Merry Christmas

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'd like 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!

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."

We've Moved

After 6 months of staying in a variety of places with faces we loved across Kansas, Colorado and Iowa, we finally found a spot to call home for a while.

Moving yet another time required some adjustments from all of us, and a lot of help from family and friends.

We happened upon a gorgeous rental cabin in the woods outside of Evergreen. Although people live nearby, evergreen and aspen create a visual wilderness for us to relax into. Wildlife is abundant and entertaining for the kids to watch. The air is cool, evenings cold. The kids are developing their mountain legs and enjoy short hikes up the road or around the rocks and trees that create our yard. We are settling into the routine of a family with little to do in these last precious days than to be with one another.

Its not Haiti. Its not Kansas. The quiet is taking a little while to get used to. But how happy it makes me to have Solomon and Cici learn the word for fox, tree, hummingbird (that one is pretty garbled, but they seem to be convinced of the pronunciation), and hike. Truly we've found a place to continue the healing process, the bonding process, and that will ease an immigration back into this country with the cushion of nature to soften the hard difference between very different realities.

New Mountains

I'm a bit shocked how truly awful I've been at blogging since being home. I suppose its a mix of not having the overwhelming urge to keep family and friends informed of our goings on since we see them or can visit much more easily these days. We also have been concentrating time and energy on our family, on the here and now, and sinking into a more private existence when possible.

I've also found it hard to find words when so much of our life and plan felt partially on hold, up in the air, unclear and uncertain.

But we've found a direction.

Its not where we were hoping to be heading. It leaves us mourning a way of life, a type of work, a community of friends and partners we'll be living away from for a while longer. At the same time, we are energized by finally having wheels set in motion after 6 months of waiting. Limbo is not as glamorous as it sounds.

Almost 2 weeks ago, we had a discussion with our executives at Global Ministries, giving them our final resignation after hoping not to have to do so for so long. We were running out of time on paid leave and needed to make some decisions to ensure an income and health insurance in months ahead. After 6 months of living in other people's spaces (lovely, generous, adored people), after the 4 of us sharing a bed with varying degrees of sleep success, it was time for our family to find a space of our own, a routine, a consistency.

The US immigration office has been giving us mixed and changing messages. Our kids MAY be eligible for visas, but information regarding the processing time as well as their eligibility seems to change every time we make a call--even if calls are made on the same day. Citizenship--at this stage of the game--requires us to live in the States for a few years. And if our family wants to do international work or mission in the future (we hope to), we need to get all family members' paperwork secured so we are free to go and do when and where we please.

And so, after a lot of talk, a lot of tears, a lot of anxt, a lot of prayers, we have decided to step away from jobs we love and the wishful hope of a magical ride back to Haiti and instead plan for a life here, in the States, for a while.

Now you can find us back in Colorado. Our belongings are housed in a storage container waiting for us to find a rental house. We are job hunting, car hunting, apartment hunting while once again grateful for the hospitality of generous friends who endure the Bentrott Traveling Circus stopping a while in their homes.

Certainly these last 6 months have challenged us--and gifted us--in ways we've never experienced before. In fact, our days have been such a complete mix of tragic and heart breaking and uncomfortable swirled together with joy and rebirth and gratitude. Life has felt so big, so raw, so confusing, so certain at times I even find challenge in writing about all it has entailed. I have found it grounding to simply attempt focus on the routine of mommihood and the incredible transformation children make minute to minute.

You never wish to have the kind of life situation that puts your friends and family to the test, but we did, and we are overwhelmed with the generosity and patience of the people we call our most beloved. Space was made, doors have been opened, extra plates set at the table. Its humbling because we know in no way will we ever be able to repay the kindness shown. We only wish that we could have been sunnier, brighter house guests, but truthfully, so often we were tired, struggling not to let mourning show too much on our faces in consideration of the kids, tired from new parenthood, tired from living out of suitcases and boxes, nervous with the uncertainty of the unknown. Through it all we've gotten to spend time well past brief visits with family and friends we've long missed; we've enjoyed long stretches of time on the farm, falling into the routine of the place, letting our children fall in love with their grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins. We've had time to meet up with friends without schedules pressing down on us. Most of all, we've had time to really get to know our children, love them in this time of uncertainty, let them love us back.

I can't play the "what if" game because it makes me sick to my stomach... If the earthquake hadn't happened we would still be in Haiti, classes in session, the clinic busily treating patients, many lives would be saved, but we wouldn't have Valancia, wouldn't be celebrating finished adoptions. If we hand't decided in a blink of an eye to change our adoption approval from one child to two, our family would look different. I can't do the if's because it doesn't involve straight forward just and unjust, good or bad. Its a mix, like life, so I just have to sit in what IS, and be extraordinarily grateful for our survival, our health, our safety, our family, our incredible-amazing-challenging-gorgeous children, our perspective, our resilience. And we take what IS and move forward.

We are happy to be back in Colorado, glad to start dreaming about where we'll live, what our lives are going to look like. As we face the realities of future jobs, I realize I'll miss working side-by-side with Patrick. We were a good team. Are a good team. I'll miss the complicated urgent yet laid back agenda of Haitian lifestyle. But as surreal as our memories ofHaiti seem at times, our love for the place and the people resides deep in our bones and I have to trust that we'll summon the courage again one day to dare to live an unconventional life again. Truthfully the real challenge comes in trying to live an unconventional life HERE, challenging the routines and systems that are easy to relax into. I hope we can rise to the occasion.

We certainly aren't done with our advocacy and love for Haiti. We hope to weave work with projects in Haiti into whatever lives we build here. Truthfully, Patrick and I have some big ideas and are waiting to see what we find here and how we can put our ideas into motion. So stay tuned...

I write this post for you who read this blog and who wonder what hole we all fell into. You may read it for a variety of reasons; maybe for descriptions of Haiti and an American's life there, maybe for news about Global Ministries or CONASPEH, maybe because you have a heart for children and issues surrounding adoption, maybe because you are suffering from insomnia and want to see how many words I can shove into one single blog entry. What I hope for future writing is a smattering about adoption (although there are people who do it better), about issues of citizenship and immigration, about reentering the American Life, and a teensy bit about Pip and Squeak who challenge us to be better people and who make our lives intensely more interesting and purpose driven. Ultimately I hope our future dreams and projects for partnership in Haiti can be worked out on these pages, recruiting like-minded folks and inspiring thought and feedback.

So if this is your last read, thanks for following our journey through the last few years. As our family has visited various churches and schools, we've felt honored meeting people who have made our family theirs through connecting to our blog. No, its not weird. Instead it helps recreate the feeling of an extended community we came to absolutely love about life in Haiti.

So on to a new chapter. I can't imagine how it will compare to the chapters freshly written. But I dare not tempt fate. It loves to surprise us all.

Legislative Hope

Dear Friends,

You have all been so supportive of us through the tragedy in Haiti, your advocacy in helping us get back safely into the United States with our children, and in the months that have followed as we've taken time to heal, process and get strong. We've had such love and support shown through the frustrating challenges of seeking out the legal adoptions and as we try to understand the immigration process.

At this time, there are three U.S. Senators who have proposed legislation to help the Haitian children that came into the U.S. under "Humanitarian Parole" status after the earthquake gain more immediate citizenship status.

Currently, the USCIS is requiring Haitian children who entered the U.S. on a Humanitarian Parole visa after the earthquake to remain in the country for a period of two years prior to being eligible for US citizenship, even if their adoption has already been finalized in the U.S. judicial system. Without the rights of citizenship, these children and their families could face multiple challenges. In our own family, it may very well limit or prevent international travel and thus force us to give up our work in Haiti for the next few years.

The Help HAITI Act of 2010 (also known as the Help Haitian Adoptees Immediately to Integrate Act of 2010) was introduced to both the House and Senate in May and has already been referred to the corresponding Committees on the Judiciary. If passed, these Acts “authorize the Secretary of Homeland Security (DHS) to adjust to permanent resident status an alien who was granted parole admission into the United States pursuant to the humanitarian parole policy for certain Haitian orphans announced on January 18, 2010” (www.opencongress.org).

In order to give these children every benefit and assurance of stability after an already stressful ordeal,please contact your U.S. Senator or Representative in the House of Representatives and ask them to support this legislation (HR 5283 in the House and S 3411 in the Senate).

Contact your Representative:

https://writerep.house.gov/writerep/welcome.shtml

Contact your Senator:

http://www.senate.gov/general/contact_information/senators_cfm.cfm

In the name of all orphans looking for a permanent home, we ask you to please share this information with your friends and family and supporters of international adoption everywhere.

Thank you once again for advocating for the children of Haiti, for adoptive families in the States, for us.

Adoption Day!

OH HAPPY DAY!

We just heard from our lawyer! Good news and big celebrations. The children's adoptions were aproved in the courts today!

Happy adoption day to our two beautiful children! You've been ours for a while now, but its nice to know the law agrees! We have so much to celebrate!!!

Thank you for holding our hands through this process, for making us laugh, for allowing us to love harder than we ever knew possible, for making us a mom and a dad.

We love you.

A Visit to Downtown Port-au-Prince

Thursday proved to be an incredibly intense day. It started off pretty low key. Our good friend Miguelson stopped by the guest house and we headed out to run errands and see people around the city. Miguelson is currently working for the Southern Baptist Convention as an interpreter. He is able to make a little money right now with this job, which helps his family out a great deal. Miguelson told me that his father, who is a farmer in the countryside, is no longer able to sell much of his produce in Haiti because farmers cannot compete with the free food coming in from abroad. His father has a contact in the Dominican Republic so he can sell most of his stuff there.

Obviously right now there are many people who do not have jobs and therefore cannot afford to buy any food. They are completely dependent on foreign donations and whatever they can scrape up on a daily basis. On the other hand, Haitian farmers are struggling because the population that can afford to buy a little food is seeking out the free food that is being delivered by foreign aid organizations and foreign governments. This is just one of the numerous complexities when trying to understand post-earthquake Haiti. People are hungry and more aid, including food, is needed in the country. Yet a system of dependence is being created that will have to eventually be removed for the country's economy to move forward.

I had the good fortune of spending the morning with Sylvia and her family, which was great. They are doing well and seemed happy as always. We talked about her community and how people were doing. She told me stories about receiving ration cards for food and then standing in long lines to receive rice, beans, and water. Sylvia said that she has not been given a ration card in over a month, but her family is finding ways to eat. We talked about the recovery efforts, the looming rainy season, and my family's ambiguous future in Haiti. If we return we will hire you again I promised her, but I also told her that I'm not sure when that will be. She handled the news well, but I know that on some level she has to be concerned about the future income of her family. Sylvia is a part of our family now and we miss her dearly.

I spent the afternoon in downtown Port-au-Prince where the situation was the worst that I have seen in Haiti thus far. The large old buildings that once made up the downtown were reduced to roofless one story buildings, if not completely destroyed. We passed by the National Palace, which laid idle and seemingly untouched since the earthquake. The National Cathedral was missing its roof and one side of the building was completely knocked down. Downtown Port-au-Prince was in ruins, but vendors lined the streets and the chaotic environment of downtown still existed amongst the destruction. It will take months, if not years before downtown Port-au-Prince can return to a level of normalcy.

Miguelson and I journeyed into a tent city across the street from the National Palace. All of the beautiful parks once filled with fountains and monuments were nothing but an endless mass of humanity living on top of each other. Tent after tent covered the area. Many of the makeshift homes were nothing but sticks and sheets, others were created with pieces of metal and cardboard with donated tarps serving as the roof. People were cooking, doing laundry, bathing, and sleeping like they did in their old homes. We would occasionally stop to talk to people who told us stories of sick children, crumbled homes, lost relatives, and hunger. One man introduced me to a 12 year-0ld boy that lost his leg when the building he was in fell on top of him. "Ten people died inside that building and he was the only one that survived," he informed me. The boy insisted that I take his picture. He even smiled. Many complained that the Haitian government has once again done nothing to help its people and that there is food and water coming into the country, but not everybody can access it. They fear the coming rainy season that has already begun to make its presence known. Last night I awoke to a downpour and immediately thought of the families sleeping on the ground with only tarps to keep them dry. I cringe when thinking about the various diseases that could breakout and spread in a tent city like the one I visited, especially when the rains begin falling daily. I shudder to consider what it must be like to try to maintain a little living space for your family when rain and mud are everywhere. How many children will lose a piece of their childhood here?

We finished our day with a trip to a neighborhood called Fort National. The neighborhood is located on a hill towering above downtown. The scene was catastrophic as the entire neighborhood was wiped out. Houses lay in rubble and large piles of concrete lined the roads as dozens of government workers tried to clean up the mess with only hammers and wheel barrows at their disposal. The government workers were almost exclusively young men and women and they wore bright yellow t-shirts that read, "Ann Leve Kanpe" (Let's Get Up and Stand). I can only imagine the amount of life that was lost in this area and I wonder how people here can possibly get up and stand again? How do they move forward amidst such pain and loss? The Haitian people have overcome colonization, slavery, economic oppression, hurricanes and floods. They are the strongest people in the world. They will indeed rise again.

Miguelson and I concluded our day with a trip to his house to visit with his family. Miguelson's mother is such a beautiful, dignified woman. She put on a good face for me even though her family is struggling and her children are sleeping outside in tents. Miguelson took me to visit a local CONASPEH pastor and to tour a little tent city where members of his family sleep. There were no clement floors to sleep on here, just bare ground. The tents were not really tents at all, but pieces of woods and plastic tarps pieced together. While Miguelson's neighborhood was not hit particularly hard by the earthquake, most people are afraid to sleep inside their homes so they hang out at home during the day and sleep outside at night. I suspect the rainy season might force some people to take the risk of sleeping inside their homes again.

Today I leave Haiti. I now sit in the airport trying to finish the blog and one last Prestige. The bartender is happy that I speak Kreyol so we talk about everything Haiti. He has a job, so he is more optimistic than most Haitians I have spoken with this week.

I love Haiti. While it can be extremely difficult and frustrating to live in this country, it is also a truly amazing place. The people have mastered the art of being. They know that there is one God and that we all are equal children in the eyes of this God. While there are certainly a lot of needs in Haiti, especially at this moment, there are also many things the people of Haiti have to offer the rest of the world. We need each other. They know this already and my hope is that many others outside of Haiti will begin to recognize it too.