A big change...

It's 10:27 pm and I just got 6 children to sleep on my couch and floor. My life has taken an unexpected turn this weekend.

What would you do if a single mother of four children called you asking for help? Help because she was facing eviction with nowhere to go, help because she didn't have a car and she couldn't keep walking/finding rides to her job anymore, while trying to manage 3 kids in school, plus homework, plus a 4 year old. Who could handle that?

For quite a while now I have had itchy feet. For many months, maybe over a year, my heart has been very open to whatever God might like to do with my/our life. I have felt very frustrated and complacent lately, praying so often for God to give me some "orders" for where to focus my life.

I still don't feel like I have the answers to all of those questions that have been stirring in my heart and mind for the past few years. Previous entries on this blog reveal a small part of the process God has led me through in recent years, landing me in a place where my heart is open and ready to serve the world in any capacity he may call me to.

And Friday there came a call. I guess it was a call to serve, but I didn't really see it that way at first. It was just a call out of desperation, from one mom to another, asking for a reference for someone who did Foster Care or Temporary Guardianship, because it was probably only a matter of time until CPS would come knocking. I had watched her daughter for her over the summer, and I suppose she felt like perhaps I could be of some help. She was trying to stop a bad situation from getting worse, trying desperately not to lose her children.

So I said I'd call around. And I did. I called Jeremy first, then made a call for some legal advice, and the next day I picked all four half nervous/half excited kids up, squeezed them in my car after kissing and hugging their mother goodbye (knowing she was only doing this to get herself to a point of stability), and drove off.

If a call for help can be planned according to God's perfect timing, this one was. I drove them that day an hour away to Cambridge City where my family had made plans to stay for Labor Day weekend. That's right, I crashed the party and showed up with 4... no 5 extra kids (we picked up their cousin too, just for the night). And what was my family's response to adding 5 mouths to feed to an already jam packed house for a short weekend?

Beautiful, Christ-like love... that was their response. Five kids were greeted with hugs like their arrival had been anticipated for weeks. Five kids were loved and played with and treated like one of the clan (our family contributed 6 kids already). Eleven kids played together for 2 days, mine hardly even asking any questions about why they were staying with us or where they came from. A good 2 hour soccer game took place (led by my brother Luke), a short and disorganized kickball game (led by Hillary and I...hence the disorganization), and a lot of time wondering around the 5 acres, driving the Barbie Jeep, playing Croquet, and swinging on a tree. A better weekend for this situation to be dropped on our laps could not have been planned by any human's effort. I believe that God hears us when we call for help, and Friday a scared mother called for help, and He answered.

As the kids were being kids, there were many, of course, discussions happening on our end as well. Jeremy was extremely supportive, finding no other way to make this whole thing make sense other than the fact that God had put them in our lives. My parents, sister and brothers all felt the same way. God reminded me of a conversation I had with someone months earlier about an organization that works through churches to arrange stable homes for families that are in crisis. I knew this is what we needed, and after a bit of work, I found Safe Families who assured me that we legally do this, keeping the kids out of Foster Care, yet placing them with a family or families while the mother makes better arrangements. I was so thankful that God had brought this conversation to mind as they are handling the legality of things, and looking for a "safe family" in our area to house the 2 older kids, as we have committed to taking the 2 younger ones. My family pulled together to support us through this week by opening their work schedules, homes and wallets to help us do this. I don't believe I have ever been so thankful and felt so loved by my entire family as I did this weekend.

If you think of it, say a prayer for this week. Pray these great kids (did I mention they are AWESOME kids?) and Jeremy and I, plus our own two survive the week, and are able to get everyone to school on time! Pray that the right family comes along to house the two older boys for 90 days at least. And pray for mom who is trying very hard to turn her life around. I can't imagine being 9 and 10 years old, and being "ok" with changing families and school systems, but amazingly these kids are. They are nervous I can tell, but know it is for the best, and they know that their mom loves them and is working hard to make a stable life for all of them.

Meanwhile, we have been having fun. Today I made macaroni with peas in it (and NO ONE ate it because of the peas), rode bikes and skateboards and roller blades in the rain, played twister, the Wii, got pooped on by Addi's guinea pig, and ended the day with all 6 crashing out to the Cosby show. There have been many, many times today (especially when attempting to walk with 6 kids, 2 wagons and 1 dog to the Chinese Restaurant) that my mind has flashed back to the ways of the kids at the orphanage at Mission Haiti, ran by the 74 year old Ms. Phyllis. Those kids aren't your normal kids, they are incredible kids that love each other like family and are thankful for every meal and bed they get. The kids sleeping on my couch hold a piece of the same perspective; they are thankful, I heard it time and time again this weekend, followed by, "Your not even family and your treating us like we are..." They understand hardship, and they are thankful. If Ms. Phyllis can handle 30 plus, I can handle 6.... for a week :)

There are a lot of needs here, but God is incredibly meeting them in a timely fashion. I am blown away by how perfect his timing actually is.

Will continue to update as things progress.

The Johnson go to Oregon

Well right now we are sitting in the Chicago airport terminal at our gate awaiting our flight to Portland and then Bend. Getting here wasn't too terrible, only one wrong turn (due to GPS malfunction of course) and Jeremy turned out to be ok after accidentally running into a pole outside of a rest stop. Poor fella slammed his head on the corner while picking up Sam and turning toward the car. I felt bad for him, but couldn't help myself from giggling :-)
Back in the terminal... Looking around I ALWAYS feel like our family is the most bassakwards one at places like these. Most people here look like they were born to travel...minimal belongings, (we decided to pack everything we needed for 10 days in carry-ons) a single book or kindle, (4 backpacks, 2 shoulder bags, 1 overstuffed purse and a guitar case here), or they are conducting business from their laptops and cellphones (not so much of that going on here...). In fact, Jeremy just spilled his water all over the floor, and Sam is in the midst of having a 1 legged race with himself.
He seems to be unaware of the fact the he is being looked at disapprovingly by the (I'm guessing) ex-military fellow across the way. At least he is now distracted from trying to convince me that the older woman next to me is actually a man wearing earrings and carrying a purse (and he was definitely not being too discrete).
I'm sure there will be more to report as our travels continue.
Stay tuned for future Johnson family travels blog posts...

Money For Mattresses!!!!!

Hi! Welcome to my mattress fundraiser blog post.  Let's call it Money For Mattresses, just to be catchy.  The mattresses are for kids with no parents.  Some call them orphans, but they are really just kids.  The Children's Home they live in is not too far from here--just an hour and a half south of Miami, in a little land called Haiti.
I am desperately (overstatement) afraid that circulating "my cause" on the internet will do no good and come April 1st I will be short the funds I need (52 beds times $56.25 per mattress equals $2925.00) to make this happen.
There are SO many great reasons to help out!  First of all, I know the kids who sleep on these dirty mattresses and they are sweet and smart and good kids.

I tell you the truth, I am NOT a neat freak and I don't think I would ever let my child sleep on one of their mattresses.  Plus I would love to see their lovely little bodies on a nice white fresh mattress made by a mattress factory in Port-au-Prince.  Jobs are hard to find in Haiti and I can't imagine too many people in Haiti actually ever purchasing a mattress, since many of the kids in the villages (the ones with parents) sleep on the floor.  No, excuse me, the dirt.  They sleep on a pile of who knows what on the bottom of their home in the dirt. So, obviously this would be great for the mattress maker man too.

I know, there are SO many causes out there to give your money to, BUT, allow me to add that $56.25 per mattress is better than any price we could find here in the states AND it is supporting the desperate Haitian economy.  And, I think I could probably do some follow up here and get some pictures of these awesome kids getting their new mattresses.  I will bet that they will be more than appreciative.  These are kids who would follow us around and do anything just to hang out with us.  Though their English lacked (but could speak way more of my language than I could theirs) they were more than willing to help out with the odd jobs we might be assigned, or braid our hair (ouch), or just sit next to one of us and... sit. Like simply having our thighs side by side was enough to make them feel.... I don't know, loved?

So, if your not quite ready to help out with my cause yet (by donating $56.25 for one mattress, checks payable to The Bridge Community Church, OR you can give me the cash if I see you, OR you can donate online at http://www.missionhaiti.org/and designate it to the mattress fund), maybe it would help if I threw some music into the deal.  How about a concert on March 31 in Anderson, IN?  (more specifically the Bridge Community Church 1720 W 22nd St. 46016) How about Jeremy Johnson and the Bleeding Keys? (I happened to be married to the lead singer).  You could come to that and bring a donation toward the cause or I'll even accept a bottle of vitamins (or children's chewable Tylenol) for admission, or you could buy a CD since 100% of the proceeds go to Mattresses for Haiti...(http://www.thejeremyjohnson.com/)  

So to review:
I am trying to purchase mattresses for a Children's Home in Saintard, Haiti.
I am trying to raise these funds by April 1.
To give each child in the Children's Home a new mattress, we need $3,000 (let's tip the mattress man, eh?)
OR
I need 52 people to donate $56.25
OR you can come to a GREAT concert on March 31 and donate there.... or bring an item as admission.
AND you may even be able to buy some authentic Haitian gifts at the concert....(early Christmas shopping?)

Okay.... this is my best effort.  I'm kind of a procrastinator (kind of?) and probably should have tried to get this going a little sooner.  However, there's no time like the present!

Help me if you can!  Circulate the link to this blog post and invite others to the concert!  I would love to be able to send more money than needed down with Mission Haiti on April the 5.

Also, here is a picture of one of the toilets we used when we visited the villages.  This has nothing to do with the mattresses.  I just wanted to share it.


Feel free to e-mail me with any questions or comments... or if you'd like to mail the check, or find out more about the concert, or mattresses, or anything :)

Some observations on parenting in America....

Ok well I think I have enough content from comments on Facebook to lay the foundation of my very, extremely, unofficial study of American parenting.  Perhaps I should start with some of my own observations and experiences in my own little world.
First off, I feel I must mention that my own kids are typical American kids in many ways, and I am not at all trying to make the point that I have done everything right when it comes to parenting.  In fact, quite the contrary.  I am yet to figure out how to teach my 4 year old not to constantly interrupt (only to then say, "Um, I forgot") and my 6 year old how to not spew venom out of her mouth when she is angry.
It is very difficult to find a child in our culture (mine are absolutely included) that sits quietly at a restaurant, doesn't interrupt an adult, behaves decently in church or an adult setting, respects authority figures, understands that there are real dangers in the world, gets along with a group of children without arguing or finding an odd-ball to pick on.... the list goes on.
Most of my life I have believed that many of these problems cannot be solved and are simply just they way kids are.
However, recently, I have begun to rethink that idea.
I realize that we are a melting pot of people and cultures, and we live in a society where parenting styles greatly vary.  But there has got to be some common thread that speaks louder and influences our kids more than our personal parenting approach within the walls of our home.
I visited Costa Rica last year, Haiti this year, and have spent some time secretly observing a Jamaican co-worker.  I noticed that it must have been in cultures such as these that the saying, "It takes a village to raise a child" was born.  And I also noticed that such a phrase cannot be applied in the United States.
We are people who are proud and fiercely individual.  We believe it is better to have our own homes, separate from friends and family, where we can raise our own kids without the help of others, drive our own cars to work, buy our own groceries and waste our own food.
The Jamaican guy I worked with tried this "village" approach with my kids.  They didn't respond and he got odd looks from other employees.  One day Sam didn't want to do class (gymnastics), and my co-worker basically stepped in and said he was doing class and he needed to quit crying for his mom.  Mr Jamaica wouldn't let him say hi to me during class either.  I was all for these things, but Sam wasn't accustomed to it.  As a co-worker, my friend assumed a similar role as me while he and I and my kids were at the gym.  It was interesting, and different, and I kind of liked it and wished that his ways weren't so foreign to my child.
Soon Mr Jamaica had to leave and I stepped into teach some of the classes he used to teach.  One of them was a 2 year old gymnastics class.  The first day I taught his class it went horribly because his ways had been so different than mine.  I could not keep control of one strong willed and spoiled 2 year old, (evidently my co-worker had had no problems with her).  It was like she had zero interest in listening to a small white girl who probably overused the words, "No, no don't do that...."  (she'd literally look at me, get up, and bolt across the gym at warp two-year-old speed).  I kept taking her out of class and making her sit with her mom for 5 minutes, then would come back to get her to see if she was ready to try again.  This approach never worked and she soon dropped my class.  (I'm still trying to figure out what he did that was so effective?!?)
I found more content for my ponderings in Haiti.  We had the privilege of staying on the same compound as the Children's Home, and much of our spare time was spent with these orphaned kids.  In the week we spent with them, I observed them playing, partaking in evening devotions, and at church.  Remarkably, they got along for the most part, seemed to care for one another, seemed to respect and follow instruction (though there were very few instructions given).  I also watched as these kids plus all the other village kids sat through a 3 hour church service (that's right--no children's church service with kids in "age-appropriate" classes).  Young ones fell asleep leaning on the child next to them and one kid got up, walked down the aisle, across the front of the church (with no nervous mother trailing behind him, embarrassed or apologizing) and stood in front of a man in our group.  The little boy looked him and smiled until he was picked up and put on on Paul's lap for the rest of the service.  In general, I didn't see the kids interrupt adults or speak disrespectfully (though they did tease each other for sure).
So what is the difference?
I think it's a bunch of things.... but I'll try to nail it down to just a few small points.
Obviously cultures such as these are aren't afraid of kidnappings, freaks and nutjobs--and unfortunately in our country we have to be.  But perhaps we need not be so afraid to allow other trusted adults to parent our children either.  I think many American's see it as a sign of weakness to ask for help from others, and we may even be the culprits in causing our children not to respect other adults by our own extreme individualism.
Our entire culture is individualized and compartmentalized: we divide kids up into separate age groups from day one in daycare's, schools, classes and church.  The older never get a chance to teach the younger; instead kids may always find themselves in varying "age-appropriate groups" where they are supposed to listen, obey and pay attention just because.
I think that in these cultures where the "village" theory can be applied, you won't see a mom freaking out about her son running on wood floors, or standing too close to the road.  There seems to be a lot less said, but much more done--proving true that actions do speak louder than words.
In fact, in these cultures, you can't say that there is any "parenting style" at all.  They way the kids are raised at home is in congruence with what the child would experience from adults outside the home as well.  In these cultures where the "village" mentality exists, there doesn't seem to be an in-congruence between life inside or outside of the home.
Here-in Western civilization, there are varying parenting methods applied inside the home, but kids are all eventually thrown out in our world where they will compare notes and realize that what they are taught at home may not be the same as the next kid.  One kid may have been raised by strict Chinese parents (like Amy Chua's book exemplifies), another by an over-worked single mom, another by a nanny, and many many many many kids whose parents don't parent at all, but allow their kids to be raised by daycare, sports teams, public school and cable TV.    
So in the end it may be more detrimental that we all have different approaches, that there is no "norm" in our society to be had, besides the fact that we don't (and sometimes can't) trust each other.
And just in case your wondering, I'm not pushing for reform, I really don't think there's an answer.  Just a mere observation :) ...and I haven't even touched on the French or Chinese yet....but I recommend the following:
Pamela Druckerman's article, "Why French Parents Are Superior": http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970204740904577196931457473816.html
and I totally recommend Amy Chua's book, "The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother".

Lonely Neighbors: Episode 2 Season 1

An older lady lives in my neighborhood.  She is 72, but she acts much older.  She doesn't smell particularly good and when she talks she refers to herself in the third person.

Tonight she calls me at 4:30 p.m. and asks me to take her to the grocery store.  "Fifteen-twenty minutes tops," she says in a shaky voice.  I tell her I'll need to take my kids to my Mom's house first, I'll check with her and then call back.  I reluctantly ask my mother if she would mind.  Of course she doesn't.  So I drop my kids off down the street and head to pick her up.

This past Sunday we took her to church.  She likes our church, and wants to go every Sunday.  I usually call her at about 9:00 on Saturday nights to see if she'll be going with us.  If she accepts my offer, I will be riding in the back seat, between my kids' car seats.  I will chuckle a little as I observe my husband's demeanor as he entertains his passenger.  He keeps focused straight ahead, gives an, "uh-huh, really?" every now and then, but doesn't so much as turn his head to visually address her, lest she might misunderstand his interest level. 

My elderly friends' house is full of piles: piles of dishes, silverware, tupperware; piles of magazines, books and catalog's.  She doesn't have a lot of friends and her daughter lives in Ohio.  Our relationship began when I started ordering her vitamins for her.  I soon became aware of her need and lack of family, and offered to mow her lawn, and every now and then would run her around town to pay her bills.  I didn't mind helping her, and appreciated that she didn't call me too often.  Our relationship has progressed to calls a few times a week--sometimes to run errands, other times just to chat.  I have to be honest and say most times I am less than enthused about her phone calls.  There is never a day that I want to help her, but I do anyway.

One Sunday our pastor told a story about his friend who was dying of cancer.  She nudged me on the leg and said, "See, that's what I'm afraid of.  The results of my liver tests came back and they think it could be cirrhosis of the liver."  She didn't return for further testing, but she did ask to meet my pastor after the sermon and asked for prayer.  

This past Sunday, she got a bloody nose while eating her doughnut and attempting to buy a Bible.  I told Jeremy to stand by her while I went to get her some toilet paper.  She cleaned her nose and asked me for another pastry.  Soon after we strolled into the service and found our chairs (I had reserved seats in an easy to access row).  She sits down and exhales loudly, takes a few minutes to situate her Bible, bulletin and coffee then says, "Oh yeah.  This is nice.  I like this.  Oh boy."  I stand and sing and Judy stays seated in her chair.  

I love worship on Sunday mornings.  It is probably my favorite part of church.  But this Sunday my heart felt like it was going two opposite directions.  As much as I wanted to sing with all my heart, I became very aware that much of my heart was burdened by the woman sitting next to me.  

I want to make excuses for not loving her sometimes; my flesh attempts to find good reason for it too. I tell myself, she's not taken good care of herself;  she's drank too much in the past;  she's probably not been a good friend or mother and that's why she's so alone in her old age.  Deep down I know God hasn't asked me to make those calls.  God has placed her in my path and asked me to love her.

As I stood in church and sang, I heard the verse from 1 Corinthians in my head, "If I speak in tongues of men or angels but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or clanging cymbal."  That is what my worship would have been, if I had refused to love her the way God was asking me to.  And so I opened up the resistant part of my heart.  I told God I'd do whatever he wanted me to do, and I asked him to show me who she was. 

An hour later we were driving home from church in our usual seating arrangement.  Our stomachs leaped as Jeremy sped over some railroad tracks.  "You know those tracks back there?" She says as she points a shaky finger towards the back seat, "That was where my Dad was killed.  I was 19 years old."  She starts to tell the story, which grabs all of our attention, but never quite completes it (whether it was too difficult a story or her apparent ADD I'm not sure).  My daughter nudges me and wants more details.  I tell her I don't know, and we are left with unanswered questions but softer hearts.  We drop her off at home, I walk her to her door and she kisses me on the cheek before I leave.

At the grocery store today I found that I could hardly stop chuckling.  She breathes through her nose and exhales loudly as she saunters through the store--holding the grocery cart like a walker.  She mumbles to herself, "Aaah. Oh boy. You've got to... Oh dear.  Oh boy."  She sees a box of cereal and turns toward me, "Well now that ain't too bad.  You ever tried that honey?"  I want her to hurry, I want to return home before my husband does.  But instead I help her shop and smile to myself as we walk through the store.  

Haiti Trip 2012

As I attempt to assimilate back into the American culture, many thoughts and feelings creep into my mind, now that I have spent a week in Haiti. 

I honestly didn't know what to expect; I have learned not to try and guess what God might like to show me, and I just try to go along for the ride.  Previous to this trip I was most definitely aware of the suffering that goes on in the world; aware that we represent the top 20% of the world’s population that makes over $10 a day; and I was also aware of the blindness to it all.  I live in a world where needs are confused with wants--I saw this, and even realized it's truth within myself.  So I was incredibly curious as to how I would return.

The first few days were slow and somewhat easy as we adjusted to our surroundings at the compound (hospital and sleeping/eating quarters left), played with the kids from the orphanage and helped with the first dental clinic on site at Mission Haiti Medical (lower right).  The kids seemed pretty normal for kids, very interested in touching and playing with the blancs and for a little while, I felt like they were just the same as any other kids.  We played games and communicated the best we could using very broken English and even more broken Creole (I don't think I got too far past 'merci' the entire week).  I found it hard to believe their parents were either dead or unable to care for them.  They were raised by each other and the 74 year old missionary (the incredible Ms. Phillis pictured right) who runs the orphanage.  The kids at the orphanage realize they have it better than many other Haitian kids, since they are fed daily, get to go to school and have a bed to sleep on at night.  They cleaned the kitchen in the evenings, helped us with our projects around the compound and had time for their devotions each night.  They sat in a large circle and sang songs like Amazing Grace and Jesus Loves The Little Children.  The singing was alternated with prayer and mini sermons from the older kids, and sometimes a solo.  And then, I realized these are not normal kids.  Check out Jesus Loves The Little Children here: http://youtu.be/MFJ8K4BHyh0

A few times throughout the trip I was tempted to lust after the pleasures of the world.  In the airport I took to staring at a couple who seemed well traveled, foot loose and fancy free.  I thought for a moment how fun that looked, to have no obligations, no children, no ties. Our third day in Haiti was a day of R & R at the beach.  Walking into the Haitian resort was a step back into the world I was familiar with.  I was there to relax and others were there to serve me.  There was loud music, bikinis, people eating and drinking the same as any American vacation spot.  The world of stick and palm tree houses with tarp or tin roofs and half naked children suddenly seemed so distant.  The day was purely enjoyable; we snorkeled with slightly questionable snorkel gear (may have been the source of my stomach problems) as a single Haitian man rowed a boat full of American's out to sea.  We bought jewelry at the beach and for 1 day I was again exposed to the type of treasures I’m accustomed to.

Kids standing out side the girls' quarters

Some of the boys hanging out

Observing the orphan kids during the day and then listening to their evening devotions that night stood in sharp contrast to my day at the beach.  I knew they had never been to such a place and probably never would.  Yet their joy and enthusiasm for life seemed not to be lacking.  This group of thirty-something kids were happy.  I mean truly happy.  For the most part, they got along.  Their ages ranged from 13 months to 18, the older looked out for the younger and all 30+ kids sat still with one another, singing and praying without much of a complaint. There was no parent whispering for them to sit still or close their eyes.  In fact, I watched one little 18 month old peak during the prayer.  The girl next to him smacked his hands back over his eyes, and he didn't peak again.  I began to think about the riches God offers us, versus the one’s we’d choose for ourselves.  Previous to this, I always would have thought that being somewhere like the beach would be the most relaxing or maybe even rewarding thing I could do.  It paled in comparison to witnessing the joy these kids had.  They had much to teach me about life and parenting.  

Evening devotions

I sat with them in their circle, imagined them running off to their beds each night, to a room full of concrete walls and bunks with no parents to tuck them in and kiss them good night.  I wondered what their lives had been like prior to the orphanage, how their parents died, or what kind of living conditions they had been exposed to.  I wondered at their happiness and contentedness with life though they literally had nothing.  I wondered these things as I sat in their circle, listening to them sing Amazing Grace, and let the tears that filled my eyes stream down my cheeks. 

This theme--finding life and beauty among abject poverty--was one that ran throughout the week for me.  Many times I stood in awe of the Haitian people, and other times my stomach felt sick and my heart ached for the difficult life they must endure.  I was continually surprised to see the joy that poured forth from their lives and their ability to work so hard.  On Saturday we walked through the village on the other side of our concrete wall.  Homes were made of mud, sticks or leaves; children ran around dust covered and naked at times.  One lady walked up to Dr. Mark seeming to show off her baby, but she was actually trying to give the baby away, knowing that she couldn't care for its most basic needs.

 Sunday was church, and I was shocked to see how many of the people at church were dressed based on the type of homes they came from.  They looked better than nice.  Their whites were beautifully white and pressed.  They wore hats and high heeled shoes, but they live in squalor.  They sang and prayed and sang and prayed for at least 3 hours, with a few sermons sandwiched in between.  The children all sat in their chairs and behaved for the most part (though they were thrilled to stare at us and make funny faces).   The church was more than grateful to have our group of 25 blancs visit their church, and at the end many of the parents and children came over to say hello.

I witnessed their gratitude many times during our clinics.  Five of the days we drove or hiked to a village and set up a medical clinic in the villages' local Christian church.  Some villages hadn't had a medical clinic there for 3 years, and for one small village it had been 10 years.  People lined up at the door, and we were able to give 400 to 500 people medical and dental care and send them home with basic medicines and vitamins.  Some people passed out in their dental chairs after being anesthetized, most likely because they hadn't eaten that day.  One girl literally left skipping after getting a badly needed tooth pulled.  Some brought in sick and malnourished babies and were able to leave with much needed vitamins and medicine.  Though our incredible doctor's helped many, some were beyond our care: a paralyzed 17 year old boy who fell out of a tree and broke his back; a 5 year old boy with cerebral palsy; a 70+ woman with extreme osteoporosis (pictured right).  But no matter what their cases were, the people were loved and treated like image bearer's of God by our doctor's and dentist's.  Though they had next to nothing, the entire village always pitched in and cooked a feast after each clinic to show their thanks.  Usually something like beans and rice, fried plantains, and chicken (or goat?).  It was incredible to see such gratitude, from people who have next to nothing.

Ladies' cook outside over an open fire
while we finish up the clinic

 





One village required a 3 1/2 hour hike to the top of a mountain.  The trail was a switchback washout trail, rocky and steep.  Our group had to stop multiple times for drink and snack breaks--it was truly exhausting and I was glad to have the hike over early in the week.  The Haitians we passed wore something similar to crocs or flip flops, carried no water, and sometimes had things on their head.  They are incredible people.  Dr. Mark mentioned that some of the kids in the village get to go to school, which means they must make that hike daily.  He also mentioned that Mission Haiti used to be able to feed the kids at school once a day.  In some cases that may have been the only meal the kids had.  It was very difficult to imagine a child making that 3 1/2 hour hike (5 1/2 round trip) everyday to school without the guarantee of a meal.


The Haitian people care about their appearance, school uniforms are shirts with sleeves and skirts that reach beyond the knee.  Tattoos are not well received.  For the most part, a T-shirt is just a T-shirt, and as long as it fits, they wear it.  Most of the T-shirts people wore had English writing on them, and I soon realized that they had no idea what their shirts said or where they came from.  Sometimes this was funny, like the old guy who lived in a small remote village who wore a shirt that said, "I'm with fartface" (wish I had a picture).  I laughed so hard I cried about this one.  Who donates shirts like that to Haiti anyway?!?!

One evening, back at the compound, I noticed one of the orphan boy's in a yellow Dora shirt.  The next day a little four year old girl was wearing the same Dora shirt.  I began to be curious about what their rooms looked like at the orphanage, and how they knew whose clothes belonged to whom.  The next day we walked over to visit the orphanage and see where these kids spent most of their lives.  As I walked into the girl’s rooms, I tried to imagine the kids I had begun to take quite a liking to, sleeping and living here.  I tried not to act surprised, this was their home and for Haiti it was nice.  The walls were concrete, as well as the floor, but everything had a covering of dirt on it.  Some of the mattresses were bare, the beds had nothing on them for decoration or comfort.  There was a solitary shelf with a few pairs of old shoes on them.  That was it.  I tried to imagine my own children sleeping there.  Never.  Not even for a night.  Yet the kids I had fallen in love with, who had sat on my lap and sang to me, who had played and braided my hair each night, slept here.  Quite appropriately Dr. Mark happened to mention, “They really need some new mattresses.  If one of them pee their bed at night, there isn’t much they can do about it.”  My heart sank and I shuffled out of the room and scooped up three year old Matino, threw him on my hip and kissed his chocolate colored cheek.  I exhaled loudly, feeling slightly overwhelmed.  I observed the other kids playing basketball, playing on the play ground equipment or just tagging along with us.  I was bewildered once again at their happiness, and concluded that evidently material wealth does not bring the greatest joys in life.  I returned to the states with the realization that beauty does occur among tragedy--in fact the world's most intense beauty just might exist in the places you'd least expect it.

Mission Haiti Medical is an outstanding organization led by Dr. Mark Fulton.  He is an incredible man of God that loves the Haitian people very much.  The picture is of Dr. Mark giving one of his good friends, Wisnel, a checkup.

Dr. Mark is packing a semi in 2 weeks to send to Haiti (and he only ships a semi twice a year).  Please check the website for a list of items they are currently collecting.  http://www.missionhaitimedical.org/getinvolved.html  I will personally pick up any items you may have!  Baby formula would be fantastic!  Also if anyone has a way to purchase twin mattresses at a discount, we could load up to 70 on the semi.  I think it would be awesome to get the kids at the orphanage new (or gently used) mattresses.  Please e-mail me (emmagracejohnson02@gmail.com) if you have anything you'd like to donate.  You can also donate funds online on the website.

Well I'm going to Haiti....

Tomorrow I will be on a plane, Haiti bound.  Am I nervous to leave my family and travel to a third world country? Yes.... and No. 

The human part of me is, but the part that God has been chiseling away at isn't.

For years I have been pulled towards this type of stuff (missions to be specific), and for years I have wrestled with the reality of it.

I remember being young, unable to keep a dry eye while watching a "Feed the Children" commercial.  In college, I began to feel the senselessness of gaining a costly Christian education, when really all we as Christians were called to do was love others and help those in need.  I wanted to go somewhere, badly, but I didn't....I knew it wasn't my time quite yet.

Two years ago, God began to teach me some things by watching the harrowing scenes of the earthquake that rocked Haiti in 2010.  I began to be shocked at the very fact that it was even possible to for me to see almost live images of people being pulled from rubble and pictures of so many dead.  I began to question myself, my own motives for life, and tried to stack them up against the motives of Jesus' life. It seemed apparant to me that he poured out his life for the suffering.  I could easily click to a different page, focus on something more positive, but doing so seemed like witnessing a murder and doing nothing.

Up until that point, I think I viewed Christians who went on missions trips, fed the hungry and homeless, etc. as something like a super Christian who was earning bonus points or something.  I was beginning to realize that for Christians, helping those in need is not really optional.

"...For I was hungry and you gave me something  to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me." (Matthew 25)

I don't think Jesus is asking us to care for the poor.  I think he commands it.

God has sewn this seed in my heart, and watered it in recent years.  I have felt the pull, but have resisted making my own plans to fulfill what God was laying on my heart.  After many errors, I have realized that it is very important to wait for Him to lead in ANY endeavor. 

And so I have waited.

And tomorrow I will be leaving for a 9 day trip to Haiti.

We are traveling with a group of about 25 people, all joining Mission Haiti Medical, under Dr. Mark Fulton.  We will arrive in Haiti at 10:20 a.m. Friday morning.  We will be helping out at clinics and distributing vitamins and medications as needed in the St. Ard area.  Every evening we will have devotions as a group to share our joys and sorrows and how we see Jesus working.  Here is a rough sketch of the week:
Saturday: clinic on site with Orphanage children
Sunday: Church and relax on Sabbath
Monday: hike to Mt. Nikolai
Tuesday: Clinic in Galledluya
Wednesday: 3 hour drive to Gonaive
Thursday: 1/2 day on site clinic
Friday: Leave Haiti 10:30 a.m. arrive in Indy at 10:45 p.m.

I would appreciate prayers for safety and God's will in everything!  Stay tuned, I will most likely write as soon as I get back.  Thank you to those of you who have been faithful in supporting my trip!