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,
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