He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; 

yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.  Ecclesiastes 3:11

God makes no mistakes.

He orchestrates every detail of our lives.

He knows exactly who to bring into our lives and when, so we become more of who He created us to be.

It’s been 12 days since I met Kednaud. Out of all the translators I could’ve been assigned, God chose Kednaud. It was truly a divine appointment.

Kednaud spent an entire day with me. It was arguably the most important day of my trip to Haiti, the day I met our sponsored children. He translated every word I uttered, every word our two sponsored children uttered, and every word uttered by a mama, auntie, nurse, and project director. Add up all of those words across an entire day, and you’ll begin to grasp the thousands of words Kednaud translated.

I was grateful for Kednaud’s presence and assistance, truly grateful.

The only words he didn’t know how to translate from English to French Creole were “pink” and “swimsuit.” That accounts for an entire day of translating words. I’d say that’s beyond impressive.

I’ve worked with translators before for my work as a speech-language pathologist, so this translation was nothing foreign to me. But this experience of working with a translator all day, non-stop? It was beyond amazing. The Compassion staff reminded us that these were not just translators, they were “relationship builders,” and that’s exactly what Kednaud was.

But there’s something more I want you to know about Kednaud. You see, he wasn’t JUST my translator that day.

I believe God sent Kednaud to be my translator because there was something He desperately wanted to show me, show us, in the moments in-bewteen translation.

God arranged moments in-between translation for me to connect with Kednaud. When everyone else was using the restroom, when everyone else was helping the kids change into their bathing suits, when everyone else was helping the kids change into their clothes, when everyone else was getting a second helping of food, and after everyone else had been given gifts, Kednaud and I were blessed with small moments to connect about things that matter most.

What are the things that matter most? They’re things that connect us as human beings, regardless of our gender, regardless of where we were born, regardless of our possessions, regardless of any circumstance.

Kednaud’s friends tease him, joke that He’s not fully Haitian. He “gets” American culture. He has friends that are from America, and they’ve invited him to come and live in the United States. They’ll even buy him a house if he’ll move to America. It’s tempting, but he knows. He’s Haitian. He loves his country and he doesn’t want to leave. He’s meant to stay here, in Haiti.

So he translates for American visitors, he values the opportunity to engage and develop relationship with Americans who visit and build homes in Haiti.

And God’s placed on Kednaud’s heart a big God-sized dream. Kednaud dreams of learning 21 languages. He’s already learned four, and knows what his fifth will be, Italian. Because education is expensive and finances are limited, Kednaud works on one language at a time, as he’s able to afford. He takes courses online, through a website called Babbel, where he learns each language and earns a certificate that proves his proficiency.

Kednaud understands. His dream to learn 21 languages is big. It’s a dream most might think is unattainable, especially considering his circumstances. But he believes, I believe, that ALL things are possible with God, through Christ.

I shared about this “God-sized dream” talk in America, how God places dreams on our hearts that seem big, unattainable through the lens of human eyes, but that we trust, knowing anything is possible with God.

We both looked up towards the sky, stating out loud, agreeing as brother and sister in Christ, that yes – anything. is possible. with God. There was peace and joy in this agreement. And that was the first moment I knew, God had me meeting Kednaud, and Kednaud meeting me for a very special purpose. To propel both of us further, with confidence, towards His dreams for us.

Kednaud plays drums. He’s in a band, and he writes songs. And as you might guess, he loves American music. The most perfect medley of songs played throughout the day with our sponsored children. Bryan Adams’ “Everything I Do,” Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World,” and The Jackson 5’s “I’ll be There” played as we frolicked in the pool for the first time ever, played games that united young and old, and shared a great feast together.

Then, it was time to present the families with gifts I’d brought from home. First was Bethchaida. The joy on her face was indescribable. And sweet Djino. I’ll never forget the way he smiled bashfully when I showed him the motorycycle shirt I’d brought for him, the way he bent over, kissed me on the cheek and said “merci.” Kednaud was there, and captured it all in words and photographs.

But there was something missing. I’d promised Kednaud a special gift, too. There was a song, it came to me in the moment we were talking about American music. And I knew I needed to share it with Kednaud. I’d just downloaded it from iTunes a few weeks prior to coming to Haiti; it’s the song that’s resonated most with my spirit these days.

So I ran. I literally ran back to the place where I had my iPhone and headphones. Because the clock was ticking. I’d used up all but 15 minutes of time with my sponsored children and their accompanying adults, and I didn’t want to miss a minute. But I wanted to keep my promise to Kednaud. I wanted to give him this gift, I wanted him to hear this song. So yes, I ran, and then I ran back, iPhone and headphones in tow.

I turned it to this song, Just Say Jesus, and gave Kednaud the headphones.

I sat with the children, the mama and the auntie gathered the gifts, and as we all sat together, speechless, in these last moments, Kednaud pressed play.

The music started. My heart raced. This was the song I’d promised. I had no idea why it was the only song that’d come to me when I learned Kednaud’s dreams and love for music, but this was the song I needed to share.

And that’s when he began. As the words and tune met his ears for the first time, he smiled, his face lit up. He air drummed, and he air drummed some more, non-stop, until the song was done.

He loved it. My gift had been received. God’s gift, to both of us, had been received.

The day had been worthy of a million pictures, and this moment was as worthy as any other. So we snapped a photo of another moment I’ll never forget, a moment that needed no translation.

God unites his children in the most unusual and unexpected ways. He tailors our experiences uniquely. Because He’s the one that created us. He knows our innermost being. He knows our heart and He owns the dreams He’s placed there. He’s the only one who can translate, when words just don’t suffice.

I saw so much of myself in Kednaud. We share a love for words, for music. Kednaud’s only part Haitian, and I’m only part American; we rest in peace knowing our eternal citizenship is in heaven. We share God-sized dreams that seem impossible, but we know in our hearts, without translation, that anything is possible with God.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

The reason I came on this trip with Compassion International was to meet our two sponsored children, Djino and Bethchaida. And I was so excited to meet them. But I have to admit, when I found out, just six days before my departure, that the “fun day” with our sponsored children was going to be at a hotel, a tentativeness stirred in me.

I worried that the children and families who lived in such extreme poverty would feel great sadness entering into such luxury only to have to leave at the end of the day. God placed a burden on my heart to make this day a great gift. Yvonne, our trip leader and Compassion representative, had reminded us the night before that “this day is about the kids.” So I tried to keep that in mind. I wanted to live the day for the kids. I wanted it to be a very special occasion, a gift for the families and accompanying Compassion country staff.

So after we met and took a tour of the facility, after I discovered that Djino had woken up at 1:00 a.m. and traveled SIX hours to get here and Bethchaida had traveled SIX AND A HALF hours down from the mountains on a motorcycle to get here, all eight of us (me, 1 translator, two Compassion country staff, an auntie, a mama, and 2 sponsored children) played a table game I brought from home. It went swimmingly well, and was a time of laughter and bonding over a singular purpose.

We were going to play another round, but Bethchaida said she was hungry. Mom concurred that Bethchaida hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning because they were in such an unfamiliar place. Djino piped in, he was hungry too. We agreed to go eat.

I had purchased tickets for food from the front desk, so I let the children know they could order what they wanted. Bethchaida chose a ham and cheese sandwich. Djino chose a cheeseburger with bacon. Bethchaida’s mom and Compassion staff agreed they would share with Bethchaida. Five Sprites and 1 Coke later, we’d placed our order for those who wanted to eat. The translator, a lovely man, also Haitian, had already decided on the Coke, but politely asked me when we sat down at the table if he could get a hot dog, too. “Of course, of course,” I said, and left to place the extra order.

They ate.

This eating soon after they arrived wasn’t what I planned or expected to do. But they ate every bite. And I couldn’t help but think about Jesus and His call for us to feed the hungry. And I couldn’t stop thinking about that pyramid we all learned in Psychology 101. Human beings need food first. Then, once that is provided, they’re freed up to focus on higher order needs such as education, socialization, emotional development and spirituality.

So today, I learned firsthand – before anything else – we need to feed the hungry. Hunger is real.

We feed those who are hungry, we nourish souls.

When bodies are fed, souls are nourished.

Little girls emerge with confidence, step out with dignity knowing this bathing suit was chosen especially for them. They’re empowered to try something new, encouraged without anyone having to say it out loud. That dream? That hope you had earlier in the day to swim? Today, that dream will become reality. God has the power to make His dreams reality for you, too. He will help you be grateful and say “I love my life.” No matter what it throws at me.

Boys emerge with courage, stepping out into the great unknown. That fear you had? That not wanting to swim because you didn’t know how and you thought you’d just watch on the sidelines? Today, you overcame your fears. Today, rest assured young boy, that God has the power to release you from all fear. He can and will claim victory over your fears. Go in the deep, young boy, go in the deep.

When bodies are fed, souls are nourished.

Little boys and little girls, aunties and mamas and staff working hard on the ground know – God’s desire is for abundance. He wants you to receive this taste of heaven. This plate filled higher than you’ve ever seen? It doesn’t even come close to the peace and joy and love you’ll receive when you enter the gates of heaven.

Yes, that is the burden we have to feed those who are hungry. We must let them know – you are worthy, He invites you to His table, He prepares a banquet for you, He provides what is needed –  for today. Your worries are not for tomorrow, for He provides for today.

When bodies are fed, souls are nourished.

Men and women reveal bits of God’s dreams for their lives. The dreams, they seem impossible. But they agree, they believe, God can do anything. If God wants to make these dreams reality, He will do it. No matter what. For ALL things are possible with God, through Christ. Though distance and circumstance may separate, God’s dreams unite His people.

When bodies are fed, souls are nourished.

God’s people share what they have with one another.

God says – I’ve blessed you with love, insight, sensitivity, and an abundance of resources – GO GIVE IT AWAY.

God says – I’ve blessed you with love, humility, graciousness, goodness, kindness and faithfulness – GO GIVE IT AWAY.

Whatever we have, He wants us to give it away.

This is what it means to give it away.

Feed those who are hungry.

Nourish their souls.

Reach out, and tell a mama – who rode 6 1/2 hours on a motorcycle with her baby girl, who bought the most beautiful dress at the market in Port-Au-Prince just because her baby girl was meeting her sponsor – you are so worthy of this abundance. It’s God’s abundant love for you. He wants you to have it. He wants you to receive it. He wants you to know, this is His special taste of heaven. Just for you.

If you’d love to feed those who are hungry and sponsor a child through Compassion, please click here to see the photographs of beautiful children waiting for a sponsor. I promise you, your sponsorship would be a gift.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

The mamas were giving their testimonies.

One by one, they came to the front with their babies, sharing how much of a difference Compassion’s Child Survival Program made in their lives.

One special mama had two babies, not her own. People didn’t understand why she’d taken them in. She couldn’t afford to care for the babies. She was shunned and found herself all alone crying near the street one day. A Compassion Child Survival Program staff happened to pass by and told her about the program, that she’d be able to get support as she raised those babies. She agreed and the children were enrolled in the program. The translator prayed over her, “even though family might not understand you, God does,” he said.

There was another woman with a baby of her own. But she’d also taken in her deceased cousin’s baby. Mid-way through her story, she broke into song. I had no idea what she was saying because there hadn’t been translation yet, but there was something beautiful and tremendously sad about this song long before I knew the words. She sang with courage, she looked up, towards the back of the church as she poured this heart-song out from her soul. There was hope and promise in her words, but in her eyes, I saw the sadness, the depth of pain. She said the Compassion Child Survival Program staff taught her to sing this song when she was feeling tremendous sadness and despair. They encouraged her, “You need to sing this song whenever you feel sad, and you will feel better.” The song, my heart be happy.

And then there was Archille.

She came to the front, holding her son close, tight in her arms. She spoke quietly and tears came to her eyes the second she started talking. She appeared to be hiding a bit behind her son, as if protecting him from her own pain. He was near and dear to her, you could tell. She felt alone, very alone, and I sensed that the moment she started talking, even before I knew why.

Archille shared with us, her son was born with one leg.

She’d been shunned and teased, disowned and laughed at for having a son with one leg. It was and has been immeasurably painful. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know where to turn. Her tears, the depth of her pain, visible. If there was a way I could’ve reached out to her in that moment, I would’ve.

Archille then proceeded to do one of the most brave things I’ve ever witnessed. She started taking off her son’s pants.

In that moment, we saw his one leg.

It was holy, intimate. We knew the reality she’d been telling was truth.

Archille was advised, Compassion’s Child Survival Program was the best way to care for her boy. Through her involvement in the Child Survival Program, Archille has developed “good friendships and relationships in [the] center.” Home visitors encourage her. And Compassion’s staff have compassion for Archille. They’ve worked with her and she’s “thankful for all they’ve done to help with [her] boy.”

The translator prayed over Archille and her boy, “If God accepts the boy as he is, as we do, we must love him.”

I recognized Archille’s pain the second I saw her hide behind her son, the second I saw the tears in her eyes and they couldn’t be held back anymore. I’d known that pain myself. When tears are so close to the surface that you cry if you speak even one word, you just need someone to listen to you, care for you, act on your behalf.

Perhaps there’s a purpose for our pain, that we might be able to more readily recognize it in others. And help.

We had an opportunity to ask the questions anyone would ask at that point. How does he get around? How would Compassion help this boy with his leg? Mama answered, indicating her boy is able to stand on one leg, gets around by crawling, and is often carried. Compassion has already sent mama Archille’s and baby to Port-Au-Prince where they’ve seen doctors about baby’s leg. He will get a prosthetic when he’s older, but for now he’s too young, so they have to wait.

Yvonne, our trip co-leader and Compassion representative, held the sweet baby boy as we sang songs and prayed with all the mamas and babies. Safe in Yvonne’s arms, Archille’s boy led our way to the Child Development Center.

We spent the next hour or two meeting children and engaging with teachers in the Child Development Center. (I’ll share more about that later!) But Before we knew it, it was time to visit the Child Survival Program building where mamas and babies meet with Compassion staff. It was a lovely space with boards tracking immunizations and child growth, as well as toys and cribs for the babies. This felt like a safe haven, and it was.

I was one of the first to enter the building. The seat next to Yvonne and this beautiful boy with one leg was open. So I took it. There was a part of me that thought the seat would better be taken by someone else, all the others who cared about this boy and wanted to be close, too. But there was me. Perhaps it was God who brought me in among the first. Perhaps it was He who left the seat open.

I had an opportunity to talk with Yvonne about this boy as others entered the space, the hope I had to share his story. We talked about the possibility of getting crutches for this sweet boy, as usually, he’d be walking around this age. Yvonne commented how heavy it must be for mama to carry her boy around all day since he’s getting so big. And I asked, did mama have a sling in which she could carry her son?

Before long, we noticed mama standing right behind us, outside. We invited her in to join us in conversation.

Yvonne told mama Archille that she’d like to work with the project director to try to facilitate getting her boy some crutches so he can start moving around and develop muscle tone in his leg. She couldn’t promise it would be done, but she was going to talk to the director and do her best to help. And Yvonne asked mama, “Do you have a sling you carry him in?” Mama Archille said “no.” I asked mama, “Would you feel more comfortable carrying him on your back or on your front?” “I’d prefer to carry him on my back,” mama said, “but he likes me to carry him in the front.” Yvonne reminded mama once again that she couldn’t promise, but that we’d try to get something to help.

An opportunity came for me to ask mama Archille questions that had nothing to do with sweet baby boy’s leg. “How old is he?” I asked. “Two,” mama said. “When will he be three?” asked Yvonne. Mama replied, “December.”

“Same as my baby” I exclaimed! “Three in December!” Mama Archille and I smiled big smiles, huge, like divine appointment huge. We discovered, our babies’ birthdays? Only NINE days apart!

Everyone was elated. It was a moment out of time for the folks that had gathered. Well, a moment out of time, at least for me. I’d barely even noticed the rest of the group had arrived until I looked up and realized, they were there.

Yvonne, still right next to me, stepped in at just the right moment, with just the right words I would’ve never imagined possible – “You know you can sign up to sponsor him even before he’s officially enrolled in the Child Sponsorship Development Program? I don’t want to put you on the spot, though.” Um, ya. There was no putting me on the spot. It was a no brainer, taking the opportunity to sponsor this little guy. Of course, I’d say yes.

After some brief conversation with the translator, Yvonne, and another Compassion staff, it was determined that I’d need to take with me the baby’s name, baby’s date of birth, mama’s name, and the Compassion Child Survival Program in which which he was enrolled. Then, when I get home, I’ll need to contact Compassion and indicate I’d like to sponsor him when he becomes old enough to enroll in the Child Sponsorship Development Program.

We all decided, this was meant to be. I’ll be the boy’s sponsor when he comes of age.

The translator spoke with Archille and wrote down all the information I’ll need when I contact Compassion back home.

Before mama placed her boy on my lap for a picture, I’d noted, her beautiful baby boy’s name was Charles.

Pain, it’s true and real for all of us. Pain, it pulls us down, makes us want to run and hide or grab ahold tight of anything that’s near.

Hope, it comes in any package. Hope, a promise of better days to come.

Would you like to give hope to a child in desperate need of it? Check out the Compassion website to take a closer look at all the children waiting for a sponsor. These are real. live. children. Not just pictures on your computer screen. They’re real children with real families with real lives, and they could use your help. If you’d be here, you’d see. You’d choose to say yes, I guarantee. We have so much, it’s time to give. And hope’s where it’s at.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

Gate D24 was just ahead. Gate D24, it’s where our plane was parked. Gate D24, it’s where I’d meet 23 strangers for the first time.

I passed Gate D24 and fled to the bathroom which equated to one part actually using the bathroom, and the other part hiding away praying to God, Lord Jesus, that He would be with me every step of the way. He assured me – I’ve prepared the way, I’m here, you’re more than prepared for this trip.

I opened the door to that bathroom intentionally, knowing once I walked out, there was no other choice but to go meet those strangers at Gate D24 and embark on this life-changing trip. I washed my hands, grabbed ahold of my overstuffed carry-on suitcase, and started walking.

It was strangely beautiful, stepping into this risk I’d chosen, this risk He’d chosen for me. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed a little crazy.

She was the only one I could see as I approached. She was engaging others from the group, and she looked warm and welcoming and before I even met her, I knew we’d get along. It was comforting, this knowing, this feeling before I even walked into Gate D24, that there’d be at least one person I’d mesh with instantaneously.

I approached. Tonya, the woman I noted before I entered Gate24, introduced herself immediately. She was just as great as I thought she’d be. Marcia and her daughter Gaelyn were there, and Jenna and Kayla too.

It was strangely beautiful, this meeting of strangers gathered together for a singular purpose, to love on the people of Haiti and specifically, those served and blessed by Compassion International.

A woman approached. “Are you Jillian’s friend,” she said? “Yes!” I exclaimed! The woman introduced herself. Joy was her name. She was friends with Jillian, our family friend who’s adopting two children from an orphanage in Haiti. Ya, the Jillian I told you about a couple weeks ago, the Jillian that got me going on this whole Haiti thing in the first place. And the odd thing was? I knew already Joy’s last name, because I’d seen it pop up through Jillians’ Faceboook feed and on the orphanage Facebook page I’ve follow faithfully since we sent those gifts.

Joy was on her way to visit the two children she’s in the process of adopting from Haiti, a 2-year-old and a 9-year-old. I asked her if she was traveling by herself. She noted casually, “I’ve been to Haiti gazillions of times. When you’ve been here that many times you kind of know your way around.” (or something like that) I shared with Joy that I’m traveling with Compassion, that I’m not exactly sure the name of the city we’re going to first.

Conversation between the two of us was brilliant, so natural. Like I wanted to be Joy’s best friend right now. I shared how I’m already fairly confident this won’t be my last trip to Haiti. “Ya,” she said. “I’ve never met anyone who went to Haiti just once.”

Ya. Perhaps it’s best we don’t even talk about that quite yet.

It was strangely beautiful, this meeting of Joy at Gate D24. And I couldn’t help but think as we parted ways, how equally beautiful it would be to hop on a taxi with Joy to the orphanage, as it’s going to be to spend this week with Compassion. Pretty sure my heart could be pulled a whole host of places in Haiti and find a place.

“I’ve never met anyone who went to Haiti just once,” she said.

Strangely beautiful.

I got on the plane and found myself seated, once again, in-between two grown men my dad and father-in-law’s age. So what’s the deal with me being plopped in-between two men on this trip, God? Yesterday AND today? One thing I knew for sure, my dad and father-in-law would be happy I was in good company. They were gentlemanly Alabama men with long drawled out accents. They spoke of their trip to Haiti where they’ll be building a school and desks. Just men on the trip, 15 to be exact. They even brought nails, because apparently when a group of them came last year, the nails made in Haiti split right in two. So they brought their own “American-made nails” this time around. Our conversation was blessed, natural, filled with the Spirit. We parted ways as the flight landed, saying good-bye three, four, five times to these strangers I’d just met. But they felt like family.

Strangely beautiful.

Groups gathered just outside the gangway in Haiti, as in, the most group travel I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. It seemed everybody was traveling with a group. It felt good. It felt right. It felt like community. It felt purposeful, life-filling, it felt like this is the way all of life is supposed to be.

Strangely, strangely beautiful.

A sea of ebony faces were waiting just outside the airport exit. It nearly took my breath away. I held back tears as I walked forward with my overstuffed carry-on. As I peered to my right, the first vehicle I noticed was open air, “tap tap” they call those vehicles here in Haiti. Painted on the creme canvas was UN. It was all like a movie. Only this time, I was in the movie.

Strangely beautiful. Strangely, strangely beautiful.

We got in the van. Some men threw the extra luggage on top of the van next to us. My red suitcase, filled-up to 48 pounds, was one that landed on the top of the van. And we thought that was crazy until another van piled high with suitcases on top passed on the other side.

And as we drove to our final destination for today, one they said would take an hour and a half but I have no idea how long it took, we saw the real Haiti I’d been called to, the real Haiti I’d been longing to see.

People bathed in streams. Laundry hung from lines. Cows and goats roamed free. Shanty houses salt and peppered the barren mountainside. Men sold big piles of bananas on street corners. And women carried big pots of fruit and supplies in buckets on their heads. There were tent communities and broken down buses right aside palm trees and scenic ocean fronts. I wanted to step right in to it all, the same way I want to step into the wetlands when I take summer runs in the evening back home. I wanted to jump right out, immerse myself, be right in the middle of it.

They say there’s a honeymoon period when you travel to developing countries. So be it. Bring on the honeymoon, God. And let me stay right in the middle of that honeymoon. Because these feel like my people, this feels like my place.

And it’s strangely, strangely beautiful.

Amy

*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.

Four days turned into 11 days of the most peace and joy I’d experienced in a long, long time.

But inevitably, things went south on day 12.

It’s not like day 12 came and BAM, everything was bad. That would definitely be exaggerating! Reality was, not-so-fun things kept popping up one after the other, and all combined together, they set me back more than I would have guessed.

On Wednesday, I got a flat tire. The baby was with me, it was 1 degree outside, and since I didn’t know how to install a spare, I had to wait 1 hour and 40 minutes for a tow truck to bring me to the tire station.

On Thursday, my husband left for a 4-day business trip after having already worked 7 weeks straight like a MAD MAN.

On Thursday night, baby was up nearly all night long with a cough and runny nose, crying her eyes out next to me in bed.

On Friday night, I found crusty, dried-up yellow stuff in baby’s ear.

On Saturday, I gave baby a bath only to discover blood and puss coming out of that same ear as I was drying her. A double ear infection is what she had, one of the eardrums ruptured.

On Sunday, I woke up at 5:15 a.m. to get myself and three kids ready to leave the house by 6:20 a.m. to get to a 5th grade boys basketball tournament one hour away by 7:30 a.m. Games 1 and 2 were fine, manageable, tolerable. By game 3, ya, baby and I were on the verge of losing it. The mobile phone car charger we’d bought cheap on eBay wasn’t working. Without GPS, I took the least efficient route home, making it a 1 hour 20-minute drive through snow-blustery winds. And oh ya, I forgot, I’d officially become sick, so everything about me was wearing thin.

On Monday, school was called off for the 4th day this winter due to dangerously cold temperatures, and school was already called off again for Tuesday. All three kids were at home, all day, inside, with nothing to do, and I was sick and completely worn out.

After the two oldest had gotten in a fight, chasing each other around the house yelling stuff and grabbing at each other continuously, I yelled from the couch “STOP IT! YOU NEED TO STOP IT NOW, OR YOU’RE GOING DOWNSTAIRS TO FIGHT BY YOURSELVES! I DON’T FEEL WELL. YOU NEED TO BE QUIET RIGHT NOW!”

Where the Wild Things Are played in the background. Ya, it was pretty much just me watching the movie at that point. Baby was sleeping and the Wild Things were, well, being Wild Things.

They calmed down and I continued my on again, off again watching of the movie while trying to get a little much needed rest.

A half hour later, my daughter approached with a box of tea I’d purchased while life was feeling more peaceful and joyful. “Can I make you some tea, mom? It’s for stress and tension.” (Ya, I knew I’d need that sooner or later.) “Yes,” I said. “That would be awesome. Thank you for being so thoughtful.”

I continued to lie on the couch, all snuggled in tight with the last afghan ever knit by my late grandmother, and waited for my tea.

A couple minutes later, after a little direction from a distance, she arrived with the cup I needed more desperately than I knew. I took the cup, tested a sip, and gave that Wild Thing a big hug. “Thank you, that was so kind. You’re such a sweet girl.”

She let me rest in quiet while I drank.

The Wild Things agreed amongst themselves “Mom’s stressed today.” I explained, “it’s not so much stress as it is I’m not feeling well at all, and I really need some rest and quiet.”

Husband was home from his business trip, and I’d planned on isolating myself in the bedroom all night long when he got home from work. I’d planned on making myself a cup of that tea, but realized – receiving that cup as a heart-felt gift from my daughter was much more fulfilling than serving it up to myself.

When daddy came home and I was once again on the couch, he knew “If mom’s on the couch, that means she’s really not feeling well.” So I let him take all three kids to McDonalds. The Wild Thing that gave me tea took my order on a cartoon notepad before she left. Grilled chicken sandwich. Fries. Diet Dr. Pepper.

I got myself a hot shower, lay down in bed under the big fuzzy blanket, and waited in peace and silence until they came back home.

McDonalds was accompanied by the Bachelor wedding of Sean and Catherine, which was followed by another cup of hot tea delivered by the Wild Thing that was.

I glanced again at the tag attached to the tea bag.

The power of love is infinite.

When she delivered the tea, I’d told her this Bachelor wasn’t appropriate for kids, that she needed to go downstairs and spend some time with daddy. But she came back an hour later, “I just wanna spend some time with you.” “Lie down,” I said. “Lie down right here next to me.”

The cares of the day washed away in the moments before she fell asleep. It was in the slowing down, the caring for one another, the receiving of gifts unexpected, where peace and joy were found again.

Amy