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 I grumble.
Yet with my aging comes more aching. Not just of body but of heart.
How I long to be free from this sense of feeling what I sense another feels. I don’t know if the feelings are even fair representations.
I only know I hurt. I have as long as I can remember. And there are days that I think I will burst from the bloating of it, like an angry abscess that’s formed and enlarged where a barrier has been breached and can no longer be contained.
I know God hurts too. His own heart exploded with the pain of it.
I know He walks the world wrapped in human skin, tends the broken with human hands, embraces the wounded with human arms.
And he’s sitting at my kitchen table, waiting.
If I’d been born in Haiti instead of the United States, I would likely have been dead a long time ago.
My life expectancy at birth, though, was 68, years left that I can count on one hand.
But apparently, the longer you live, the longer you’re expected to live. That’s because you’ve already survived illness and potential life-threatening events.
So today I can expect to live at least another 20 years. And for each year I live, I can expect to live even longer.
That means more time to make a difference in the lives of others.
To increase their expectancy of life.
To deliver little bursts of hope.
And so I wait.
Expectantly.
For His perfect timing.
And in December, I expect to explode.
I frequently go to bed at night thanking God for the luxuries I enjoy – a clean bed, an air-conditioned house, running water, indoor plumbing, food in my pantry….and on and on and on. I don’t know why I’ve been blessed to live outside of poverty, but I do know that I can’t hide my face or bank account from those who do live in poverty. I may battle chronic illness, but I’m already 62 and God has been good to me. I have nothing to complain about. Nothing.
I’m so excited for you to be able to go to Haiti in December, Sandy, and I look forward to what the Lord shows you.
Much love,
Patricia
I fear I don’t thank Him enough, that I take too much for granted. I do, though, often wonder at how and why I’ve been born in this place at this time.
I love what God pours out through you, Patricia.
“Yet with my aging comes more aching. Not just of body but of heart.” (sigh)
Love this…feel this.
I want to go with you!
How I’d love that, my friend!
I suspect that is exactly what will happen when you go to Haiti. Explosion. Like a flower exploding into bloom.
I love how you put things.
This trip will be different from the recent Help One Bloggers trip, and we won’t spend time in the tent cities, so I wonder if I’ll get a really clear picture of the poverty. But…I expect to be wrecked and upended when I hear stories and see hope alive. I have no clue what to expect, except I’m told to be prepared to drowned in love. These are orphans starved for love.
I’m with Megan. And with you, too. Like Patricia, I spend my off-to-sleep-moments, my standing-in-a-hot-shower moments, my walking-around-my-beautiful-yard moments – saying ‘thank you,’ ‘thank you,’ ‘thank you.’ And I am prayerfully looking and listening for ways to be more engaged right here, right now. I cannot go to Haiti. But I can help where I am. Praying for guidance and opening doors. And praying for you as you prepare – as you go- as you re-enter – for health, confidence, open eyes and heart (which I know you already have!).
This will be my very first out-of-country experience (except for meandering across the bridge into Canada, a short jaunt into across the Mexican border on a trip to Tucson when I was a kid, and a vacation in the Virgin Islands (does that count?) Never been through customs. I’m not sure why I’ve had to wait so long for this (or maybe I haven’t walked through open doors) and financially I “shouldn’t” be doing this nor leaving the family…BUT… His timing is perfect, and He hasn’t put up any roadblocks yet…
So grateful for you.
“To increase their expectancy of life.”
What a beautiful way to put it, Sandy. I’m anticipating an amazing explosion in December. God bless you.
Thanks, Sheila. I honestly don’t really know what to expect. 🙂
That’s what open hands and an open heart feel like . . .
I know He walks the world wrapped in human skin, tends the broken with human hands, embraces the wounded with human arms.
And he’s sitting at my kitchen table, waiting.
oh sandra. oh. this is God’s heart bleeding through you. so painfully beautiful. so excruciatingly divine. i am sharing this.
Thank you, sweet Emily. xoxo
thankful for the beauty
that weeps through the broken places
in your strong and tender heart.
It is joy to feast on these words.
-Jennifer