730 days and counting...

Today marks day 730.  Two full years have passed since my new label was given me.

Survivor. 

Technically I have been a "survivor" for decades.  Many, if not most of us are.  We survive abuse, divorce, failure, disappointment but this was different.  This was silent, invisible and without warning. The "big one"- the Widow Maker.  The cardiologist was very clear in his amazement of my survival,  explaining what a miracle it was that I was alive.  Which left me with one large nagging question: Why?

That question evolved into several, What was I supposed to do with this gift of time? Would I be healthy enough to do anything? How much time, exactly, was there?  

I've had the opportunity to be the primary caretaker for several people who had a terminal diagnosis.   They were given a "heads up" if you will.  They were given a span of time for the opportunity to have conversations or reconciliations before death.  Often you hear people who have a terminal diagnosis say something about wanting more time.  More time to experience  _____________.    
Did something come to mind?

I would dearly love to say that I cherished each extra day.  That I spent each gifted moment with friends in laughter or sharing great family time.  I'd love to say that every morning I faithfully spent time with the Lord of my life, or enjoyed the beautiful setting of the Colorado Mountains with renewed appreciation.   I would be thrilled to report that broken relationships all have miraculously been restored because everyone realized life is fragile and to be cherished.

But I cannot.

The truth is that within hours of coming home from the hospital most things were business as usual. The people around me with few exceptions went right back to their lives.  Everything was the same dysfunctional "normal" in the days after the heart attack. Oh sure some things were different.  I didn't feel good, I had a new supply of medications, new appointments to keep and a new work out regiment but by and large, everything was just about the same.  Everything but Me.  

There is a longing now.  An urgency that I can't seem to explain. It has haunted me at times.  The kind of gnawing that keeps you awake at night.  This deep seated desire in my heart (no pun intended) for true genuine relationships, honesty, unity and legacy.  The desire for purpose and to use the gifted time well in service to the One who gifts time.  

There have been some simple things I have gotten to witness because of this extra time. Walks on a hiking trail with sunshine on my face, the opportunity to ride in a boat across a clear lake, watching a pre-teen boy make his first bucket in basketball and the resulting huge smile erupting on his surprised face.   The ability to have bible study discussions with real seekers or watching people I love ski on a sunny day in the Colorado high country. Big moments have also been given me in this stretch of time.  A  beautiful wedding in an aspen meadow inthe shadow of Pikes Peak on a perfect September day,  the ability to cuddle a newborn Haitian baby who wasn't suppose to survive,  being able to comfort a family dealing with a deadly diagnosis and watching them handle that news with grace and love in the sweltering heat of a third world country.    The complete joy in building relationship with one of the prodigals, and the announcement that my newest grand-baby is at this moment being knit together by the Creator.  

I realize now what I was to focus on in these past 2 years of my life.   It's the same thing that I was given opportunity to learn in the first 54 years, 3 months and 12 days.  Scripture says it best:

"I was under great pressure, far beyond my ability to endure, so that I despaired even of life.  Indeed, in my heart I  felt the sentence of death.  But this happened that I might not rely on myself but on God, who raises the dead."  (2 Corinthians 1:8b- 11-I personalized it by changing the pronouns, the emphasis mine)

I am indeed a new creation, the old is passed away, the new has come. (2 Corinthians 5:17)

May I be reminded to use my gifted future to rely on God, the Creator of it all. 

“Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones. A legacy is etched into the minds of others and the stories they share about you.” 
― Shannon L. Alder

Change - the only constant

Another year passes away leaving in its wake moments (or hours, months, seasons) of joy, heartache, surprise, loss and change.  A whole lot of change.  With the change in my life and on the calendar comes reflection.  It seems that every 365 days I find myself thankful for the passing of the previous year and hopeful that the one before me will be filled with the goodness the previous lacked.  How can it be that year after year that same feeling appears?  Perhaps it has more to do with my perspective than anything else.

In 2014 there were many changes in my life. Change in relationships, change in financial status, change in health issues, change due to decisions of others. There have been changes in my address, my insurance, my family and my friends.  For good or not, change is happening.  Challenges of blending families, making marriage work well and being a disciple even when you don’t feel like it all bring about change.  None of these things differentiate this year from the many years that have come before.  Change is the constant in all of them.

What’s the point of all this reflection? To change, of course! To grow, to learn, to do things differently in the coming 12 months than in the last.  Yet it is exactly change that I try to avoid.  Perhaps that’s the point.  I must stop trying to avoid change and instead embrace it,  For it is with change that I can grow closer to Christ and then closer to the woman that I am destined to be in Him.

Change brings with it the ability to trust.  The ability to rely fully on my Savior. I know without question that God is faithful.  Time and again He has rescued me from the world’s plan.  Often when we talk of God, our conversation turns vague or mystical. I am not speaking of a unreachable, uncaring God who pops in occasionally and gives me a “God Story” to tell in amazement to my friends.   I am speaking here of tangible, concrete ways that the Lord of Heaven and Earth rescued ME.  Not some ancient Pharisee named Nicodemus, not a prophet on a fiery chariot, not a fisherman transformed into an apostle but ME - now - in 2014. 

So, I will walk forward into 2015 and do my best to embrace change and to remember that without it I cannot transform into the woman that God has called me to be.

The Gift of SHUT UP

I have always been talkative.  Okay, that might be an understatement.  As a child I was often in trouble because of this.  Not because I was doing anything different from my siblings, but because I was doing it at a louder decibel level. 

Last year I had the great pleasure of meeting an awesome woman who told me a story of how God used her, and specifically her silence, in a difficult season for her family.  She explained that God had counseled her that her help was not needed in advising her husband regarding the loss of his job.  She had several suggestions about how he might revise his resume, or network with people, but she was essentially told by the Creator of the World to "Shut Up".  It was said lovingly, of course, but the message was clear.

After listening to my friend tell her story, I realized that I had been giving my well meaning advice to someone for quite a while. I also realized that my advice and counsel were not helping, but I couldn't seem to stop offering it.   I began praying for this gift that my lady friend had been given.  She called it the "gift of  SHUT UP".

Throughout the spring of 2014 I continued to pray that I would receive the "gift of SHUT UP".  I journaled about it, prayed for it, asked repeatedly for God to come through.  I was having difficulty keeping my advice to myself, thinking all along the way that I had some valuable input, some unthought of solution to a particular problem.   I did not. 

In June, I was on an island in Haiti when my request was granted.  I'd gone with a team of Americans to the Island of LaGonave, Haiti where we were working in a hospital helping locals.  On June 20, I began feeling sick. I was running a slight fever, my throat hurt, my ear ached.  I felt as though I had an sinus infection.  It was our last day on the island and I was ready to get home.  Haiti in June is hot, that is another understatement.  It's humid and downright uncomfortable.  Being sick and hot and humid was more than I had bargained for.  Our team had to travel back to the mainland across the Bay of Haiti on a boat that was right out of Gilligan's Island. Sick was not something that I wanted to be. As the team began preparations to take the boat back to the mainland, I could not wait to be home. 

Getting home from Haiti proved to be a bit of a challenge. We encountered closed airports, diversions to other countries,  changes and delays.  We arrived in Miami in the early morning hours of June 22. Tired and sick, I finally got back to the United States but my voice had been left on the mainland of Haiti some 12 hours earlier.

After returning to Colorado I sought medical attention. Weeks passed without any result.  I was seen by 3 different specialists and had 2 CT scans before I received the diagnosis

Vocal Cord Parasis, otherwise known as the gift of SHUT UP.

It took 65 days before I could speak above a faint whisper.  I spent the entire summer stuggling to be heard, trying to communicate and feeling frustrated.  

I learned alot in the journey of silence, or near silence.  I learned to be careful what you pray for. God certainly hears our prayers but His answers are often different than anticipated.  I learned that God has something to say and I cannot hear if I am talking.  And lastly, it was reaffirmed to me that I am not the Holy Spirit for anyone, and the Holy Spirit is not asking for my help.  

I no longer pray for the "gift of SHUT UP" but I am glad that I received it.  I got to know God a little better in the quiet.  I got to know myself just a little better too.

Grace embodied- a Saint named Claire

During our time at the hospital in Haiti, I paired with Kristen who is a Physical Therapist here in Colorado. She is a soft spoken, intelligent, thoughtful women in her mid thirties who has a gentleness about her that is comforting.  We visited patients with a wide range of injury.  Ladies recovering from abdominal surgeries, elderly gentlemen who had suffered stroke, a young girl who was the victim of a motor vehicle accident, children with assorted joint aches or injuries, a University student and very talented soccer player, staff members who had sprained knees from walking on the uneven, rocky streets of Anse-A-Galet. With each patient that we saw I wondered again, why was I here?  I had no medical training, no skill or schooling to help these people.  Every one of these patients has a story, as we all do, but one lady in particular captivated us.

Birth records were not kept or are not available to many of Haiti's residents.  Claire appears to be around 75 years of age, but her exact age is unknown to her. She is blind, soft spoken, intelligent and prayerful.  Meeting Claire is like meeting Jesus on earth.  Brought to the hospital because of high fever, Claire also suffered injury to her left hand which was very sore and swollen. She was in a room with 4 or 5 other patients and all of the family members, barely room to scoot around each other.  Each day Kristen would work with Claire's hand to bring relief from her pain. My role was as assistant to Kristen getting gel or gloves as she needed.  She easily could have done without me but was gracious enough to allow me to "help".   Each day, Claire would smile and tell us how she was praying for us.

Kristen and Claire

It is very humbling to stand at the overcrowded, overheated hospital bed of an elderly saint and have her pray for you.  The first time it happened, I just stood, listening. The Creole she was speaking was of course, unfamiliar to me, but the name of Jesus is universal, a name above all names and thereby recognizable.

Peace entered the room.

While laying on my bed later that night I again asked God for some guidance as to what my role in Haiti was to be.  I knew there was a reason I was there, but for the life of me I could not discern it. Then I realized what I would do the next day.




The next morning as Kristen worked on Claire's hand and Claire talked of praying for us, I asked instead if I could pray for her.  Bee began to translate my prayer for Claire and her family.  As I spoke to God in petition for Claire's healing, her family joined in.  The English mixed with the Creole and the weak voice of a 75 yr old women spoke her agreement - Amen, Amen -as the translation hit her ears.  I asked our God for her healing, provision and protection, for her family's safety and peace and I thanked the Creator for the legacy that Claire was leaving for her family.  I thanked Him also that one day we would meet again at His throne.

That was the source of the loudest Amen.

Make a Joyful Noise

On Monday several of the team were asked by the HeadMaster of the schools for the town of Anse-A-Galets, Daniel-Bertrand, to come to the middle/high school and speak English to the students.  He explained that the students were preparing to take exams on Tuesday and Wednesday and that they were supposed to be out of school on Monday, but he had cancelled their day out of school because we were there. I was anticipating that they wouldn't be too thrilled to have us there taking up the day off.

I was wrong.

We went early to the school which was just a few minutes by Jeep from the compound where we were staying.  Daniel-Bertrand and another Haitian man named Johnny were to be our interpreters.  Daniel-Bertrand explained that there were middle school students in one area and the high school students were in another area. The students are not grouped by age, but rather by grade passed.  Once a student achieves the level of 5th grade, they must pass the year end exams before moving up to the next level in school.  It does not matter the students age, only that they learned all curriculum and pass the exam. Alex, Riley and Megan would talk with the high school students first while Paula, Joe and myself would take on the middle schoolers.

We had no idea what we were in for.

The room was packed with students sitting on benches, row after row of eager faces looking at us as though we had something to teach them.  We began by telling them a bit about ourselves, and asked them to do the same, in English.  Like any other classroom,  the cool kids sat together, the studious were in the front of the room in a line, the shy kids in the back trying not to be seen.  Each took their turn telling us something about themselves in English.   On the front row was a handsome young man named Markelor Louis. His English was pretty good, probably the best of the Haitians in the room. He told of how his Father had died 6 years previous and he was left to support his mother and 6 sisters. He was matter of fact, not trying to evoke any emotion, just stating facts about himself. Then he sat down. As others continued to rise and speak, I quietly went over and sat by Markelor.  I asked what I could do for him or how he thought I might help him. His answer was to teach him more English so he could better support his family. (Here Markelor -last on right-is pictured with his friends)

We did, in the form of a song.

Paula is a worship leader who plays the Ukelele.  Yes, I said Ukelele.  She played and I wrote on the board the words to "All To Him"- an upbeat contemporary christian song declaring God's greatest.

For every mountain that is high He is higher
For every burden that is great He is greater
For every valley that is deep He is deeper still
More than we can know

Our promise is Jesus
Our answer is Jesus
All to Him
All to Him we owe everything
Our savior is Jesus 
Our future is Jesus
All to Him
All to Him we owe everything

For every fear that closes in He is closer
For every doubt that comes on strong He is stronger
For every battle that we face He has conquered all
More than we can know

We know the great God
We serve the great God
We owe the great God
Everything all to Him


The kids were engaged and excited to learn the song.  They sang along loudly and with great enthusiasm.  By the third time though, they had it.  One in the group came forward and played the Ukelele after some minimal instruction from Paula while his classmates repeated the song again and again.  At the end of the song everyone in the room stood to their feet.  The room filled with thunderous applause, shouting and laughing.  Cheers lifted the spirits of all there.
I think I got a glimpse of what it sounds like at the Throne. It was a joyful noise indeed.


"Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth.  Worship the Lord with Gladness; come before him with joyful songs." Psalm 100

Checking in on Baby Precious

Esther is her name.  How appropriate.

I finally was able to go check on Baby Precious the other day.  Of the 8 babies that our team had a hand in delivering only one was a boy.  Precious.  He is doing well and his mother, Esther is recovering from her C-Section.   I found out that when Esther realized she was pregnant she told the baby's father.  Not wanting to be a parent, the Father left.  Esther is afraid and alone and now has a son to raise in a country with no welfare, WIC or aid to dependent families.  Life is already difficult here, being a single mother only ups the degree of difficulty.  She is not interested in raising a son alone and who could blame her. 

There was another Esther, taken to live at a young age to the king's court, far away from her home. Her uncle Mordecai watched over her as best he could, but he didn't have much influence.  The bible tells the story of her fears which needed to be overcome to save herself and her people.   

Esther and her son have a very hard road ahead.  It's my prayer that she will learn to love her son and see him as a blessing, as the precious gift that he is.  May he grow up knowing that he is loved by God.

Structured Chaos

Wednesday afternoon the local merchants came to the compound to sell their crafts.  I always wonder how all of these personally "handmade" items are found in so many different places throughout a country.  That may be a blog for a different day.

The prices are based on a sliding slide that seems to depend on factors I do not understand. As is true in most countries, the bargaining is always part of the process.  There is definitely a "white tax" and let's just say some on our team have helped the Haitian economy much more than others.

Here is a photo of 'Baby Precious' born earlier this week:

Thursday morning was met with the arrival of another baby by C-section.  Overnight there were four other babies born naturally.  The hospital is very crowded with surgical patients, new mothers and people who have contracted Chikungunya.  The outbreak of this virus is epidemic here, you cannot find someone who hasn't had at least one family member sick in the last several months.  Patients become infected when bitten by mosquitoes carrying the virus and suffer symptoms including very high fever, headaches, and severe joint pain lasting weeks.  Several of the patients admitted this week had fevers reaching 105 and many are children.  The halls are lined with beds, the rooms are overcrowded. The moans of those who are trying to recover from motor vehicle accidents, gasoline explosions and surgery are joined with the wails of the infants, and the soft conversations of family members speaking with doctors and nurses in a mix of English and Creole.  The distinct smell of urine lies just under the scent of Lysol.  Often the smell of wood burning creeps into the fragrance as the family members prepare food for their patient just outside the wall of the hospital.  All these sounds, smells and sights mix together, I am reminded that I am not equipped to help these people.  

...BUT I do know the One who is.

Revelation 8:3-4 tells us that the prayers of the saints go up before God, carried by an angel in the form of incense to the God of all at the throne.  Isn't that something?! My prayers are like incense, a pleasing fragrance to God himself.  

We are equipped to help these people, we can pray....

And so, amid the structured chaos this morning, one ill equipped middle-aged American woman stood quietly and prayed a prayer to her Maker.

Glory to God alone.

"Another angel, who had a golden censer, came and stood at the altar. He was given much incense to offer, with the prayers of all God’s people, on the golden altar in front of the throne. The smoke of the incense, together with the prayers of God’s people, went up before God from the angel’s hand". Revelation 8:3-4