january twelfth

i read the book The Heart and the Fist by Eric Greitens.  he is a humanitarian.  rhodes scholar.  navy seal.  there were a lot of things i found particularly thought provoking about his memoir.  his discussion on photography in war ravaged countries hit a chord with me, specifically.

haiti is complex as only a third world country can be.  it is beautiful and ugly.  clean and dirty.  pure and infected.  it was all of these things at once.  that was the surface.  then there were the sounds and the smells.  more surface but deeper.  then there were the people.  and that was real.  we drove through streets that a year after the earthquake looked like bombed out buildings from the night before.  we drove past tent camps that stretched as far as the eye could see.  war ravaged by mother nature and time and neglect.

when i was in haiti i found myself for a time drawn to my camera, and then completely repelled by it.  i literally put it away as we drove through port au prince.  it seemed so disrespectful to me to photograph the pain of others.  


i wrote about the people i got to know. they did not only talk only about despair. it was there, but they also talked about their children. they talked about their homes. the ones they lived in every day. not the ones that fell down. they talked about the jobs they travelled hours for. they talked about the future. i surmised there was hope. and i know that's what you talk about with a stranger before they go home.

today is the fourth anniversary of the earthquake.  and i think that if you were to have driven through a country as damaged as haiti, hiding behind a camera, you would have missed the beautiful hope and perseverance of the people.  i would like to always share haiti and never forget what an indelible mark it has left on my life.  i am connected to that place and real people.   their stories, their words are alive in my heart.  and on the pages of this blog.  and in my memories.  i sent a facebook message to our haitian friend.  he said, "today is the day we go to church and praise God for life and remember those who were lost.  we do this with many tears."

wrecked

i sat on the cool concrete steps just outside of the sun’s reach.  his straw hat provided shade, but could not hide the sparkle in his eyes.  as the sun broke across his dark face, his toothless smile grabbed hold of my heart.  i stole quick glances up at him and was immediately reminded of my own grandfather.  as i crimped wire for the rebar men, i sensed him looking over my shoulder.  the child in me longed to say, “grandpa, am i doing this right?”  my own grandfather would’ve admonished me for cutting the wire too long and wasting the length.  instead i said, “bonjou.  bon?”  the old man looked at me and smiled. 

i was given wire cutters, not a sledgehammer.  the sledgehammer, pick axe and shovels were for the working men.  i was not a man, and he was not picked to work.  he followed me as my job was complete and he waited, as did i, to see what was next.  one worker laid down a shovel, and i put back the wire-cutters.  it was in my mind to work with these men.   i picked up a hammer and someone said, “mesi” and took it away.  

soon there was an influx of women and food and coffee and children.  the tools were laid to rest for a moment.  i sidled my way up to a shovel and used it to fill the wheelbarrow with concrete.  my sunshine, toothless smile stood to the side.  the men watched.  i moved the rock.  if he were my grandfather he would have taken the shovel and showed me a better way.  silently, though, he took the shovel from me and began to work.  this haitian man filled with years of hard work longed to contribute as did i.

his smile grappled with my heart again, and i knew this would not go well.  just as he took the shovel from the “blan” woman, someone would take the shovel from him.  he was not a worker that day.  there were no wages for him.  he was soon to find another shady spot on the concrete steps.  before i burst into tears, i excused myself and hid away from the workers and the shadowy grandfather man.  i cried an ugly, from the depths of my soul, cry out to God for the disparity in this world.  i cried for the naïve part i played in the old man’s misery and my own.  i cried for letting him take the shovel without truly understanding why it would hurt him in the end.  i cried that pecking order has no rhyme or reason.  that Truth and Justice don’t play out like we envision.  then, humbled and ashamed i realized that this story does not begin or end with me or my understanding.  

sunglasses to mask my tear swollen eyes, i joined him on the steps.  my heart in tiny pieces, i could barely look at his face.  i would have sat at his feet for the rest of my haitian days if i knew how to serve him in a way that mattered.  

missionary of missionaries

i have been on two mission trips to haiti, but that hardly makes me a missionary.  before i decided to Go, i wasn't sure how the concept of mission work fit into my worldly life.  but i went anyway.  i slowly started to see good things happening in and around me.  i am not one who understands accident or chance.  i see purpose and plan.  i have faith in the end game even when i don't see the finish.  

i met jim in 2011, none the wiser about his life circumstances.  he was an american agronomist working with the methodist church in haiti and the haitian government to establish a system of agricultural practices before and after the earthquake.  he talked to us about american foreign policy.  he talked hurricanes.  he talked agriculture.  while the members of my team joked that maybe i would turn into a missionary, or that baptism by being thrown into the pool might suffice, his words about haiti weighed heavily on my shoulders.  my heart was already in a heap, but i knew there was more to it.  

i got to know jim in 2013.  unlike me, he knew he would be a missionary one day.  his heart was always fashioned for foreign lands.  it's the story of his life after tragedy, where i see firsthand, his mission work begin.  sitting around the table drinking coffee, he recounted the events of the earthquake in january 2010.  we were with him under the hotel montana, we climbed out of the debris when he was rescued, and we walked through the US embassy with him days later.  we listened to his survivor's story and agonized with him.  

it was no accident i was sitting at jim's table, the most improbable receiver of his story.  jim never knew his life would be swallowed up by the rubble of the hotel montana.  his vision did not include a girl from colorado.  this missionary of missionaries was no accidental survivor.  his words of compassion and examples of humanity are still living in my heart today.  his story tells me, out of the most broken places goodness comes.

i like the thought that one doesn't have to go far to be a missionary.  a life's work might be to encourage people to write or use their art.  you might be the athlete who champions someone to finish the race.  you might be the mom of three boys.  you might be the chairwoman of an amazing organization.  you might be the middle aged woman who listens to a neighbor.  you might find yourself in haiti, or at the community breakfast down the street.  your purpose in life is waiting for you to show up.  you just have to decide to Go.

ordinary

i still have haiti pumping through my heart.  as long as i live it will never leave me.  it's the important part about going, i believe.  being connected to a place and its people.  in fact, my facebook was bouncing with haitian wedding pictures all.  day.  long.  i love the balance of life in a third world country.  so much beauty sitting on the outskirts of things that are hard to stomach.  so much gut and gumption of humanity you see there.  so much keep on, keepin on.  we are all ordinary yet delicate, like the concrete flowers in haiti.  we persevere and persist despite the conditions.

in the hallway at school today i listened to a particular child read me her big words.  she giggled at the silliness in the stories.  she sounded things out.  she whizzed through her sight words.  twice her sister walked by us, glancing as she passed.  i saw big tears in her eyes, and i know why.  she is a neighbor in our small town fishbowl.  i find dichotomy in the two girls.  one too young to have a care in the world, the other too young to hold such a heavy burden.

i go worlds away to offer love and kindness, but find it painful to see what is going on in my own backyard.  i see a beautiful life on the brink of devastation and i don't know how to help.  i have no answers.  it is times like these, be it a small town or a third world country, i am reminded that i am just one ordinary person.  one ordinary person who is sometimes of comfort, and other times helpless.  an ordinary person who believes going can mean across the street.  an ordinary person hoping that concrete flowers persevere and persist in colorado, as they do in haiti.

c'est moi

hello,

 

the thing about this picture is...it's me.  you might not know me for real.  you might be a friend i knew once upon a time, or we might have had lunch just yesterday.  chances are you have not seen "me" in a long time, if ever.  on this earth there is little that makes me more happy than the joy of children. the me in this picture is free.  free to love and share and imagine.  i would give anything to be her every minute of every day. 

 

still trying to find myself,

m

 

p.s.  seriously.  girls in any country will make little houses with you if you just ask them.  even if it's in creole or french.  city mouse or country.  kids just want to be heard and seen.  that's pretty much it.  we made les petit maisons out of concrete and leaves and sticks and candy wrappers.  and they practiced over and over how to say, "we made it!"  i can still picture their little mouths trying to form the word made - such a challenge.

haiti 2013

in three weeks i will be in haiti.  we are staying in petit-goave and working in olivier for those who are interested.  unlike my last trip, i am not going to be intimidated by the island of hispaniola.  come what may.  the last time i was there, i was cautious and wary.  i worried constantly about upsetting the balance of a country in disaster with my meddling ways.  this time, i'm just going to let haiti have it.  those haitians will not. know. what. hit. them.  get ready for love haiti.  i'm going to put it all out there.  i'm not afraid of goodness, and Lord knows haiti needs every ounce it can get.  i'm going to pour my hope and joy into every second of my time there.  oh yeah...

on faith and hope

 

almost two years ago to this day, my life started to change.  i wandered into a giant church and i sat quietly as the pastor talked about the five things God uses to grow your faith.  i wasn't there by accident.  i was told to get a blessing so that maybe my mind would be at ease about going.  i had never felt so moved.  i sat in my chair and silent tears poured down my face.  how was it that i hadn't been to a church in so long, and yet this message was tailored for my heart?  i had always wanted to help those in need, but i had not imagined that it would take me to haiti.  i had not imagined it would take me to church.  and i will admit it.  i was pretty scared.  so i sat in my chair.  ugly crying among strangers.  afraid and alone.

 

i'm a comfort zone kind of girl.  i fly under the radar.  i apologize for goodness.  i speak when spoken to.  as the sermon was coming to an end, i knew what i had to do.  only because someone gave me specific instructions.  walk to the front of the sanctuary.  find the pastor (turns out there were more than one at this church).  tell him where you are going.  tell him you are afraid.  ask him to bless you.  and that is what i did.  it became my first practice in asking for help and trusting the outcome to something bigger than myself.

 

like so many in haiti have done.

 

three years ago, the lives of the people living in haiti changed forever.  and they still ask for help.  and they still look for blessing.  it is a slow process.  i'm sure they feel forsaken.  and yet every day they go out and build and repair and grow.  despite the fear.  despite the hardship.  i still find so much hope in that.  i still feel as moved today as i did back then.

 

when next i meet my friends in haiti, we will have changed.  i imagine i won't be repairing what has been damaged as much as reinforcing what exists.

 

read about my first trip to haiti here.

haiti - human connection

i am trepidatious on a good day.  i proceed with caution.  chiggity check yourself before you wreck yourself should be my motto.  and it was no different when i went to haiti.  i struggled with so many things.  thinking through each step.  i had a fear that if i went to haiti and dealt with children it would be hugely detrimental to them.  so i was wary.  most of all i did not want to interfere.  how many other foreigners were me at one time, invading this orphanage, and then leaving.  i sat back and watched them blow bubbles.  play basketball.  interact with each other.  i tried not to intrude.

in so many ways haiti showed me that there is comfort and safety outside caution.  i was wary but they were not.  they drew me into the courtyard with their songs and games.  they held my hand and showed me the way.  and i was placed smack dab in the middle of my anxiety.  with a bright shiny girl and a silly boy in a denver broncos shirt.  they have had many people like me come in and out of their lives, but they were not the ones shying away from connection.  i was not the worst of their loss. 

lately her face has been haunting me. {do you see her in the back row?}  i can hear her voice.  i can picture her singing in front of all the boys.  a little too young to be insecure, but just starting to show her age.  i think about what a struggle it would be for a teen girl in this home.  with those quiet boys, almost men.  i know she was blessed to have a place after she lost her family.  she was fortunate that they made the exception to allow girls.  i can still see her eyes searching mine.  i can remember her confident words telling me things in kreyol.  and sense her amusement.  over all these days and months she is still in my heart.

i still feel the stinging on my hands as they slapped away.  i can picture the lines and ridges of their sweaty hands as they held mine.  i can feel the crusty scabs.  i can smell little boy hands.  the ones you would send to the bathroom for a good scrubbing. i was happy for the unwashed sense of their reality.  their shy eyes.  and wide, wide smiles.

i think of the man and his wife and son who watch over them all.  i wonder if english lessons afforded him the trip to japan for his agronomy studies {english agronomy class in japan}.  i wonder if he flew across oceans and continents only to suffer another string of terrifying earthquakes. 

i entered their home with trepidation and respect.  i was wary of connecting.  i had walls up ten feet thick.  and no matter how hard i struggled to maintain a distance.  the connection was inevitable. the after shocks still rumbling in my heart.

haiti - the rooster

the clucking chickens were everywhere.  and the roosters.  those crazy roosters were talking at all hours of the day and night.  it took a little getting used to, i must admit.  just when the voices outside stopped competing with the radio in the alley.  just when the kids fell asleep and their parents settled in for the night.  our friends would start crowing.  most often when it was dark.

ricardo was one of our interpreters, fluent in four languages. moreso, he was a part of our team in haiti.  he worked at frere manse with us every day.  you can read his story here.  he was full of gratitude, never a single complaint.  i knew his life was hard, but we didn't talk of such things.  he talked and i listened about clothes, and weight, and ne yo, and he was light.  we joked like we were students together, or siblings.  i felt the connection with him that comes from being similar in age.  not that there were barriers to discussing more...other than that of sharing the weight of the world with someone who had little or no way of changing the circumstances. just on the surface level, though, i sensed his gaining confidence.  his willingness to grow in words.  his eagerness to connect on a deeper level. 

i had no idea the beauty of his soul until i read his words sent to me by another haiti team member:  "You don’t need me to tell you that 2010 was a dark year for Haiti. Many people must be asking, “will light ever shine here again? Will morning ever come today?  Life sometimes seems like eternal darkness, right? Difficulty, pain, sorrow, and hardship are the only things we experience. We can’t see where we are going. We can’t see the path of life in front of us. When life is the hardest and night is the darkest, we are tempted to give up and quit walking. It’s at the point of despair that we need to hear the victorious sound of the rooster, “morning is coming”. The rooster isn’t crazy at all, after all, it’s when the night is the darkest that we need to be reminded that morning must eventually come."  Ricardo, March 25, 2011

ricardo will forever be my rooster in haiti, building to a crescendo, and in a loud voice reminding me of the hope to be found.

Lemaire and Ricardo

(haitian interpreters)

haiti - anything is possible

the job i was assigned to do in haiti was dirty.  it was difficult.  but rewarding nonetheless.  rewarding for me in intangible ways.  it is where i learned that anything is possible.  we worked at frere manse.  the pastor's home.  but he was not the pastor of the church at the frere manse campus.  see.  it's complicated.  always.  but pastor fed lived at frere manse for the time being, and it was structurally damaged in the earthquake.  it needed to be repaired.  his real home,  that he and his wife violet {vee-o-let} lived in before the earthquake, was damaged beyond repair.  he was kind of our project manager.  or maybe she was.  anything is possible.

every day we would chip away at the stucco concrete-ish plaster that covered the brick/ rock layer of building beneath. we were careful not to get plaster in the water well inside.  {and it just dawned on me that they had inside water.  even if they did have to gather it in buckets to use.  that is no little thing.}  i used a hammer and pry bar for at least 5 hours a day.  i had gloves, a mask and goggles.  i also had blisters.  but, truly, i had very little in the way of aches and pains to complain about.  anything is possible.

i pushed myself further than i've ever gone physically.  simply because i wanted to work THAT hard every day.  i put aside any discomfort because i wanted hard, hard work.  but on the very last day, i stood on the ladder.  i made my way around the room chipping away.  my arms were done.  with a capital D.  in walks pastor tom, who oversees the guest house.  i said, "i think i will not be able to finish what is left of this room."  he said, "yes, you will.  anything is possible."

he was right, you know.  i found that anything is possible in haiti.  and those words have become my mantra.  anything is possible. 

{photo credit to my team member cathy whitlatch}

today a new leader was announced in haiti.  a rock star, now president.  anything is possible.  the woman who lost the election was one of the educated elite.  a likely candidate for president.  dismissed.  anything is possible. 

{photo credit to my team member cathy whitlatch}

i don't know what haiti will look like with a new leader.  because...{say it with me} anything is possible.  hurricanes, earthquakes, and cholera.  those things happen.  growth, survival, and hope.  those things happen, too.  someday hard work pays off.  someday there is a reward for the challenges endured.  not always on the time frame we choose.  i sit here so far away, now, from haiti.  knowing so little about it's complexities.  wondering about how far i travelled to put those pieces of faith together.  and i say a little prayer in my heart for the people who have put their hopes into this rock star.  for those who didn't.  that he can live up to their expectations.  maybe in this lifetime.  and the one thing i know deep inside is that especially in haiti, anything is possible.

haiti - center of attention

a little one popped up in the middle of my lens unexpectedly.

pure sunshine. 

small world

my husband called me from the patagonia region of argentina.  he was standing on the bank of a river.  the only spot for miles with cell phone coverage.  he said everyone goes there to make their calls.  i imagined him huddled up with many argentinians as they chatted away to their loved ones.  they went camping and he said he imagined it to be similar to my experience in haiti.  the people he met pumped their water from the lake by hand.  they have no electricity.  they have enough, but it is primitive living.  and yet, as they entered the information office the one lonely computer in the whole region with internet access was being used by argentinians to access facebook.

our translator in haiti used the computer at the guesthouse to check his facebook account.  my sweet girl communicated her safety in the aftermath of the japanese earthquake via facebook.  but, it's not about facebook really.  it's about that special notion that lies within, waiting for the light of day.  something far reaching.  a distance just beyond our wildest dreams. 

i wonder if mark zuckerberg imagined people in rural argentina using facebook to connect? 

it's in every corner of the world.  there's no electricity, but they have a facebook account.  uprisings are mobilized.  voices are heard.  connections are made.  it was an idea resulting in a magnitude of possibilities.  one drop in the bucket and its ripples.  i find it amazing to think that any of us as individuals might have the power to change the world.  that anything is possible. 

haiti - implications

one of the reasons i find it so hard to gather my words about haiti is because it is so complex.  i'm sure it's that way everywhere.  but just when i think i have something figured out or i "understand" what was happening in a situation, my reality is jolted.  it's uncharted territory for me.  not having it all figured out.  stepping into the unknown.  i wanted to go to haiti and be of use.  a help not a hindrance.  i wanted to be helpful in the ways that were helpful to haitians.  and never was that value more apparent than when i was listening to the washing machine conversation.

there was some talk about how enhanced maintenance might be useful at the guesthouse.  a washing machine was mentioned.  washing takes time.  washing takes people.  washing machines are the american answer to time efficiency and energy efficiency. efficient use of resources is a win win.  in america.  but our idea of efficiency would have put this lovely lady out of business.  out of her living quarters.  her children out of school.  introducing a washing machine at the guest house would replace the work of one if not two employees.  big time fail for haitians.  i definitely learned that there are huge implications to giving.  that each and every item and action needs careful thought and consideration.  and that the real investment is in humanity.  not things.

going further, this little corner of the guesthouse where the washing was done is an absolute hub for the haitians.  just off the kitchen.  the ladies were cooking and cleaning.  their children playing in the yard where they were watched.  older kids doing homework.  the roosters.  the puppies.  just enough sunshine to dry the wash.  just enough shade to keep it cool.  people in and out all day.  and at night...the music.  someone had a transistor radio that belted it at night.  people laughing together.  talking politics (as they waited for the election results to be announced).  there was the sweetest old lady who lurked all around the house and in the alley way.  always visiting.  i saw her the first time and said bonjour.  she tsk tsked at me and said bonsoi.  so the next day i saw her and i said bonsoi, madame.  whew!  the look she gave me...i said bonjour?  and she laughed and laughed.  then i got it.  bonjour in the morning and bonsoi the rest of the day.  from then on all we said to each other in the most exaggerated tone was bonsooooi.....and laughed at each other.  communication.  and connecting.  inefficient use of time and resources?  i think not. 

good friend bobbie

i have certainly been remiss in watching a lot of news since returning from haiti.  so it was shocking for me to find that our good friend bobbie had experienced a second earthquake on the south island of new zealand.  i got the news that she was safe before i knew that there was danger. 

it has been almost ten years since tall jen, la, and i stood outside the cathedral in christchurch on our first trip to new zealand.

Christchurch Cathedral, damaged in the earthquake. Photo credit: Senaz, via Twitpic

bobbie emailed to say that the reconstruction would be manageable in a wealthy country like nz.  that we, in the world, should not forget a nation like haiti that was still struggling.  but i saw the look in the eyes of the haitians.  and i know that buildings will be rebuilt.  lives will start over.  but the trauma may take a lifetime to repair.  so don't dismiss the people of new zealand. and don't forget the people of haiti.  and pray that they recover.  pray for their safety both physically and mentally.

xoxo

haiti - the voice

open windows.  tin roof.  cinderblock walls.  children in every nook and cranny with their sunday school teachers.  little glances and big smiles.  it was exactly how you'd expect, sunday service in petion-ville, except in french.  or maybe kreyol.  i don't speak either of those languages well, but i was able to manage the french hymnal quite nicely.  

in front of us, the sweetest family of young people.  i was coochy cooing at their baby, all three months of amazing beauty and smiling...oh that smile.  and the husband turned around and, in english, proudly introduced me to his son. and his wife.  her sisters smiled and smiled at me.  the bracelet boys sat behind (oh...the bracelet boys are in my heart).  they fell asleep.  sweet brothers holding hands.

to my left was pastor tom.  he attempted to translate which was endearing.  to my right was the voice.  when the worship leader began to pray, the voice spoke louder.  she held her hands out.  she felt it.  she chanted and prayed until the led prayer was drowned out as background noise.  everytime there was a prayer, i would try to decipher the french.  to pick bits and pieces of meaning from words i could not understand.  and the harder i tried to hear, the louder the voice became.  the voice speaking its truth.  until i started wondering which prayer i was listening to and which one i was hearing.

i thought about that all day.  especially as we drove to port au prince.  i was keenly aware that i, or anyone else, could spend a lifetime telling these stories only to be overpowered by a single news report on the television.  still, all voices have truth.  english, french, kreyol.  it all comes back to what is listened to and what is heard, and how the information is translated in the heart.  

pastor tom mentioned that there would come a point when people at home would stop wanting to hear the "in haiti" stories.  not translatable.  i knew it would be hard for me to stop telling them, though.  "in haiti", your actions and words feel like a tiny drop in a bucket.  the ripples, the effects, far reaching.  something foreign and hard to understand. 

the listening and the hearing.  the talking and the telling.  the translating and the deciphering.  the doing and the changing.  there is so much power in that voice.

haiti - unexpected

i think in snippets.  when i photograph, it is a snippet.  a definition of beauty in the moment.

a snippet of haiti.    

as i started my journey i knew that i was going to see despair, destruction and desolation.  i prepared to be heartbroken.  sure.  i read all the blogs.  i read every news article to be found.  i listened to those that live in haiti.  i listened to those that had travelled there.

but what i found unexpectedly, was hope.  and love.  everywhere. 

on the plane ride home a woman asked me what i saw in haiti?  what i would take away?  what was the most important thing?  and i answered, hope.  she scoffed at me.  she said, you think those people have hope?  what is there to be hopeful for.  and i thought to myself...she didn't see what i saw.

i will never be able to understand haiti.  it is complex.  i will never understand what it takes to climb out of the rubble.  there is post traumatic stress.  there is desperation and depression.  on a magnified scale.  there are stories needing to be told.  there is fear.  there is unimaginable sadness.  i saw that.  i heard it.  i smelled it.  but i know that just the fact that people climb out of the rubble means they have something to live for.  if there wasn't hope in haiti, no one would have survived.  there is life there.  people working.  people surviving.  a new son.  a new house.  art. iron.  markets.  conversations.  connections.  futures being built.  and progress.

flowers always find their way around obstacles.  turning their faces to the light.  surviving.  growing.

a snippet of haiti. 

i'm back-ish

just wanted to let you know that i'm back from haiti.  to a 100 degree temperature drop.  yes, that's right.  it was in the high 80s in haiti yesterday and this morning my thermometer read -19 (negative 19) in colorado. 

i need a few days to process everything.  i am experiencing waves of sentiment, guilt, fondness and frustration.  if you followed the haiti blog you will notice my posting tapered off.  truly.  it was the biggest journey of my life.  in every way.  and most of my words are lost in haiti.  they are wrapped up in a swirl of sights, smells and sounds completely foreign to me here.  it already seems so far away.  but the emotion is right there under my skin and just brimming on my eyelids.  the stories need to be told.  just not yet.

oh my! how good it was to smell my sweet boys and feel their soft warm cheeks next to mine last night.  and to cuddle up cozy with my husband and fall asleep.

bondye bon.  amen.

haiti part 9 - always expect the unexpected

i'm out of here.  i will be away from january 31st to february 8th.  we will be staying in the methodist guest house in petionville.  and working there.  that's what i know.  i will deliver your hearts with love and care.  and if anything changes i'll keep you updated.

please follow our trip to haiti by clicking here. 

we are also on twitter @heartsforh8i.

pictures here.

UMVIM Haiti Response information here.

thank you so much for your support.  thank you for your kindness.

keep brad in your thoughts as he wrangles sweet pea and beans solo.

love to you all.

xoxo

only 20 hearts left - UPDATE: ALL HEARTS SOLD!

wow.  i miscalculated the amount of servings two cups of rice makes. 

it's double.

so, thank you to everyone.  from the deepest part of my soul.  i just want to thank everyone who is coming together for this purpose.  it is overwhelming to me that people i haven't talked to in years, people i know through this blog, family members, friends, even family members of friends are going to provide enough rice for 800 servings. 

that's just crazy. 

and amazing. 

sigh... 

on fear, inspiration and resolution

in my life, i have been mostly powered by fear.  my every day actions have been cautious and calculated.  i "fear" that in many ways i have become what i imagine is expected of me.  living in the "what if" of life.  i have catered my art, my writing, my photography so that it would make sense to others.  but not always to myself.  it's been steeped in the fear of public opinion.  and as part of that, i have let some of the things that i am passionate about die away.  it has taken me months (and in reality my whole life) to see that my only limitation has always been myself.  that fear and insecurity are the reasons i stay stuck.  that i waste so much energy on the naysayers, the negative and the fear.  i have something to offer and it has been locked away in my heart with a big padlock.  i expect great things from myself.  and i read here, about living life like an art project.  brave.  growing.  changing.  true.  powered by the possibilities not the limitations.  sounds like a nice change for me.

thank you to everyone who has supported hearts for haiti.  if you are still interested in donating go here or here.  thank you to everyone who stops by and reads my words everyday.  thank you for all the amazing inspiration and words of encouragement.  tgif.