Christmas 2011

2011 Year In Review

December's Christmas Greetings

Dear Friends and Family,

  Writing to you on a happy Saturday morning.  Mid-morning sunlight is filtering through evergreen branches outside, sparkling off the snowy ground.  A few deer congregate near an Aspen grove searching for greens in the winter landscape.  Solomon and Patrick are wrestling on the carpet while Cici sings "Wheels On The Bus."  The Christmas tree twinkles and proudly displays ornaments collected over the years.  They've gotten more love and attention this year by curious little hands yanking them off branches, inspecting them, and re-hanging them on overloaded branches drooping heavily with treasures.  Sadie-old-lady-dog is curled up in a patch of sunshine on the carpet, oblivious to the playful racket around her. In the midst of lives busy with work schedules, balancing child care, travel and responsibilities, these simple moments at home with all of us in the same room have become a most treasured time in the week.  In this moment, I send love and thoughts to you, our friends and family.  We have been blessed with health and well-being this last year and feel grateful to live in a beautiful place, to have jobs, to have healthy children who are learning and growing, and to have YOU in our lives creating a community of family, support and love.  Whether you live down the road or miles away, we are grateful for you in our lives and wish for you a happy holiday season.  

  I am starting year #2 at Clinica Family Health Services--a local community health system reaching out to the rapidly growing uninsured and under-insured population of our city.  After a year, my Spanish is getting a bit better; I have a familiar list of patients and am seeing extended families including pregnant moms, their children as well as their elderly parents.  Such relationships are one of my favorite parts of the job. The clinic I work in is a very well organized family practice endeavor, winning national attention for its approach to comprehensive family medicine.  I feel lucky work with great people in supportive system while trying to meet the needs of complicated patients who have little resources.  I have a full time schedule that I've packed into 3 long days, to afford more days at home with the kids--a perk of my job for which I'm incredibly grateful. Despite liking my job, there is no place like home with my funny, creative, energetic kids.  I like the quiet of early morning, stories told and songs sung by my inventive children, hugs and snuggles, and living/hiking/running amidst the mountain pine.  I dislike call nights away from home, fatigue, clutter and whining.  

  Patrick continues to keep ties closely drawn to Haiti through his work at CCAI adoption agency.  He travels to Haiti 3-4 times a year to introduce new adoptive parents to their children and to the country at large, helping them navigate the confusion of a new and chaotically vibrant country.  He has been able to keep close connections with the kids' biological mothers, passing pictures and stories back and forth. He has also managed to create a schedule that affords several days at home with the kids making him an active, consistent presence in the lives of our favorite little people.  He is a loving father and sensitive, patient husband; he continues to amaze me in how he chooses to live his life, pursuing his passion and keeping priorities always at the forefront.  Patrick loves cuddling his children, going on hikes, making jokes to Haitians in Creole, lazy mornings and watching his son hit baseballs.  Patrick dislikes temper-tantrums in public, Newt, and the BCS. 

  Cici and have surprised us this year in their rapidly developing dialog, animated personalities and their state of constant motion.  Cici continues to be a force.  What once was a skinny, starved, malnourished, fragile waif is now a strong, tall, affectionate girl with Attitude who provides a non-stop narrative on events seen and unseen in her world.  She outweighs and towers over her brother.  The fragility is gone.  Cici likes babies, Dora-the-explorer, swimming, her Super cape, singing, reading and chocolate milk.  She dislikes moths, bubblegum ice-cream, and going to the doctor.  Solomon is proving how little genetics play part in the realm of personalities: he is a little lively version of his father.  He has gone from a chunky-cheeked baby to a lean, energetic, well-coordinated bundle of boy who has mastered the art of teasing.  Solomon loves baseball, bikes, Scooby Doo, swimming, wrestling, silly words, juice and early morning snuggles.  Solomon dislikes being cold, flies, and scary monsters.   They both have giggles that are contagious, curiosity in the world around them, and miraculous patience with our busy schedules.  I struggle at missing the babies they used to be with amazement at what they understand, what they can accomplish, how they continually grow and learn.  They challenge us in their full-blown 3-ness which brings with it their ever-changing need for independence, oscillating moods, moments of brilliance and kindness followed by moments of dark clouds of defiance.  Through it all we attempt to recognize their needs for reassurance, affection and respect.  On our good days we do this well, but there are days when fatigue wins and it is just a big hot mess. Ah parenting.  Humbling. They continue to add perspective to our lives, challenge us to be better people, help us bring things down the most important, and remind us to laugh at our selves.

They both now have green-cards, applications for citizenship are in the mail, and we have hopes of them being passport-carrying Americans in the year to come.  After this, all legalities will be finished and the world will once again open up to our family for discovery and exploration together.  Yeah!

  In a time when so many struggle with financial straits, worries about the future, illness, loss and uncertainty, we pray that the seasons offers for you all time to celebrate and snuggle into what makes life miraculous and important.  May you hold loved ones close, take nothing for granted, enjoy the resilient beauty of nature, and hope in what a sunrise can bring.  We send love and laughter from our perch in the pines and wish you the happiest of holidays, health, healing and contentment.  

With love,

Kim

I want to tell you I love you.  We couldn't walk (when we were babies), now we can ride our tricycles on the road.  We can ride it on the platform.  We can run and swim.  I like to paint paper, I like to ride my bike up the road... no, down the road.  Can I ride my bike, Mommy?  We can run and play.  I played with my friends. I had a birthday, I played in a bouncy castle and ate birthday cake and I blew out all the candles.  I go "whhoooooo" then I got a hat.  We went on road trips this year to Nana and Pop-pop's.  We went on a road trip to see Grandma Jane and Grandpa Craig.  My cousins were there.  They were driving driving there.  Arriba UP, Abajo DOWN.  I want to sing "If you're happy and you know it."  I want my brother to have a turn now. Merry Christmas.  I'm done with my letter now.  I love you.

Love, 

Cici 

Ummmmmmmm.  Trick or treat.  Dinky dinky.  We can do, um, I can hit baseballs and go under the water and hold my nose.  I run fast.  I like to go in the bouncy castle.  I like to go to Nana and Pop-pop's to see GG and Conor-Bean and Caden.  Cows.  And hay.  And combines.  Um, I like to eat pizza and I eat it all gone in my tummy. I had a birthday day--one, two, THREE.  I want to count, one, two, three, four.   We have snow outside now.  Knock, knock (who's there?). Stinky.  Um I want pizza now.  Merry Christmas.  I love you.  I say I love you, mom.

Love,

Solomon

2011 was a fascinating year as I watched my two little babies turn into 3 year-olds. Three is a particularly interesting year. Solomon and Cici fill each day with laughter and joy, and also frustration and temporary insanity. Being a parent to two 3 year-olds is quite an adventure. But primarily it is a gift...a very demanding gift. Parenting 3 year-olds requires that you always work on being more patient, loving, and compassionate. As kooky as they are, Solomon and Cici live out these qualities better than most...except for maybe the patient part. I am in love with them both and feel incredibly fortunate for their presence in my life. 

Cici has continued to grow into a beautiful little girl. The days of seeing her exposed ribs and cheek bones are long gone. In fact, Cici recently landed herself in the 85th percentile of both height and weight. This has resulted in her new nickname "85." She has an equally big personality, which is defined by an unparalleled sweetness. Cici is an amazing care giver, always searching for a baby to care for and looking out for the needs of her little brother. She is also extremely bossy. Our little Napoleon does not hesitate to tell you in no uncertain terms exactly what she wants. In truth, I'm kind of afraid of her...as much as one can be afraid of a 3 year-old. One of my favorite things about Cici is that she is always giving unsolicited hugs and saying "I love you" to her family. She is filled with a sensitivity and wisdom uncommon for such a young soul. I suspect Valancia will do great things with her life simply because she loves so easily and has a curiousness about the world around her.

Solomon has continued to not grow. He is our little shrimp, but he makes up for it with an unlimited amount of energy. Solomon has many talents, including an incredible ability to jump from any place in the room onto my stomach when I am not looking. He loves to be active and particularly enjoys playing baseball and hitting the ball like "Tulo." Solomon's ability to climb mountains is also impressive as he scales rocks and traverses steep hills without any assistance from his nervous parents. Like his sister, Solomon does not lack for personality. He has extremely animated facial expressions and the greatest belly laugh that I've ever heard. In addition, Solomon has also created a language all his own which he routinely employs. My favorite Solomon word creation is "Icky boogy"; a mythical figure who appears to evoke crazy dancing and a burst of shear happiness in both Solomon and Cici. One of my favorite things about Solomon is that he usually wakes up slowly like his dad. There are many mornings when Solomon and I cuddle on the couch and enjoy our juice and coffee respectively while allowing the day to unfold before us. These are cherished moments as Solomon is a man on the move, always entertaining those around him.

Then there is my wife; Kim and I have managed to remain married amidst the chaos of Hurricane Solomon-Cici. Kim continues to do an amazing job of balancing her very demanding job as a doctor with her even more demanding job of living with two 3 year-olds and me. She wakes up most mornings at 4 am and goes running...seriously. I've never understood where she gets the absurd amount of energy that she has, but I'm really thankful for it these days. I'm a lucky man to be married to such a talented woman, especially one that I adore.

I recently celebrated my one-year anniversary of running CCAI's Haiti Adoption Program by taking my third trip to Haiti with adoptive families. I enjoy my job and feel really lucky to have landed a position that affords me the opportunity to stay connected to Haiti. Leaving Haiti in the manner that we did was devastating. So having this job has helped ease some of the disappointment that came from our radical life shift after the earthquake. On the other hand, navigating between anxious families and arguably the most dysfunctional country in the world has its challenges. Everyday at work is filled with victories and setbacks, but I'm glad to be a part of them and look forward to watching several of our families bring their beautiful children home next year.

I wish you all a Merry Christmas and a 2012 filled with peace and contentment.

Patrick

Merry Christmas 2010

From our home to yours, Merry Christmas.

May you find moments of peace this season, and reflect on the blessings of your life.

May you pray for those burdened with hunger, poverty, violence and strife.

May you know you are loved

Dear Friends and Family,

Last night I introduced a holiday tradition for the first time to my children. We pulled a pillow under the Christmas tree, and lay together beneath the boughs looking up through layers of evergreen and twinkling lights. As little fingers pointed out different glowing colors and ornaments that swung above their eyes, I soaked in a precious moment, familiar in the tradition yet with faces of a new generation.

2010 has been a year worthy of a spectrum of adjectives: Tragic. Grief-stricken. Unbalanced. Disorienting. Blessed. Challenging. Frustrating. Inspiring. Renewing. A year too big to capture in a letter; emotions too vast to sum up in words. But what a year it has been. A year ago, we were a family of three, living and working in Haiti, realizing long-held dreams of international work, service and cultural emersion. Last Christmas we celebrated in tank tops under a hot sun and sultry tropical breezes. Tonight I sit by a roaring fire in layers of fleece, watching snow fall on aspen.

Days after ringing in the 2010 New Year, our world shook for a violent 45 minutes, our home and place of work came crumbling down with the rest of Port-au-Prince, and our lives and the lives of hundreds of thousands of others were forever changed. We survived, many didn’t. As the dust settled, our work, home and family were soon to be redefined.

In the days following the earthquake, we did what we could amidst rock piles and loss, locating supplies, finding friends, helping where we were able, standing in solidarity with a community we had grown to love like home. As we grieved lives lost, projects in ruin, a city in enormous suffering, we were simultaneously matched with our daughter, Valancia—a tiny, severely malnourished but incredibly strong and affectionate little girl. Several weeks following the earthquake, we were evacuated out with 82 children of an orphanage in the belly of a military cargo plane, and Valancia settled into our lives. She has taught us about survival, acclamation and love in ways we can hardly believe.

For most of the year we were homeless vagabonds taking refuge with friends and family everywhere from the mountains of Haiti, the neighborhood of Klercin, the countryside of Kansas and Iowa, and in communities around Denver and Kansas City. We had planned on returning to work in Haiti, immigration difficulty surrounding the adoption of our children forced us to say good-bye to our hopes of being part of the re-building process with our partners in Port-au-Prince. We unpacked out bags in Evergreen, Colorado and started re-establishing jobs, a home and routine again. These days “home” is a small cabin in the mountains—a wild refuge where our concrete jungle days have been replaced by pine and aspen trees, visits from birds, fox, chipmunk and deer. We’ve struggled with rectifying our guilt for taking comfort in this peaceful place while our hearts pull to the beautiful chaos of a tropical country we miss. But life goes on.

Solomon has stretched and grown into an active, happy, spirited, cuddly and athletic little boy. With only a few growing pains, he has welcomed Valancia as a virtual twin sister, and together they race, give “lovies,” dance to and play music, sing songs and discover new ways to mess-make. I no longer recognize the starved little girl from an orphanage in my daughter’s eyes. She healed at a remarkable pace, and now is running, climbing, talk-talk-talking, laughing, hugging, kissing, and loving at the same pace as her brother. Solomon loves cereal, puppy dogs, tackling his sister and jumping off things. He dislikes plastic toy whales and good-byes. Cici loves chocolate milk, “babies,” bellies and her red boots. She dislikes floating pieces of paper in the bathtub and getting her hair combed. Both astound and entertain us on a daily basis. They have been our champions for moving forward, climbing out of despair and dreams fractured, helping to manufacture new vision and hope for our days. They have grown sturdy mountain legs, love watching wildlife out of our cabin windows, and their magnetic personalities charm everyone from friends and family to strangers in the street.

Patrick has finished the year with Global Ministries, monthly traveling to Haiti visiting our friends and partners, escorting groups down and advocating awareness and action. His trips have been complicated by a dire situation turning ever more difficult as one tragedy and upheaval after another affect the country. He has worked diligently, keeping tabs on the news, on friends, studying Creole and working to find ways to get supplies and funds to people who can use them well. For 2011, he has accepted a job with CCAI—the organization through which we adopted our kids, and will work as the director for Haiti, keeping his passion for the people and children of that country alive and active. Patrick likes hiking, reading books with the kids, chopping wood like Paul Bunyan and home-cooked Haitian food. He dislikes traffic and sleepless nights.

I am working at a community health center in Denver, serving the poor and uninsured of urban Middle America. Certainly I’ve experienced a new culture shock of working within a community of professionals in a highly organized and functional clinic system and amidst a new culture of patients. For jobs here, it is as perfect of a match as I could hope to find. One day I dream of building clinics out of boxes in underserved areas of the world once again (the challenge and adventure is addictive), but I am happy serving an international mix of patients here in a job that allows me to be an active mother as well. Raggedy Spanish is replacing my Creole, and I salute anyone who can keep more than two languages alive and functional in their heads. Not easy at all. I like hot coffee, the mountain-sun-and-sky view from our windows, the giggles of my children when tickled and a crackling fire. I dislike whining and “coaches” on work-out videos.

This year, we witnessed incredible suffering. We’ve lost friends, colleagues, and students. We’ve watched as loved-ones suffer loss, struggle with disease, battle with love lost and economic strife. Our family momentarily lost material possession, home, work, and foothold. But despite the tragedy that has weighed heavy on this year, luck and love overwhelm the loss. We celebrate and are humbled by friends and family who surrounded us, held us, fed us, loved us at our most fragile, took us in and showed us the beauty and healing of community unlike anything we’d ever previously experienced. We’ve been inspired by suffering people who choose to move ever forward in incredible demonstrations of resilience and spirit. We’ve become a family of four--a chaotic, growing, learning, laughing family of four. We’ve had to learn how to let go, be flexible, find humor and redefine our dreams, moving forward with the help of many.

This year I celebrate the Christmas season in the country of my birth and culture, appreciating piped-in Christmas music while I grocery shop, the ease of the “drop in” at the homes of friends, the comforts of family within a quick phone call or a small road trip, and snow sparkling like glitter in the sunlight. No matter what life has in store for us in the future, in the NOW I can only feel privileged and blessed with the tremendous gifts of love, health and safety we revel in.

Our prayers are always with the people of Haiti. Our thoughts are with you in this season of love and reconnection. May you revel in the traditions and magic of the season. May your tragedies be balanced with love, your loss be countered with the gift of life, your struggles be enlightened by new insight and growth.

With love and gratitude the gift of YOU in our lives,

Kim, Patrick, Solomon and Valancia

I've been absent on this blog for a long time. Starting a new job, balancing being a full-time working mom and the precious hours I get to be home has been a challenging transition. Slowly we are settling in to a routine. I'm happy to be working in a community health center with a largely Latino, uninsured, underserved population... Somedays I feel like I'm in another country without need for a passport.

And as we adjust to this American life, our hearts still pull toward Haiti.

I just read a blog by a woman living and working in Haiti. I haven't read her before, but this entry made me weep. She writes honestly and brutally about the orphan situation that patrick and I struggled so hard with while we lived there. And I want to repost her writing because I feel like what she describes needs to be read, needs to be considered. Although I had walked through so many of the experiences she described, I was shocked how raw my emotions felt reading her descriptions... as if I was too quick to cover up the truth of the situation in Haiti, padding my soul so it didn't hurt anymore. But sometimes we need to be reminded of pain to be jump started into action. Emerge out of apathy. Throwing away, "its not my problemness." Because we are human. And it IS our problem.

Her blog is: http://allthingshendrick.blogspot.com/

THIS is the post I needed to read tonight. I hope you are equally moved.

New Gig

I am pleased to announce that I will be continuing to work for Global Ministries and CONASPEH for the next 4-6 months. This position will be a transition job for myself and CONASPEH until they hire full-time missionaries in Haiti to replace Kim and I. My primary duties will be to organize and lead three groups traveling to Haiti for various reasons in the next few months. I will also continue making public presentations on the work of CONASPEH, as well as the history and culture of Haiti. I am excited for the opportunity to keep working for and with the amazing people of Haiti.

Patrick

I want you to meet....

Frank and Jillian.

I stumbled across their blog for the first time after catching up with Haiti friends, Ben and Alexis.

We met Jillian for the first time during Lent, 2009. She was one of several in the group that I vowed would become good friends during our time in Haiti. At the time, she was living apart from her newlywed husband who had plans to move to Port-au-Prince after the holidays. And he did. And they experienced the earthquake as harshly as any survivors did.

I've spent the evening devouring their blog, loving the pictures and the descriptions of daily life that at times sounds hauntingly a whole lot like pre-quake Haiti.

Because I'm not there, no longer a voice for the experience of living in that amazing country, I'd like to share their blog with you. Because they are there. Living it. Loving it most days, but honest about the grit.

http://goatpath.wordpress.com

Enjoy.

A Good Day

This afternoon the sun shines in a cloudless sky, illuminating the light green aspen leaves, highlighting every turn of leaf and wave of branch. The world looks sun-drenched and washed. Rains fall nearly every day in the mountains this time of year, and as a result we are surrounded by lush green and cool evenings. This morning, during my run, a single cloud in the sky burst sending a gentle rain misting down while the sun shown brightly overhead, creating an incredible weather dichotomy. Warm sun shining and cool rain falling, neither sacrificing the other. Pondering the magic of it all nearly distracted me from the task at hand... RUNNING.

Huffing and puffing doesn’t begin to describe what I look like on my first weeks of running in the mountains. Pasty, gasping and heaving paints a more clear picture. Incredible how lack of oxygen to the brain, tho, creates a unique high... and nausea. If I get in shape here, I am going to be brazen about how awesome I am. As it is, I still get dizzy and feel my lungs expanding well past their normal boundaries in efforts to find useable oxygen--sometimes I think I even TASTE them. I celebrate when I can run longer than ONE MINUTE (count it, 60 painful seconds) as I'm heading the return trip back UP the mountain toward home and water and couch and snacks. Oh its so deceiving... I take off from home feeling like a million bucks... run for 20 or 30 minutes and think "man, I'm doing awesome," conveniently ignoring the fact that I've been running downhill the ENTIRE time, letting gravity be my fuel. Getting home is another game COMPLETELY. But the scenery is breathtaking (or is the altitude or my out-of-shapeness?), and I keep shaking my head in wonder that we really LIVE here now. Incredible.

Despite coughing up a lung today, I feel great after my run. I'm having one of those days which I am inspired to get my life back into rhythm and balance with the universe. Of course this usually means first making a list (there is always a list, I'm so type A) of goals and hopes for the oncoming year. 2010 has had a rough and challenging start, but one that despite its tragedy and trials has gifted us with tremendous love, generosity, and a new-improved family. We've seen the true colors of family and friends, and let me tell you--they are spectacular. We also found out what we are able to survive and weather. Instead of throwing the books at 2010, I'm hoping that we can take a rocky beginning and round out the year stronger, healthier, better for it all.

Solomon, Valancia and I just came in from playing outside... throwing pinecones at trees (rather than at sisters, brothers or mommies), climbing over rocks and playing "jump-jump" and "run-into-a-hug" (highly technical, evolved games, I assure you). They are currently in a window of cute behavior and loving on each other in ways that makes me want to bronze a moment and live in it for all time. When Cici throws her arms around Solomon's neck, or Solomon takes Cici's face in his hands and brings her in for a smooch, when they walk hand-in-hand up a hill, everything else melts away and I instantly forget the previous episode of slap-fight or screaming match. I am so glad I have them, but even more grateful that they have each other. I'm not so neive to think that their lives will be charmed and trouble free. They are growing up in a family that will cause the parts of the world that are unkind to question or judge. I pray that we'll get through such rocky moments with love and grace. But when I look at my kids, at the way they are becoming such good friends, I know that no matter what they'll have to face, they'll do so having the other there to understand, to sympathize, to walk the sometimes bumpy road. I am reminded of all the things my brother and I have weathered together, the history and stories we share. Chris makes me stronger just knowing there is another person in the world who understands, who comes from the same beginnings and who has my back no matter what. I was gifted with a best friend conveniently packaged within a family. I am SO GRATEFUL my children have the opportunity for such a relationship and that they are so quickly well on their way on becoming great friends.

Strangers often ask if my kids are twins. No... born on a different day, to different mothers, but brought under the same roof by a twist of fate and a whole lot of luck. Siblings, yes. And may they forever be so. In the best sense of the word.

So on this gorgeous day that invites reflection and play, I celebrate how far we've come as a family and what we've become. I soak in the here-and-now with the warm sunshine. I give thanks for sun and rain, for lungs that breathe (no matter how dramatically), for kindness shown between children, for my family and precious time to play, to explore and to cherish each other.

Mt. Evans

This weekend, we packed up the family for a little local roadtrip up one of Colorado's grand 14'ers accessible by car. In our Colorado life BB (before babies) we never took the opportunity to ease up such heights behind the wheel, preferring the challenge of tackling the record peaks on foot so we could stand at the top, pumping our fists in the air Rocky-style, basking in the sense of accomplishment that comes from putting your body through physical pain for the sake of a great view and staking a proverbial flag on the top of the world. Of course there were always hikers who humbled such accomplishments like the sinewy mountain man running up and down the same peaks, making light of our physical duress. Or the 4-year-old who proudly announced without a hint of shortness of breath at one oxygenless top that this was her 5th 14'er. Now days we drive guilt free, toddlers safely nestled in their car seat, feeling accomplished that we escaped the house in favor of exploring our neighborhood. The kids were less impressed by the dramatic scenery then their parents, but took the opportunity of a few hours in the car and lack of oxygen to take a nice Sunday morning nap.

On a bright sunny day, the scenery was astounding. Around every curve a new dramatic vista opened up, as we climbed higher and higher into the sky. Wildflowers dotted the roadside and sprinkled the mountain with color, impressing us with their high-altitude fortitude. The higher we climbed, the lower temperatures sank leaving a chill on the breeze blowing in the windows. Permafrost leaves the air crisp and clean, high above the pollution and noise of the world.

I was also reminded of a recurrent nightmare I have. In this dream I am driving along a winding mountain pass on a narrow road with no guide rails. In my dream the view is beautiful, but I am fighting anxiety as I realize I have no breaks and the road keeps getting more and more narrow. Eventually the road thins to a footpath and then into nothing and my car goes careening off a cliff and sailing through the air. Usually I wake up heart-racing before my car lands in a fiery crash. I haven't had said dream in a while, but this particular drive awakened countless nightmare-filled nights, and I was struck a little panicky as the narrow road SANS guardrails wound higher and higher into the clouds. Normally not a fraidy-cat about much, I found myself hiding my face in my sleeve (much to Patrick's amusement) on a few turns when I was sure that the brakes would fail and we'd be careening off the next turn turning my nightmares into an ironic foreshadowing for our bitter end. But like most anxiety, it was for naught as Patrick guided our car safely to the tip-top of the mountain.

The view from the peak was incredible, the breeze wintery cold, the oxygen thin in supply leaving us breathless with even a relaxed stroll.

From such a grand apex, looking out at all the peaks of lesser altitude stretching out into the dusty blue horizon, I always have the "grain of sand" feeling. I relish such moments when witness to just how huge and incredibly beautiful the world is we live in. I feel intensely spiritual and calm when reminded through such a vantage point that we are a piece in a very connected, very living, very vibrant world, yet only one small piece. There is something grounding about being reminded of the vastness of our world and that the frets and worries, the time-wasting anxieties we fill our moments with (that keep us from enjoying the view) are petty in the grand scheme of things.

As we settle into our life in Colorado, creating more permanence to our position by securing jobs and looking into daycare options, I have struggled with feelings of loss of a place and way of life we weren't quite ready to move on from. Most days here feel instead like a vacation of sorts since we are still in a period pre-job, pre-schedule. I can conveniently forget that at the end of this vacation, we aren't returning to Haiti. Such thoughts keep me from completely investing in the life we are in now, from letting it be as much of a teacher as chapters before have been. Standing on Mt. Evan's summit, I was jolted into the present, into the incredible life we STILL continue to live, into perspective. I was reminded of the opportunities that lie before us, ready to be recognized and seized, appreciated, learned from. The road we are on doesn't have to be narrowed with restrictions, but can open up a journey with new vistas leading us to places we need to go. Haiti doesn't have to be a chapter closed but an important road ventured. We braved the path and now we know the way. More often than not risking a hair-raising venture is worth the perspective at the end.

Haiti was like that. Is like that. I hope our Colorado chapter has its own unique lessons to teach. One hike or drive at a time.

Get To work!

Enough with the slow days of summer. Put down the fishin' poles and deflate the floaties, kids. Its off to work you go!

Ah, the joys of adoption and immigration. Truly we have reason to celebrate every box that gets checked off on the long list of hoops to jump through to bring two Haitian children into our home and make them legally members of our family and of our country.

I write this only to highlight some of the absurd we deal with in trying to get everything sorted out and boxes checked. Patience is a virtue, and I'd like to say Patrick and I have harbored such in the process, but that would be an outright dirty lie.

Since entering the country at the end of January, we've been trying to get the kids hooked up with medical insurance--first Medicaid to cover them until they were adopted and could be placed on our Global Ministries plan. The State of Colorado made them eligible for state medicaid as refugees coming into the country which sounded like a blessing as we started receiving fat hospital bills from Valancia's brief stay and evaluation. However as we've discovered with many government agencies, communication and coordination between entities is not a well-oiled machine. Rusty. Squeaky. Broken. For months, Patrick has been doing a juggling act between various offices in effort to get the children into the system, and he has hit one road block after another. As a physician, the experience has given me valuable insight into what the nation's poor and uninsured have to go through, the challenges to be faced navigating such dense systems.

Most recently those in charge determined our kids needed social security numbers to get on any retroactive assistance programs that might cover hospital bills. Ok. So after waiting for adoptions to be finalized, Patrick headed with all necessary paperwork to the SSI office. He met with a very nice woman who sat and entered one document after another into our kids' files, minutes ticked into hours. When Patrick handed over the last page and could see light at the end of the tunnel, the process almost complete, an alarm dinged on the worker's computer prompting for a copy of the kids'... get this... not even lying... WORK VISAS. Yes, apparently regardless of age, all people coming into the country need a work permit in order to qualify for a social security number REGARDLESS if they are adopted or if still sporting Huggies. Of course citizenship will erase all this silliness, but that is still to happen at an undefined time. So now we have to harass Homeland Security for work permits for our kids. I mean really, it IS about time they start pulling their weight around here. They are just consumers really, eating, drinking and soiling a staggering amount of diapers... so time to start contributing to the family fund already! Why didn't I think of this before? But skill set? What on earth can they do??? Make messes for vacuum salesmen? Do diaper leakage testing? Taste-test Gerber baby food? Their resume's are sort of pathetic.

On a happier note, the news reported this week that the House and Senate have each passed versions of the Immigration Bill for the children coming in on Humanitarian Parole. One more House vote is needed to approve the Senate's revised version of the bill which should happen this September. The kids could start getting their citizenship processed as early as this fall! Of course how quickly the law will be put into action remains to be seen, but great news nonetheless. THANKS TO ALL who wrote and called their Congressmen and Senators advocating for this bill and for the children it represents. In Legislative time, its incredible how fast it all has been processed.

Truthfully the news--while amazingly good--also left us questioning a bit, wondering if we should have been more patient, if we should have pushed a little harder to extend an already generous home stay. But we comfort ourselves knowing we had to make a decision for financial, security, sanity reasons. Our future is always ours for the molding. Amazing that the wait might be shortened and freedom to go and do as a family unit is closer than we expected!

So as we groan about getting the kids work permits, we celebrate a legislative move that puts us a lot closer to the finish line!

CONASPEH Update

CONASPEH Recovery Update

Report by Global Ministries

August 3, 2010

The National Spiritual Council of Churches of Haiti (CONASPEH) continues to move forward in recovering from earthquake of January 12, 2010. Global Ministries has received the following update from Haiti.

San Andres K-12 School
School began again in April for San Andres K-12 School on the CONASPEH property in Port-au-Prince. Classes meet under large tents using the property that CONASPEH had completed the purchase of just months before the earthquake. Approximately 620 children are currently in school here. When a school building is completed on campus, the goal is to be able to serve 1300 children at the San Andres K-12 School.

Building News
Other work on the campus has included fixing the wall that surrounds the land and installing a gate and fence to secure the original property. The restrooms were damaged but not destroyed in the earthquake and these have been repaired and will continue to serve the campus. The containers that brought emergency supplies to CONASPEH were initially to be used for temporary office space and storage; however, before the campus was secure, the containers were dismantled by individuals desperate for wood and materials. Other temporary space for offices has now been built.

Work has begun on the foundation of the first new building. It is being built on the site of the original building and will include a memorial to those who died as a result of the earthquake. The building will eventually be used as offices after other buildings on campus are completed. Until then, this building will be multipurpose space in anticipation of CONASPEH reopening many of the programs offered before the earthquake. This and all buildings will be built with a heightened awareness of the structural demands that can be placed on buildings in Haiti. This includes keeping buildings to no more than two floors and using building materials which are better able to withstand both earthquakes and hurricanes.

Welcome Center and Guest House
CONASPEH has secured a house to be used as a Welcome Center, Guest House, and Meeting Place. The house is being rented for the first year with the plan to purchase the home. The property owner has agreed to apply rent payments to the purchase which is a real bonus for CONASPEH. Preparations are underway as staffing is put in place.

CONASPEH Vehicles
CONASPEH still plans to purchase at least three vehicles. The challenge has been finding the vehicles and at a fair price. CONASPEH is now working with an auction house that has agreed to waive their commission and is on the look-out for the type of vehicles CONASPEH needs.

Housing Project
A project to provide more affordable and earthquake-safe housing has been developed in partnership with an engineer. To learn more about this project, see "Haiti Housing Project."

Resettlement

I'm sitting alone in my living room enjoying the gift of a peaceful moment. The only noise to be heard is a load of laundry spinning around the dryer and the occasional squawk of bluejays battling for a bit of seed. The air is thickly fragrent of warm pine. Sunlight filters in through evergreen and aspen, drenching our living room in light. Patrick has the munchkins out on a walk, throwing pinecones and scrambling over rocks. Our cabin feels more like a vacation get away than a home this early after moving in. And after 1 1/2 years living in a country of constant noise and people, 6 months of living in other peoples' spaces, the silence I find myself in now takes a little getting used to. The kids love exploring the vast outdoors, morning walks are becoming routine, a lady fox comes visiting daily hoping the kids will leave some treats in their path, birds swarm the trees when Patrick fills the feeders, humming birds flit around our window, and we hear the call of momma elk scolding their babies across the hills. Could our lives change any more in 6 months???

I'm currently back on the interview track, scoping out community health centers in the area, putting on slacks and heals and trying to look the part of professional again. I can't help but smile to think what Gouka and Valena in the CONASPEH office would say if they saw me all gussied up. My usual attire for the Haitian clinic was some sort of thin pant and light shirt, sweaty hair pulled back, face too shiny for make-up. I can almost hear them cheering, "ou bel! ou bel" like they did every time I managed a skirt instead of pants, somehow the skirt alone transforming me into a beauty although the rest of the sweatiness was as before. It feels weird and premature to be back in this position earlier than planned, pondering where I want to work, what place of employment would be the best fit. I feel a little strange to be touring many of the same clinic sites that I did 3 years ago, though at the time I was such a different applicant. Over confident, certain. Independent. I was a proud product of a strong residency program and a country who prides itself on independence, achievement and a bootstraps sort of work-ethic.

One of the hardest adjustments for me to make when we moved to Haiti was giving up a bit of my Independent Woman identity. Patrick and I went to work together everyday; I was driven most places. I gave up running for a while or doing anything solo until we figured out what was safe and appropriate to do. In those first 3 months we relied heavily on everyone around us to simply navigate life in a country we didn't yet understand and a language that made no sense to our straining ears. Now, back in the country of my formative years, I realize that I am more eager to celebrate my Dependent Self, and how that makes me stronger, how that makes my community stronger. I thank Haiti for that.

Of course the interview time brings up a lot of questions about our life and work in Haiti. Strange to be summing up such a life changing time in a couple of sentences. The exercise leaves me feeling a bit melancholy. Describing the clinic work, what we were able to accomplish, what we had plans of developing, what was lost, what was taught leaves me reeling in the unfinished nature of what had to leave behind. Truncated. Unfinished. Tragic.

How have my experiences prepared me to be a valuable asset to your clinic? Hmmm. Do you have Creole speaking patients? No? Hmmmm. Malaria? Typhoid? Dengue? Intestinal round worm? I can do all my own cleaning, stocking, vital signs, drug distribution and lab evaluations in addition to my physical exam! I'm good at large assumptions on diagnosis based on a physical exam. I have mastered the talent of focusing on a single conversation while 15 sets of eyes watch my every move, yelling "Dokte! Hey You! Blan" in competition for my attention. Oh, and I've also discovered the magical power of vitamins.

Yesterday I interviewed with the place I nearly signed on with some years ago before the opportunity to go to Haiti arose. I feel like a different candidate in a lot of ways, though, this time around. The clinics I'm investigating will force me to re-learn Spanish, and will hone my skills in all things medicine and obstetric, skills that have gotten a little rusty practicing in a bare-bones clinic. Strange to consider working in large clinical systems, with so much competent back up and help. What? someone will do my faxing? What? there is a fax?

Despite enjoying my inverviews and the people I've been meeting, I've recently been hit with another wallop of sadness about not returning to Haiti. Students and Haitian coworkers populate my dreams. I keep flashing to what my job looked like in Haiti: seeing patients while children yanked at my shirt begging for attention, a school kid sneaking his way in between my patient line-up for a bandaid on a skinned knee or to show me their well-healed cut, marching up rickety concrete steps to see an elderly woman and check her blood pressure, shooing chickens out of my way as I made my way to her bed. Of course I look at it all through rose colored glasses now. It is easy to forget the frustrations of living there, the heartbreak of not being able to do more. I like that life does that. That the best of an experience comes shining through in the pages of memories.

So I'm feeling melancholy today. On upbeat days I am certain that we'll figure out a way to make Haiti or some other developing country home awhile again someday, that our international adventures are anything but over. The thought comforts me though makes me wonder about another major upheaval in the future. I'm grateful we found this amazing cabin with 20 acres to explore to help us re-immigrate back home. The culture shock of living astride two different worlds is eased when outside of cul-de-sacs and suburbs, away from the down-town hustle and bustle where even the poorest of the poor look a bit overweight. As much as I absolutely love the beauty of the place we are going to call home for a while, the retreat from the land of shopping malls and billboards advertising what we must have next and the accelerated pace of traffic down freeways, I find myself missing people. Patrick recounted a particularly beautiful hike he took yesterday, and the wildlife he saw doing their wild things. "Ah, but I bet there wasn't a guy at the corner ready to sell you a Tampico? Or a crowded tap-tap on the available to haul your tired legs up the mountain again? Or a lady balancing a menacing looking basket of produce that might cure a hunger pain?"

This new home will take a little getting used to. This life that feels familiar in some ways and foreign in others. The learning curve of living here is nothing like our first few days in Haiti, a fact to be lamented as well as celebrated. So we move on keeping Haiti close in heart and mind. We attempt to stay connected by watching news when we can stomach the helplessness it inevitably inspires, sending e-mails to friends there hoping to keep lines of communication open. We still plan with Haiti in our present and future. For as a wise (and king of understatements) Patrick Villier said to us in response to the news that we were resigning our posts as missionaries for the time being, "we're waiting for you, come back, because the work isn't yet done."