When Loss is Real–or Not

I’m better this morning. Last night I hid in the bathroom for a few moments where I flushed the toilet (so the husband and the grandgirl wouldn’t ask what was going on with me.) I blew my nose, popped my contacts, rubbed my eyes hard, and ran cold water over my face. I didn’t want to explain why I was overwhelmed over something on my computer other than this video. Maybe it’s because I’ll leave for Haiti in less than four weeks. (I might even get to meet Samedy. I hope not. I hope he’s in Nashville by then. Please pray.) Maybe it’s because I’m watching a fund fueled in record time–a fund that will build a school for hope–by Christmas. Or that I’m wearing a necklace purchased because of a...

31 Days on Coming to Grips with My Age ~ Day 11: For When You’re Expecting to Explode

Sixty-two. That’s the life expectancy of a child born in Haiti today. In 2000 a newborn could expect to live almost fifty years. But today’s two-year-olds, those born in 2010, they could die before they’re thirty. Thirty. That’s two years shy of my daughter’s age. My wee grandgirl is two. But because she lives in the United States, the experts think she could live almost fifty years longer than a Haitian child. She doesn’t face the threats of hunger and disease and rape and trafficking. I can’t breathe as I read some of these stories. And I’m angry with myself, focused on my petty problems while others drown in the cesspool of poverty. Not just in Haiti. But in Africa and Asia and right here. The world groans while...