A normal day
Many people have asked since I haven't taken in orphans yet, what does a normal day look like for me.
"Normal days" occur in my dreams quite often. I dream of shopping with my sisters. Going to work and making enough to always pay the bills. I dream of wearing jeans and my hair down. I dream of Target and sweet tea and the radio. I dream, and then I wake up.
You see, where I live, there is none of that fancy, dancy. It is dark. It is hard. It is a third world, and the word "normal" is no where to be found.
I wake up from sweating to the sweet sound of roosters (who havent quite gotten the correct schedule down pat)and where the sun never blinks. Throw my hair in a bun, put on a skirt, grab a granola bar, and head to the village. Easy I know. So I walk outside to get 100 eyes staring at me because my skin is just so ghostly. I walk pass the ladies washing clothes in the filthy ditch water while their small babies play in the dirt near by.
I arrive at Noldine's house, who is told now to just call me "mama". Feed her, give her medicine, and kiss her cheek.
A lady stops by my car just knowing that I want to but whatever goodies she has for sell in the basket on her head.
I check on the orphanage to see how many more bags of cement to buy. We exceed 1,500 right now.
I pass by the girls who can not go to school because of chores and know this is just a term for slave.
I watch as the children walk the 2 miles home from school, playing by the trash burning, not worrying about their little lace socks getting soiled.
The local begger who is deaf approaches me knowing that standing at the ministry gate is his only access to food for the day.
I watch as the women cook and clean and wash and tend to children every single hour of the day. All without pay.
A typical day always involves some sort of voodoo appearance. Easter day 2015, I walk into the gas station to see a voodoo ceremony being played on the tv and 20 sets of eyes staring like it is their only hope to gain. Easter night come around and a group of around 300 parade through the street, dancing and singing, with flags and cows ready to be sacraficed. "For they know not what they do"
Luke 23:34
This is life, a simple life, but a hard life.
A "normal" day in Haiti is about to change. In a few short months the children will be coming in. I will take on the roll of a mother to 15 little girls and my days will forever be changed.
I dreamed of them, thought of them, prayed for them. And know, soon, I will meet them.
This is just a small idea of what life looks like each day over here. It is my life, and I wouldn't change it for anything.
"Normal days" occur in my dreams quite often. I dream of shopping with my sisters. Going to work and making enough to always pay the bills. I dream of wearing jeans and my hair down. I dream of Target and sweet tea and the radio. I dream, and then I wake up.
You see, where I live, there is none of that fancy, dancy. It is dark. It is hard. It is a third world, and the word "normal" is no where to be found.
I wake up from sweating to the sweet sound of roosters (who havent quite gotten the correct schedule down pat)and where the sun never blinks. Throw my hair in a bun, put on a skirt, grab a granola bar, and head to the village. Easy I know. So I walk outside to get 100 eyes staring at me because my skin is just so ghostly. I walk pass the ladies washing clothes in the filthy ditch water while their small babies play in the dirt near by.
I arrive at Noldine's house, who is told now to just call me "mama". Feed her, give her medicine, and kiss her cheek.
A lady stops by my car just knowing that I want to but whatever goodies she has for sell in the basket on her head.
I check on the orphanage to see how many more bags of cement to buy. We exceed 1,500 right now.
I pass by the girls who can not go to school because of chores and know this is just a term for slave.
I watch as the children walk the 2 miles home from school, playing by the trash burning, not worrying about their little lace socks getting soiled.
The local begger who is deaf approaches me knowing that standing at the ministry gate is his only access to food for the day.
I watch as the women cook and clean and wash and tend to children every single hour of the day. All without pay.
A typical day always involves some sort of voodoo appearance. Easter day 2015, I walk into the gas station to see a voodoo ceremony being played on the tv and 20 sets of eyes staring like it is their only hope to gain. Easter night come around and a group of around 300 parade through the street, dancing and singing, with flags and cows ready to be sacraficed. "For they know not what they do"
Luke 23:34
This is life, a simple life, but a hard life.
A "normal" day in Haiti is about to change. In a few short months the children will be coming in. I will take on the roll of a mother to 15 little girls and my days will forever be changed.
I dreamed of them, thought of them, prayed for them. And know, soon, I will meet them.
This is just a small idea of what life looks like each day over here. It is my life, and I wouldn't change it for anything.
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