Do you know how small the world really is?

I sit in the middle of the newsroom of the Kentucky Enquirer. I hear reporter, Mark Hansel, talking about two men who went to help an orphanage in Haiti. It’s quite a story. I didn’t stop working to hear what he was telling our assistant editor, Dave. Today I open the nky.com website and there is the story.

http://nky.cincinnati.com/article/AB/20100129/NEWS0103/1300358/NKY+men+recount+Haiti+work

What is fascinating is that in these weeks following the Haitian tragedy, I have had the photo album of the trip laying out on my desk. I look at the photos and pray for the children. I pray for Ernie, the man who ran the place. I couldn’t remember the name of the orphanage. I searched for it on the Internet. I wondered what happened to the people there.

As I said, all I can do, like most of us here in the United States and the world, was pray. I donated money, sure. But the feeling of helplessness left with the prayers. One thing I know for sure is that prayer is a strong force. Maybe I couldn’t be in Haiti to help. Maybe I couldn’t remember the name of the orphanage or all the names of the children. But, God knows their names. God is there. When I am not physically present, I can be spiritually present. In my prayers I prayed for the orphanage. And here, in the story are two men that God did have there to help. Men who were capable of doing what I could not.

I also find it an amazing little miracle that God would “connect these dots” for me while helping the children through these men.

These are the moments when I really cannot doubt that there is a being/power greater than myself who connects us as one. It’s really remarkable. Isn’t it?

OK I’ve really had it with myself now.  I think this blog is just a whine zone.  Enough already. 

For the last three weeks I’ve been writing to my son-in-laws grandmother everyday.  I felt like God was asking me to do this. On New Year’s Day, she had a serious fire in her home. She has been displaced and is living with her son’s family. She is a delightful person. She is one of the most devout Catholic women I’ve ever known.  She didn’t want any fuss made and we were asked to “stay away.”  I prayed about that and felt that I should write her a note every day.

So, I have been doing that.  It is really fun.  I find a scripture or prayer to lead with, then I write a note that follows its theme.  I find that my spirits are being lifted in the writing to her.  I thought I was suppose to be helping her, but I think now, it’s helping me more. 

Isn’t that always the way of a blessing?  It comes when one least expects it.

Maybe the weirdness I’ve been feeling of late will give way to peace.  Besides Spring coming sooner than later, I’m thinking these notes are helping more than sunshine, bringing a healing that I didn’t expect.

For that, I’m grateful.

More news from Haiti. People are not getting the food and water they need in the countryside. Skirmishes and panic add to the frustration of the families trying to care for their young.

I got a fill in my band today – so I won’t overeat. ….but I still do.

Now what in the hell am I thinking?  What in the hell am I doing?

My belly is swollen like the starving children.  The doctor says it’s scar tissue from 4 abdomenal surgeries.  It has taken on a life of it’s own.  We could use it to play basketball.  I look more pregnant than when I was pregnant.  Ridiculous.

And people really are starving in Haiti. God, please hear their cries and let the world help them.

I’m pathetic.

People have asked me, “How I’m doing about Haiti.” It unsettles me when I hear this question.  How are they doing about Haiti?  Should I feel differently than they?  Do I feel differently?  I was there 40 years ago, when I was 15. 
“Don’t be afraid of death…” These words were spoken by a woman carried out of the rubble six days after the first quake.
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I am very afraid of death. I confess. I think my fear started there…in Haiti.
This catastrophe is nothing but death and fear staring us all in the face everyday on the news. It was the same 40 years ago for me – and it is now.
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I still feel helpless. I still pray.  I wonder about it all.
Perhaps the worse part of people asking me this question is that it takes me right back to Haiti emotionally, as a teenage child. I can’t really do anything that’s truly helpful now, except donate money, just like the rest of us sitting comfortably in our homes and offices.  I feel guilty about being grateful I’m not in Haiti today. That makes the question harder to hear. Fear and guilt.

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Mike always said that he wished he met me before I went to Haiti.  He thought all my troubles began there.
The troubles he referred to was/is the emotional turmoil I bear deep within my soul from seeing starving children, hearing gun fire and running for cover, of the zealous Christians who believed the people needed to know Jesus above all, of voodoo, exorcism, rejection, fear and sickness.
He thought my physical ailments started there too – or at least they were seriously exaccerbated by the amebic dysentery I acquired during the trip. My digestion has never been right since.

Perhaps the physical and mental issues I carry began blending together into a major problem when I was in Haiti.  I think Mike knew me better than I ever could know myself.
I was a spoiled middle-class brat going to a country that “needed me” as a missionary. uh …..not.
They didn’t need me.  They needed food and clean water, then.  They need food and clean water now. 
They didn’t need me to tell them about Jesus so their souls could be saved. They needed to see his love in action  by our teaching the children how to read the stories for themselves. They will need education now more than ever. The world needs to help the people of Haiti learn how to fish rather than just giving them fish.

The children I worked with during the three life-altering weeks, did more to change me than anything I may have tried to impart to them.  If they took anything from me, it was humor. They laughed at me alot.
I was a silly white school girl with 30 beautiful black children to help get through a day.
We started our day with worship, we ate breakfast, cleaned, and laughed in the sun shiny days as we swam in the coral sea. I waited for the coral razor blades to slice my feet or an eel to swim between my legs.  I never did like the salt water of the ocean. But the bay and sea was lovely splasing against the rocks at the base of the orphanage. I wonder if it is still there, or if it was shaken into rubble and fallen into the sea.

They laughed at me on chicken killing day when I cried at the sight of the killing.  The chickens were the orphanage’s sustenance.  They ate their eggs, their meat and sold many at the market in Port-au-Prince. Seeing death like that was horrifying to this spoiled person who shopped in grocery stores where chicken came neatly packaged.

Are the chickens now stolen? Is the orphanage a safe haven now for many? I don’t know. I search the pictures on the t.v. and in the newspaper to see any resemblance of the orphanage. I’ve looked online.  I find nothing.

All these years later I am still affected by Haiti. I continue to feel helpless, but at least now as an adult, I can reach out with financial support and I pray in earnest for the precious souls of Haiti.

I can’t decide if I run out of time everyday to blog and answer e-mails like I should, or if I’m avoiding these things because I don’t want to face reality.

I think t’is the latter.

I have received wonderful suggestions on ways to improve my outlook, my physical shape and other things, yet I sit on my duff and just think about it.  I’m floundering.  I’m feeling like I’m out here all alone.  The weight is creeping back up at an alarming rate. The doctor I want to go to, I can’t afford.  I need a support group of people like me.  I’d better go find one before I explode.

Fred isn’t feeling well tonight.  He is having another one of his “spells”.  We can’t figure out why. He’s been diligent in not eating msg.  I don’t know what else to do for the boy.  He turns a pasty gray and just wants to sleep.  I don’t know if that’s good for him or not.  The doctors say there is nothing wrong with him.  If this is allergies to food, he’s got it bad.  If it’s not, I wonder what it could be?  I don’t like it when he’s sick. I get a scared feeling in my belly.

Oh, I wish the sun would shine for a whole week!

A friend sent this tidbit to me.  It made my whole  day;

Recently, in a large city in France, a poster featuring a young, thin and tanned woman appeared in the window of a gym. It said, “This summer, do you want to be a mermaid or a whale?”

A middle-aged woman, whose physical characteristics did not match those of the woman on the poster, responded publicly to the question posed by the gym.

To Whom It May Concern,
Whales are always surrounded by friends (dolphins, sea lions, curious humans.)
They have an active sex life, get pregnant and have adorable baby whales.
They have a wonderful time with dolphins stuffing themselves with shrimp.
They play and swim in the seas, seeing wonderful places like Patagonia, the Bering Sea and the coral reefs of Polynesia.
Whales are wonderful singers and have even recorded CDs.
They are incredible creatures and virtually have no predators other than humans.
Whales are loved, protected, and admired by almost everyone in the world.
Mermaids don’t exist. If they did exist, they would be lining up outside the offices of Argentinean psychoanalysts due to identity crisis. Fish or human? They don’t have a sex life because they kill men who get close to them, not to mention how could they have sex? Just look at them … where is IT? Therefore, they don’t have kids either. Not to mention, who wants to get close to a girl who smells like a fish store?

The choice is perfectly clear to me: I want to be a whale.

**** my own thoughts here *****

I must want to be a whale.  Otherwise why do I continue to make the choices I do.  I must be perfectly content being a non-compliant lap band patient.  Stop eating M&M’s? Bread, Pizza??  I’ve spent a world of money trying to make my body different than it is. Money is not a magic prescription, neither is a lap band. Nothing is easy.

I am in my second year with the lap band.  I have lost 40 consistent pounds, 10 plus or minus after that.  I wish it were easier, but it isn’t. I wish I was more open to change. 

I keep thinking that at the age of 54 if I haven’t changed by now, I never will.  I just wish I could let it go, forgive myself and not obsess about it, but I’m simply not wired that way either.  My brain doesn’t let anything go.  That’s the problem.

I went to see Sally this week.  She wants me to consider using the book, The Four Day Win, to repattern my brain.  I am intrigued by the notion that I could repattern my brain, but seriously doubt it would work.  I imagine this doubt, alone, would compromise any success. Hasn’t that always been the case?

Beached whale isn’t good.  Happy, swimming whale  – ahhhhhh orca.

I’m sitting in Bowling Green, Kentucky.  Fred’s robotic’s teams just won second in the state. They competed against 36 teams from across the state, many of them were middle schoolers.  Thus, the second place is awesome! I’m so proud of Fred and what he does.

He’s down at the pool with them now while they burn off some energy. I’m sitting in the room will a belly full of good food, feeling grim.

I am hating everything about myself again.  Surprise.  Overindulgence.  My middle name.  It will plague me the rest of my life. It will never change. I will never change. I keep thinking I don’t deserve to be so happy on one end and so miserable on the other.

The lap band is not stopping my decision making.  I think I have a doctor’s appointment Monday.  What to do, what to do.  I don’t have a band support system now because the doctor’s office group therapy sessions are during my work time.  They begin before I get off at 5:30.  I’ve told the doctor it’s impossible for me, but they don’t seem to be able to help.  I like this doctor, but I’ve got to find a support system that works for me.

I do so hate these cycles.

I read a book today.  Yes a whole book.  While I was waiting for the robotics teams “heats”, I read the book, “I Choose to be Happy,” written by William Croyle and Missy Jenkins. Bill is a co-worker of mine.  The book is about Missy who was shot in a school attack in Paducah, Kentucky. It was before Columbine. She is a paraplegic now.  The students had just completed a prayer circle when the shooter began his release of horror.  In spite of everything, this young 15 year old forgave the shooter and knew her life was going to be fine.  Now 11 years later, she is a full time counselor, wife and mother. She still has her bright outlook and still feels no bitterness toward her attacker.

This story was very inspiring to read. Yet, it throws me into a bit of despair. She was so strong to work toward her goals. Physical therapy was painful and difficult.  She has to catheterize herself and administer other difficult things to keep her body functioning. All I need to do is stop eating carbs. All I need to do is take a walk.  She had adversity created by another that she has risen above and beyond. My problems are of my own creation.

After reading this book, I feel more handicapped than her. I feel bitter and angry. She does not. I blame my mother, Weight Watchers’ and many other things for my failures. She blames no one, but the one who shot her – and that gives her freedom because she forgave him. 

I know we each have our own road to travel. I’m getting tired of mine.  When will my brain just shut up!  I’ve got a great life. Any problems I have are my own doing.  Overindulgence is my middle name.

I can change for a month – but not two. I can chose the positive in a moment, but not the next. I can feel hopeful for others, but not for me. 

As I often say……arg.

I like the sound of 2010. It’s a nice, even number. I hope the year is equal to its name. Nice and even – healthy, hopeful and happy.  May we enjoy the birth of new lives, with no loss this year. My prayer is that family, friends and everyone on the planet, really, experiences the fulfillment of dreams, and that their goals are not cut short for lack of anything.

Resolutions?  Let’s see, I’m 54.  I am resolved to turn 55, to be kinder to others, to be more patient, maybe even to be a little kinder to myself – oh that last one will be tough.  Realistic?  hmmmmm. 

Fred and I watched Charlie Brown the other night.  I’m struck by how Charles Schultz captures the essence of each of us in his characters.  We are all Charlie Brown, aren’t we?  I resolve to watch more Charlie Brown in 2010. I hadn’t seen that particular show since I was a kid.  It was a revelation.  Go figure, enlightenment through Charlie Brown!
Go Snoopy, go Snoopy! 

Today we take the tree down.  It was a beautiful tree.  Fred decorated the whole thing. He is so talented. He could design trees for department stores.