The Rat House

I remember her so well. It is as thought part of me still lives within her walls. Her walls that are only a memory. In those days she not far off Hwy 27 just across from the old Hotel James. Behind her were the potato fields and the railroad tracks. Built in the late 1600 to early 1700's she held the memories of countless children. One of the proud Halsey Houses. As a large founding family they all worked together and built several identical homes scattered over the eastern tip of Long Island.
We were renters for a few short years. Maybe three? But she is my childhood home. We lived in I think 17 houses before my 18th birthday but the Rat House was 'home'.
This house with the thick walls and low ceiling was poorly insulated and we had to close off the stairway to the second floor and only occupy the first floor in the colder months.My mother occupied the 'borning room' complete with a antique cradle and a brass feather bed. The fireplaces at that point were non-functioning or maybe the landlord just didn't want us to use them. The house was cold. So cold that one winter we had to move out for a time when the pipes burst.
As alive as the house was with the memories of centuries of families and perhaps a visiting dignitary whose name may have been George Washington the walls were alive too. Rats who needed a warm place to winter found the thick walls and the close proximity to the potato fields to be the ideal place to weather the winter. At night their nocturnal adventures could be heard as they scampered just behind our heads separated only by the plaster walls. There was the one night that a rat feeling cold and bold made his way to my sister Janice's bed. As she pulled her blankets up in the night to warm herself she heard the tell-tale thud as the rat fell on the wide floor boards and scurried across the floor. I think Digger liked setting the traps and emptying them when they succeeded in their intended mission. When the traps were not enough the poison was placed...it worked. We spent many nights with the blankets held over our noses to buffer the putrid smell of the rats as they decomposed in the walls where they died.
While my mother worked my brother, sister and I found countless amusements. Digger unearthed a civil war cannon ball in the back yard when an old shed was torn down. An American Indian  witch doctor instrument covered with shark teeth and horse hair was unearthed in the old dumping ground behind the potato field. We would sneak into forbidden places in the house to check out the secret passage ways behind the chimney that we were told were used to hide from the Indians. When an old Elm tree was cut down in the front yard we found what was believed to be the remains of an American Indian dumping ground. We climbed trees and picked blackberries and wild grapes. We flattened pennies on the railroad track and played with the potato bugs from the fields and we made extravagant homes for the horse chestnut families.Sometimes we walked  to the Penny Candy Store and  sometimes we walked to my grandparents house. It was the happiest time of my childhood.
The Rat House gave me a curiosity about people and a desire to know history. The low ceilings and slanted floors, the exposed beans and beautiful fireplaces, the dutch oven and narrow half circular staircase gave me a love for antiques and a passion for charm. The hand hued nails gave me an appreciation for the hard work that went into building such a home.
Tonight I did an internet search on the Rat House. It has been more than 50 years since we last walked out her door.Sometimes I visit her in a dream. I am always excited to be there.
When I saw the pictures and read about her I almost cried.As I am writing this I am crying.

     

The Rat House is gone.
The people who bought the property last year had no desire to live in this 300+ year old home.It did not suit the needs of their family. They offered it for free to anyone who wanted to remove it but it had to be done quickly. When that didn't happen quick enough the Historical Society striped what they could before she was.....destroyed. It is even hard to type that.
With the complicated childhood that my brother, sister and I shared there was this one time in our lives when we had a home that suited us perfectly.We had room to run and we were home.
 I want to think that she remembered us too. I want to think that had we gone back she would have somehow found a way to greet us the long lost children that she had grieved for as much as we grieved for her. I want to think that as the walls came down that a worker found a long lost marble or a baseball card or penny candy wrapper wedged behind the dutch oven. I want to believe that they thought about the kids who lost it more than 50 years ago.
I want to go back just one time.
I want my mansion in heaven that Jesus promised is waiting to look just like The Rat House.No... I don't want it to look like it. I want it to be it. But the rats are not invited.
 Until then goodbye my childhood friend.

For the man I married. All of them.

Today I went for a run with my 13 year old granddaughter Katie. I mentioned that tomorrow was my anniversary and that her granddad and I will celebrate 41 years of marriage. This started me thinking...

Katie is five years and one month younger than I was on my wedding day. How could this even be possible?  But it's true. As an eighteen year old I had no doubt that I was old enough. Steve was twenty. In 1974 in New York as a male he still had to have his mother sign for him. When we told my mom we wanted to get married she immediately thought I was pregnant.

My life at that time was in flux. When my mother remarried she moved away and I went to live in another town. I hated it and my sister and her husband were gracious enough to let me move in with them and share a room with baby Jesse. For $10 a week I could eat all the Kraft mac'n' cheese my little vegetarian body could handle. My sister was less than three years older than me and she already was married with two children so I really didn't think myself young. My brother got married when he was eighteen and his bride was only sixteen!
Funny thing.. with all the divorces in our country...there are none in my family. Digger has been married to Kathy for 47 years. Janice to Gene for I think 45 years and I have been married to Steve for 41 years. I am proud of us. Of all of us.
We grew up as children of divorce. We knew the pain of  being fatherless children. It was hard for Mom and hard for us. We were fiercely protective of each other and of our family as a unit.
All of us have had our hard times in our marriages.   But  all of us always knew that family was still worth protecting and fighting for.

I am not married to the boy I said " I do." to on that cold January afternoon. He is not  married to that same girl. That girl who wore a $25 antique dress that her mother found in a country store display case. A dress she really didn't much like but she was too timid to hurt her mother's feelings. A girl who really wanted the whole white veil thing but since her mother told her it would not look right did  not say she really wanted it. That girl was someone I used to know. And someone that visits me sometimes when I am not feeling confident  to speak words that I am feeling. But she is mostly gone. Mostly.
The boy with the shoulder length mass of blond hair who rode his motorcycle through the driveway of my high school and popped wheelies as I watched from my earth science class..well I haven't seen him in a while either. Maybe once in a while when entertaining grandchildren that boyish daredevil will show his face.
But the truth is ..in the last 41 years we have each been married to many different versions of ourselves.
The year before Gretchen was born we were the kids living in a basement apartment with two old twin beds pushed together. We had an old box spring that we used for a sofa and a china closet witth no china. Steve bounced his motor cycle down the concrete steps so he could work on it in the comfort of our sparsely furnished living room. We drank cheap wine out of the bottle and entertained in the back yard with a bedspread laid out on the lawn for guests to sit on.

Then we became the new parents..I was still only 19 . But with the birth of our first child we entered a new season. We evolved and started to grow up. We even got some furniture. It was never new. We got what we could and made due with what we had.
Once at the NJ state fair I saw a very expensive table set. I don't know how we did it but we bought it. It was $500! My grandchildren now are growing up around that same table that their mama grew up at.
And so the years passed and who we were changed and changed over and over again. But what did not change was our belief that marriage and family are worth investing in and worth fighting for.
What also changed was not only who we are but 'whose' we are.
It was three years after we got married that my sister Janice started to talk to me about Jesus. The same timid girl who could not tell her mother she wanted a veil could not tell her husband she was turning to Jesus. I would go to the library and borrow a bible and then hide it so Steve would not know. Somehow..I thought that he would think I was very 'uncool'. One year later he would also come to faith in Christ.
At this point we started to become who we are today. Everything else in our past was to bring us to that point. Any confidence I have now that I lacked before is a direct result of God and my husband loving me through all my weakness and all my failures and being there to tell me I am still loved. I can love others because I have been loved when I was at my most unlovable places.
The man Steve has become is direct result of the decision he made in 1978 to be a Christ follower and to love me as Jesus loved the Church.
When we have been married 51 years..well I guess we will be a different man and woman than we are today. Life will happen. We will truly  be that much closer to becoming the perfected 'us'. Finally when we done changing with the seasons of life the whole 'til death do we part' thing will only be a pause until we become who we were always created to be.
I am thankful tonight to have been on this life journey with Steve. I am thankful for who we were and for who we are becoming. "Grow old along with me. The best is yet to be."  
Steve, this is your anniversary card..since I lost the one I bought for you :)

Earthquake

All day I have had waves of emotions. Five years ago...a half a decade ago everything changed. January 12, 2010. About 5:12 PM. 45 seconds. Nearly two million dead. My family alive. GOD WHAT AM I SUPPOSE TO DO?????

Unable to put two thoughts together in my head without the thought 'earthquake' slipping it's sting into my heart. I remember thinking "How can these people just continue with their day?" I felt like I was bleeding out and no one noticed. After the first week came and went CNN had other disasters to cover. But I was stuck. Because it wasn't over for the millions of people who were left injured, homeless, hungry and thirsty. 

Now I can still feel the ache but it seems almost like a dream or  a book I read or a movie I saw. 

This grief drives me back to her. I long to again see the beauty that Haiti was and is and is becoming. 

The rubble is mostly gone. The tent cities replaced by semi-permanent tent neighborhoods with small gardens planted beside the concrete floor and canvas walls and  tin or canvas roofs. Beautiful ceramic tile mosaics replace broken down walls. An entire water front street is paved with mosaics.

I am proud of Haiti. In some ways, maybe many ways she is better than she was before the earthquake.

 I was not in Haiti on that fateful day in 2010. But I was. On my first trip there I often said that
"It would not fit in my carry on so I left half of my heart in Haiti."I don't ever want to be the person who shows up and does a few good deeds and goes home. I want to be a grandmother to twelve children who call me "Nana". 

But tonight I can not think of Haiti without crying. The grief is still very close. The fear of  knowing that we have no promises that it wont happen again. But there is peace in knowing  in that 45 seconds God was there. God is still there.  But time will always be measured in "before earthquake" and "after earthquake". 

Today my heart and prayers go out to all the people of Haiti.

The Long Run and What does that have to do with me?

Today is Nick Mangine's birthday. He is 35 and he is preparing for his first marathon in Jacmel Haiti on January 4th. While Nick has spent months preparing for this event he has really been in training for years. He has always chosen to step up to the hard challenges. He has never been content to be on the sidelines when there has been a race to run.

Many of you first learned who Nick was shortly after the Haiti earthquake nearly five years ago. (January 12, 2010) That was when people got really interested in the 'race' that Nick and Gwenn were running.But the race began miles before the public interest.Nick sold everything and gave up a good career in 2009 and moved his wife and family to Haiti. Even that took over a year to prepare for. This truly has been a race of more than seven years at this point.
 It was just that during those hard miles after the quake we all had a good view from the spectators stand. We watched the endless videos on CNN and saw the tragic photos. Our hearts bled with all of Haiti during the months that unfolded and much needed giving was drastically increased.
Over the last five years Haiti has been and still is in recovery. Cameras have turned to other tragic stories.The race continues.
Other challenging hard miles have come and gone since those early days. As a family they have dealt with more in these years than most can image.A middle of the night home invasion and gunpoint robbery, robbed at gun point on the way to the airport and more serious illnesses than I can list.They have seen death and life up close and personal.Poverty tries to suck the life out of everyone in Haiti and Nick and Gwenn are not strangers to going without.
 Nick  sometimes has become  fatigued and weary from the run  and has hit a  wall and felt too tired to continue. He has experienced all all the highs and lows that a long distance runner learns to expect. He has had times when getting to the next 'water station' for refreshment could not come soon enough. He has felt the loneliness of the long miles when it seems that he is the only one on a stretch of road. He has felt the elation that comes when least expected a friend or family member shows up miraculously on the side of the road waving and yelling and holding up a sign  that says "You're almost there!" or "Stay Strong!" or maybe even a funny sign like "Run faster or the kids will catch up!". Those encouragements in the form of kind words, prayers, fellowship and financial giving have been the thing that keeps Nick on track. That and the sheer love he has for his wife and the twelve children in Haiti who call him PaPa Nick. Twelve children who are being trained to run their own races. Because of PaPa Nick they will be trained and ready to sign up for this marathon we call life. They will be equipped with courage, integrity and strength. They are learning that if sometimes the good things are the hard things. But the good things are worth the effort.

So on January 4th Nick will run 26.2 miles. In the heat. In Haiti. I have no doubt he will finish. Just as I have no doubt that when this life race is over he will cross over the finish line and be greeted with "Well done my good and faithful servant. Enter now into my rest."

SO WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH YOU????
  
Months ago when I heard that Nick had signed up for this marathon an idea started to run around in my head. (run around ...get it?)
In January a lot of people start new fitness plans  or recommit to an  old one. Now as Nick is about to run this race lets commit to run with him. Here is how  you can join his race:
Decide on a goal for your year. (When I was 58 I started running. Honestly... if I can you can.) Maybe you will run, maybe walk, maybe palates, yoga or chair aerobics. It's good for you. Do it.Then in the spirit of 'running with Nick' for the long haul commit to this: each time you complete your chosen activity put one dollar in a jar. At the end of 2015 send that collected money in to Joy in Hope. Because giving is about the long haul. Running with Nick and cheering him on takes effort.

BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE!!!!  

In addition to the joy of giving you can get your very own running shirt!!!! I am going make running shirts available to everyone who commits to Run for Joy! Shirts will cost $25 with all of the profits going to kick start the giving! These will not be the cheap cotton shirts you get from your average 5K but will be made of 100% polyester so you can actually exercise in them.

 HERE IS THE FUN PART:

Submit your shirt design to me and when we decide on the best design and the artist will receive a free shirt!!!
The design will be on a white or light colored shirt. It should contain the slogan " Kouri pou Lajwa" which means "Run for Joy" in creole. It can contain the Joy in Hope logo.
All entries must be received by midnight Jan 2nd to be considered. Once shirt design is selected we will be ready to take orders!
BUT don't wait for your shirt to get in the race! Let's run with Nick and  " Kouri pou Lajwa" ! Please share this post liberally. If one person takes on this challenge and works out 3X a week at the end of the year that would be $156.00! Do the math. This could be an awesome way to say Happy Birthday to Nick and cheer him on to the finish~!
Design submissions can be sent to me at dgoodale_creation@yahoo.com put Run for Joy in subject line.

links:
joyinhope.org
http://www.lghmarathon.org/
mangine.org
Nick's facebook : https://www.facebook.com/#!/ng.mangine?fref=ts
Gwenn's facebook: https://www.facebook.com/#!/mangine?fref=ts
Let's go Haiti (marathon) on facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Haitiultramarathon?ref=profile#!/LghMarathon
Closed group on Facebook for those who want to join the run : Kouri pou Lajwa- Run for Joy

Priscilla

 

If you know me you also know that the Creation Music Festival in PA has played a large role in my life for many years. In fact my Creation experience began in 1980. I was 24 years old. I am now 59. When I went on volunteer staff in 1985 the story really began. That was when the 'family' started to evolve for us. Over the years staff members have come and gone but for most of those years we have had the same core group. Young men with braids down their back have turned into...not such young men with blue hair around the side and no hair on top. Children have grown from toddlers to teens to young married to parents. Many of us are grandparents now with our new generation of Creation family in tow. What keeps us coming back has never been the music, or the preaching. What brings us back is the family reunion.You pick up where you left off the previous year and you catch up, laugh, work and pray. Us old timers are pretty die hard and most have not missed a year in decades.

My job as the Ice-Pop lady is very visible and even if they don't know me personally most people know who I on around the farm. Others are more behind the scenes kind of people and perhaps are not as easily recognized.
I think it was in 1992 that Fred McNaughton asked me to serve as supervisor for the Individual Campsite Ushers. This might be thought of as a step up from being a supervisors with the 6 pack crew. The six packs were how we referred to the wooden outhouses that housed 6 toilets each. But honestly that job was great for the seven years I did it. Melody a toddler when we started grew up holding the doors open for us and handing us toilet paper. Individual Campsite Usher was not my gift. I found it VERY stressful especially when the weather got bad. Jackie and Cathy were the supervisors over me. They paired me with Priscilla.  A red haired quiet woman who was perhaps a little harder to get to know. As my partner we each had a radio. I don't think Priscilla liked the radio because she would never use it! If a call came from Jackie or Cathy I had to answer it. Only I really didn't know what I was doing.. I often could not find Priscilla because she, as I mentioned, did not like to talk on the radio!  Did I mention that that job was stressful? But my partner rolled with it. Along the way I learned that she never married, had a government job and came up to the farm weeks in advance every year  to help Ken Taylor flag the fields. During this era Creation did not close the gates overnight. Priscilla and I pulled a few overnight shifts. It was then that I got to know this quiet woman. As the stars cascaded across the black  backdrop we sat in our golf cart and watched the light show. The crickets chirped and the night sounds echoed around us. The air was crisp and clear.Sometimes cold. We didn't bother to look at each other as the night was too dark for that and in this beautiful overnight shift we shared our hearts. We connected on a level that would not have been possible on any other shift. I felt so honored to be invited into this quiet woman's world.As I mentioned that I found Individual Ushering very stressful. It was also hard to work the schedule out because Melody was still a young child and I did not like leaving her overnight with her sisters at the campsite.( Yes this was pre-cell phone era!)  When Fred offered me the Head Supervisor for the Deaf Ministry area I jumped on it!  I don't remember how many years I worked with Individual Ushers  but I 'think' it was seven years. (WOW is that even possible??) Priscilla was always my partner. And she never spoke on the radio!! When I moved into my new job Priscilla and I would only run into each other now and then at meals. It was always good to see her but without the shroud of the dark night we never had any more deep discussions. But still we were family. We were different parts of the same body. We were the Body of Christ. When I read on Face Book today that Priscilla has died my heart instantly rushed back to our overnight shifts in the middle of the H field. I am thankful to have shared that time with her.I am shocked and saddened. I am grateful and encouraged. We are family we will have a reunion once again. Good night Priscilla. This shift is over. Your years of dedication and service to your Creation family are remembered. My heart is with your family now and with Cathy and Jackie and all the people who worked so closely with you for so many years. I am blessed to have known you. Until we meet again.

The years that the locuct have eaten.

It was the summer before my thirteenth birthday. I cringe at the memory. Inside my head I am embarrassed to even think about it. But today I am reminded.

It was 1968. Born to Be Wild was a hit that year. As were other great (not!) songs like 'Yummy, Yummy'. Chambers Brothers 'Time' was popular as well. People Get Ready was on that same LP. Wish I had understood that song then. Inagattadivita. ( Is that even a word?) was popular that year. And Christian Rock and Roll legand  Larry Norman was with a band named People and sang 'I love you.'

I had finished my first year of public school. Finally after seven years of Catholic School my mother had relented and enrolled my in eighth grade. That summer having always been around the friends of my older brother and sister I found myself experiencing my first 'date' and then my first 'boyfriend'. It wasn’t really a 'date' because as I understand it now it was sick. He was 19. That was a one night carnival gig. I let him kiss him. (Yuck) Shortly after I found myself with his younger brother. A mere 17 year old. We rode around for aimless hours in his car. He removed the center console so I could sit by his side. Born to Be Wild was his favorite song. We went to bars. Yes. I was served beer in these bars. Yes. I was 12. I smoked about a pack of Marlboros a day. All the while I thought I was a good girl because I was a virgin and I was not using drugs.

I was well acquainted with the drug culture at that time. There was always someone around me sniffing glue, smoking pot or hash. LSD, mescaline, and speed were around. As well as heroine. I told myself I would be a 'good girl' because I did not want to hurt my mother. Honest...I thought I was good. I continued to date older guys for a while. It is a wonder I did not get into some really big trouble.

My father left when I was four. My mom worked six days a week. She loved me I am sure. If she were alive today I would not write this. I still would not want to hurt my mother.

All this is just a brief history to get to today. Today. Those years that the locusts have eaten have been redeemed. The curse has been broken and I am free from that ugly part of my past. Today I sat in the front row of church and cried as I watched my oldest grandchild

led worship. She is exactly how old I was that summer. She is beautiful and could easily pass for a much older young woman. It was easy as I watched her to see how it was possible that I could date such older guys. Like her I did not look 12. But that is where the comparison stops.

Katie has been raised in a intact family. Her parents love each other and they love her. My daughter has managed to work hours that allow her or my son in law to be home most of the time. Katie is bright and confident. She is also kind hearted and sweet spirited. She is not sheltered but she is protected. As I listen to her sing and play her guitar I wish that I had come into a relationship with Jesus early and spared myself these embarrassing memories. But I also consider the love of my Daddy God who reminds me "You have done some things right." My children never had to know the pain of divorce. They never had to fill a Daddy void because they had a Daddy to tell them they were good enough, smart enough and pretty enough. While far from perfect I am mother to three awesome women who love and serve God. Somehow in spite of me, God allowed me to be part of His plan for my family. The yesterdays are now redeemed by the todays. I no longer have to be ashamed. I am part of the story of Katie standing in front of the church and leading God's children into worship. Leading me into worship. Tears freely flowing. Knowing the love of my Daddy. Redeeming the years.

Second Hand Smoke

It has been widely studied and documented  that when a non-smoker is exposed to  cigarette smoke  on a regular basic has a higher than average chance to contracting lung cancer than a person who is not exposed. 
Today I think of this as I am speaking to my son-in-law's mom. The  things we have shared together over the last seven years might only be seen as toxic to those who might study our case.

As grandmothers we have dealt  with the tragic news that our grandson at birth was not ok. We have walked the halls of Duke Childrens  hospital watching, waiting and praying as Josiah underwent open heart surgery at four days old. 
We watched and waited for two years for the arrival of our grandson Nico as the adoption process stretched on and on. We would see the photos and get the reports and know how much he needed to just be home...but wasn't.  
We have watched our children sell off their home, their car and all of their possessions to move to the poorest country in the world. WITH OUR GRANDCHILDREN! 
With each of these events we would breath a sigh of relief as events unfolded and life became more 'normal'. But that 'normal' was never long lived. Because for whatever reason that second hand smoke was determined to affect us. Our phone calls would confirm that each of us were choking back our fears and even our doubts from time to time. Then the air would clear and again we would be hopeful.
Josiah's birth. GASP! Nico's adoption. GASP! The decision to move to Haiti. GASP!  The actual day they moved to Haiti. GASP! The earthquake. GASP! (Big gasp.)  Malaria. GASP! The ministry split and betrayal. GASP!  Josiah's illness. GASP! Gwenn's staph infections. GASP! Middle of the night home invasion at gunpoint. GASP! GASP! GASP!! The bandits on the road to PAP that robbed them in the car. GASP!   The continued land dispute. GASP! And of course all the GASPS that went along with the every day problems  raising  children with attachment and trauma issues. 
And then as the smoke clears we breath easier for a time and pray this time will be different. This time it will get easier. But somehow it is never long lived. We have seen Malaria. We have seen den-gay. We have seen staph. We have seen the results of a lion fish sting. An allergic reaction to a wasp sting. We have seen the most awful pink eye that one can imagine. And with each new illness there is an inaudible GASP! inside our hearts. And when these things happen we turn to each other. Our grandmother/mother hearts just need to know that there is someone else who 'gets it'. 

And now Chikungunya.   Spell check doesn't even know about it! But this latest 'second hand smoke' is a tough one. Haiti is in the middle of an epidemic and once again we are watching our children and grandchildren suffer. The news says in a week you will be better and you will be immune. We know better. We know that everyone is relapsing or reinfecting and there does not seem to be an end in sight.

Today Wildarne has a head to toe rash and a fever of 103 F. She has had a fever for 3 days. Nick spent the night vomiting. Fritzie also relapsed. And as we sit on the sidelines we breath in this illness into our minds and hearts and GASP! once again for air. Thankful once again we have each other to balance our thoughts and concerns. Praying that the air will clear again and life will get back to normal. You know- Haiti normal. The kind of normal that is riddled with 'normal' problems like no electric. Manifestations where people set up firey road blocks to demonstrate the lack of electricity. School closures and 'normal' Haitian problems. But there is a smoke screen that clouds our vision and we can not see even the Haiti normal now.

People have asked me "Don't you want them just to come home?" or say "They just need to come home." Even with the 'second hand smoke' I can say "No way!". They are home. 
Sometimes we Christians seem to think that when we become believers that God will pave the road for us to have a comfortable or at very least a 'safe' life.Sometimes we even get angry when bad things happen to us. But the Word of God says "it rains on the just and the unjust". To choose the 'safe' way is not always choosing God's way. Look at the early church. History tells us of the awful deaths that the apostles died. While they lived they faced danger and hardship everyday. I think of the 'second hand smoke' their families must had inhaled. I think of Mary the mother of Christ and how she must have groaned in agony when she saw her son suffer. But we never read of her telling Jesus to just come home. I think of her 'pondering these things in her heart' and I am glad God has given me another woman to share my heart with. I don't know if I could just ponder these things alone. 

Breathing in this 'second hand smoke' has definitely changed my life. There is always a nagging cough that is just below the surface. There is a constant tickle in the back of my heart and when the phone rings and I see on the display that the call is from Haiti or from Nick's mom my first thought is "What's wrong?" When I awaken at 2 AM for no apparent reason I start of pray for my family in Haiti because 2 AM is when bad guys like to rob people. 
On the other hand I think I am maybe even a little hardened to the hardships in Haiti. Things that used to concern me pretty much don't. When I first went to Haiti the whole voodoo culture pretty much freaked me out.Now I just turn on the noise maker on my phone to drown out the drums so I can sleep. I also don't 'worry' as some might perceive the word. I do think about the things going on there a lot. I do pray about the things going on a lot. I do talk about Haiti a lot. But I am equally sure that if God has brought them to it that He will lead them through it. Fighting the affects of this 'second hand smoke' has brought me closer to Jesus much as a person who is suffering a physical illness will draw closer to Him. So in the end of this tale I thank Him. I thank Him for counting me worthy to be close enough to the smoke to breath it in. Even if it is uncomfortable and even if my whole person smells of smoke. I want to be as close as I can be to the place where Jesus is glorified in all things not just in the easy things. I pray for the time to come quickly when there is once again some fresh air and my family in Haiti (and Nick's mom and me) can breath deep and have a time of refreshment and health. Until then I will continue to trust and be thankful for each tiny breath of fresh air.  I will thank Him for each day of health that He affords our family. I choose to be thankful because I know without doubt that God is good all the time. God is here even when we can't see Him. 
Breath of God fall on us.