c-section finally happened, she miraculously lived through it, so did the baby, baby is in an incubator, sometimes the hospital had some fuel for power, and everyone was good.

I've asked and asked, and every time, "yes, I hear they are good, still in the hospital."  Nothing more.

I NEVER spoke to Micheline about the situation at all, but clearly everyone knows we had helped her, though I don't even know her name, and we really hardly did anything, just tried.

But the last week since Matt's left has been SO tumultuous in Haiti and now-me has WAY more children than young-me every thought possible, and there has been so much going on...I haven't asked about her in a week, I bet.

My mouth went totally dry.  WHAT happened? How?

Micheline had all the details somehow, and there aren't many.

The operation wasn't done well. So they thought she was good, but she wasn't. And so her stitches and stomach were getting all swollen and oozing two weeks after, and they gave her a prescription for medicine for infection or something, and she didn't have any money to buy it, so she didn't get the medicine, and she died. At the hospital.


Nora says that Mommys and Daddys don't cry. When I don't get to sit in the chair I wanted at dinner, or when someone is struggling with sharing their toys, she is right, I never do.

But if Jesus wept over Lazarus, only sleeping, I can surely cry for _________.

If I had asked about her, maybe someone would have told me she was sick.  If I had sent money for her, though no one asked, maybe it could have saved her...If someone, ANYONE had told me ANYTHING about her needing $9 dollars...surely. 

It's a crime, Micheline whispered, taken aback by my sudden tears, trying to remove me from the responsibility previously placed by "your girl".

It's a crime, hospitals, only caring for you, only saving your life once they've been paid, she said, sadly.

Little girl, 16, lived through a horrific birth and a horrific c-section in a horrific time in Haiti, and died yesterday at the hospital, untreated, on purpose, surrounded.

Her baby is still in an incubator.  Alone.  Do they put babies out of incubators on the street when there is no money?

The only grace I can find in the situation, and I am searching, is that she is no longer suffering, and her past days must have been FULL of it.  Her mother just had another baby, as well, a month ago, at home, and the roads have been blocked, so little girl was alone.


I'm ruining your day, telling you, because IT IS A CRIME.

And it IS HOW IT IS for countless MILLIONS across the globe.

Micheline told me like she was talking to me about rain or laundry, because IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN HER LIFE.

One of the graces she always shares with me about our home and family being her job, too,  is that she knows that neither she nor her children will EVER die over $9, because she will ALWAYS have someone to ask, and we will ALWAYS pay.

It might be Micheline's always reality. But no matter how long we live here, it was never mine. And it never will be. I cannot imagine it.  It cannot be true, it is so far from what we've ever known in some of the world's places.

But it is the REALITY in MANY of the world's places. We NEED TO KNOW that. We need to know. So I'm telling you.

I'm telling you because what would be CRIMES in the life of young-me is everyday commentary in the life of NOW-me.

What were nightmares and hollywood films of somewhere in the world, once, are the reality of "my girl" today.

And it BREAKS His heart.
It breaks my heart.

I was so grateful to be with the Hari's and for them to literally be receiving fuel for their ministry and block business as we ate...and I wanted to be fun-Stacey and just for a moment after endless heavy days, care-free and with friends.

But my girl and her village and our countries and our world, they are heavy heavy on my heart.

Shelley told us to watch Breakthrough, the powerful and amazing true story of a teen drowned in a frozen lake and dead for an hour, alive again through the prayers of many and miracles of One.

Lily and Sofie and Nikki and I stayed up later than the littles and watched it after we got safely home, and as I tucked the girls into bed, Lily asked the age-old question she is only now thinking of.

Mom, why DID God save his life, and do all those miracles for him, when so many people suffer and die everyday?

Without even thinking, I responded, and heard my response echo in my ears: "I SURE don't know Lily. I don't even begin to know or understand how God works, He is just thankfully THAT big.  But I know we can trust Him, that's all.  I know we can trust Him."

So I do.

Kiss your babies, love others well, ask how you can help and help everywhere you can and more, and pray. Pray, knowing.