Haitian Ladies

 "Hiiiiiiiiiii!" my toddler opens and closes her right hand reaching for painting from Haiti that is on the wall of her bedroom where I read, nurse, and rock her to sleep each night.

Several months ago, I taught Evie to say hi to them, the Haitian Ladies, as I call them. She is now in an 18 month leap and her language is expanding every day. Tonight she started to try to say the word, 'Haitian.' 

'Ashian,' she practices in the cutest little Evie voice. Her 's' sounds and 'sh' sounds slay me these days. 

I love that there is Haitian art in her room, a tin art cross on the opposite wall, and a hand sewn banner by her crib, all representing the resilient, beautiful people of Haiti. 

I know my daughter will grow up knowing how much her mommy loves Haiti and how her mommy's time there changed her life. 

My heart simultaneously sinks as we say hi to the Haitian Ladies on the painting, with their black silouettes, baskets on their head, and colorful array of fruits inside. Haiti has been in a downspiral since 2018 when Port au Prince was on fire due to protests about missing Petro Caribe funds. A few years later, the President was assassinated in his own home. And since then, without any leadership to speak of, the country has continued to slide into chaos. Gangs rule greater Port au Prince and people continually are forced to flee their homes when a gang moves into a neighborhood. It's complicated. Too complicated to explain poverty, this level of desperation, and the politics involved in this blog. 

I wish the Haitian people didn't have to be so resilient. 

I wish they were tucking their toddlers safe inside their homes like I am mine tonight. Not fleeing from violence, leaving the few possessions they have, and going to bed with hungry bellies.

So many things that I wish and so much suffering in the country that taught me so much about myself and the world and God and people. 

We pull out Evie's prayer bear beanie baby, and put our hands together and I pray for Haiti and the beautiful people upon her shores who are suffering and afraid. "God, help," I beg. 

We make our way to Evie's crib and I put her down and tell her how much I love her. My heart continues to grow and expand, enough to hold so much love and tenderness and simultaneous heartbreak for my Haitian brothers and sisters who are enduring the impossible. 

Jesus, be near.

Goodnight Haitian Ladies.



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