Alleluia, Bondye

Haiti comes to life at night. Sometimes I like to sit on the balcony, above the world  of St. Joseph's. 

I close my eyes, and breathe in the night. 

The sounds, and the motion.

Tonight they're raising their voices to the heavens.

A congregation is worshipping. I can hear the drums, and the faint melodies wafting through the streets, through the darkness.

Alleluia.

They chant it over and over again.

Their voices ring out.

Prayer without ceasing.

Glory to God. 

And I'm thankful, that they're there.

That they're praising God, when I can only listen.

That in the darkness, there is this togetherness.

And that I get to be a part of it. 

Alleluia. 

Sixty-two big ones (November 29th, 2013)

Dear dude,

It's your birthday! Welcome to your sixty-second year on this planet. We are getting old, are we not?! But then again, I've been saying that you were old and crumbly for at least the past 11 years, so all things considered, you've held up quite well!

Sometimes I worry about the future. That I haven't found a husband, settled down and had babies yet. And while, those are things that I want. The worry isn't entirely for me.

It's because I can't fathom marrying a man who doesn't witness the relationship that you and I have. That I can't stand the idea of bringing babies into this world who don't know their grandfather. My father. The man who has so shaped my being, and shown me the importance of true character. Our character.

The games and the fun. The ingenuity and creativity. The spontaneity, and the flat out, never-give-up-ness, regardless of how you feel, or what is going on around you. How brilliant you are, and how you see beauty in everything, especially music. How you encourage everyone, and you meet them where they are, with what they have to offer.

The love, and the faith that I watch you rely on every day. How you support your family. How you rely on God. 

But more than anything else, it's because when you meet important people, and when new people come into your life, you want them to meet your best friend.

You are my best friend.

I love you, I miss you, and I look forward to beating your ass at ping pong on Christmas day, old and crumbly as you are!

Love,

Diz.

Rejoice, give thanks, and praise.

I woke up with tears lurking, behind my cheekbones, filling up my sinuses, and making my face feel a little too tight. A little too heavy.

I spoke with my parents, me in my bed. They, prior to the Thanksgiving day service.

It was not enough. It never is.

But THAT is the joy in this holiday. 

What am I missing? A day of togetherness. Where we celebrate all we are thankful for.

Primarily, each other, the love we share, and all of our abundant blessings. 

I'm missing the pie and the long walk at the river with our dogs. The smells and the fresh air. The hugs, and the knowing that this day is reserved for us. 

The beautiful table and the feeling of complete joy and contentedness. No matter what else was going on in my life. School, post college, career crisis, heartbreak, illness, growing up. All of it, any of it.

I had this family, my family, and they are perfect. 

Abundant blessings. God given, over flowing, unbelievable blessings.

And no matter where I am, 

I am SO thankful for that. 

And for you. Mom, Dad, Brie. I love you so much.

Happy Thanksgiving. 

Hurdles

Steve and I took a walk down the mountain. 

Walk like this, he'd say.

Konsa, konsa, konsa, konsa.

He'd throw his arm around my shoulders. He'd grab my other hand and pull it around his neck, he'd sway his hips to the beat of the words.

Like this, like this, like this. Like this. 

Huge, gaping steps. Frog jumps.

Now, RUN! He'd exclaim. He'd grab my hand, and we'd run. Our breath coming in ragged gasps in the thin mountain air. The air cool on our damp skin, and the places that the sun touched burning.

We charged up the mountain. Galloping and skipping to steady ourselves. Hurdling our tiring limbs, feet pounding on the pavement. 

He'd come to an abrupt hault, and I could hear the air swishing around in his lungs as he took expectant and starving inhales.

Now sit. He'd pull me to the curb, interlock our arms, prop both his elbows on his knees and exclaim,

Look! Look at the beautiful view.

Gade, izabet. Belle terrain, wi?

And then up again. Tugging at my arm, sweaty fingers hanging on for dear life as we spiraled down the mountain in pounding and sonorous clomps. 

Now jump! Like a dolphin breaking out of the water, he'd kick his feet into the air, his torso shimmying, his hands waving high and clapping. Convulsing. 

Okay. Let's walk now.

Giddy. Exhausted. Thighs throbbing and head pounding. Red faced and shining.

I bought us some water on the road. 

The guys milling around the shop called to Steve. Call that blanc. Call her. Hey, blanc. Hey.

Steve turned to me, he looked curiously back at them. 

Where, he exclaimed!

There! There, with you! Her!

What, Steve said? Who?

Her! The blanc! With you!

What? Steve said?

Her?

No! You liar!

That's izabet! 

And off we ran.

Two of my best friends

Oh, Lord.

I saw a mother who only had one chick. I saw a calf, tied to a telephone pole. 

I saw a graveyard. Cracked and crumbling. Overtaken by weeds, caving into the earth.

The most beautiful turtle dove drawings. Angels. Wild colors, and graffiti, etched onto aging walls. 

A vacant tomb arched it's back towards the sky. 

Oil spills on half paved roads, and rusting machinery, dying in the background.

Decaying cinder blocks and moss covered walls.

Smoldering piles of ash that burn your nostrils and sear your skin. 

Tombs turning back into earth. 

How life does go on, you know?

Everything broken. 

Everything, part of it all.

Everything, together.

And how life does go on,

You know? 

Black out

Sometimes, in the night

In port au prince, the music comes from everywhere.

Compa and Ra-Ra. Gospel and hip hop. Techno beats drone and reggae bounces from cinder block street bars.

The roosters squall and packs of dogs course through the black hills behind us. They scream.

Voices of praise ring out. One voice with a microphone and a raging chorus. They offer up their lungs to God.

They sing as if they could give their very selves up to God. 

I sat on the balcony. In the still of it all.

In the quiet of my mind,

In all of the noise.

Of the living.

There is a blackout in port au prince tonight. 

The music seems to crawl up from the depths of creation.

I once asked one of the boys why there was a celebration going on in our neighborhood, and he told me they were celebrating the light. 

When was the last time that light was an opportunity to give thanks to god and be joyful.

When was the last time that anything was?

The cost of living

I watched a man walk along the side of the road,

He bent down and picked up a black plastic bag from the gutter, beat it against his thigh several times, held it out in appraisal, folded it up, and put it in his back pocket.

I saw 4 dead dogs on the side of the road.

I noticed a girl walking to school, holding shoes at least 4 sizes too big in her hands. She was barefoot.

Watched boys playing soccer in the street with a plastic coke bottle.

On Tuesday, a baby toddled over to me in the market and asked me if he could have a bite of what I was eating. He was two, and he was starving. 

We think, (because we are who we are.)

That it is (because) we are who we are.

But it isn't.

The cost of living is higher in some places.

It will cost you your life.

And we will never know what that feels like.