Our BIG Announcement!!!!

Lean In

Two weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night thinking about Arturo.  I was in a panic.  Something wasn't right.  As I lay in the darkness I searched for my Father to give me peace, to bring me understanding as to why I felt the way I did.  In silence, I heard a voice telling me to let him go.  That he would be leaving this Earth soon.  I resisted, I rebelled and told Him no.  I gave all the reasons why he needed to stay.  "My love," He said, "you need to let him come to Me."  I began praying to my little Arturo's spirit.  I don't even know if that's how it works but it's what I did.

"Sweet boy, stop fighting.  Stop struggling.  Stop suffering.  Baby boy it's ok.  Don't be afraid.  Jesus is waiting for you.  He has a place prepared for you."

I stayed up crying for hours.  Not the kind of crying that brings more pain but the kind of crying that brings peace and washes over your fears.  I fell asleep at some point faintly begging my Jesus to let him stay if it was possible.

Two days later I was on my way to the hospital and I felt a pit in my stomach.  I felt nauseous.  I had no idea what I was going to walk into - whether this baby boy I loved would still be with us.  To my surprise he was still there and the doctors said he was doing better.  He didn't have any tubes or wires hooked up to him.  He wasn't uncomfortable or crying.  He was just calm and peaceful.  I fed him a little of his bottle and I walked him over to the hospital window.  It was sunny and there was a warm breeze blowing.  He laid on my chest watching the sway of the trees with the rays of the sun cast on his face.  He fell asleep.

I now know just how good my Father is.  He gave me that day.  He let me see this baby boy pain-free, wire-free, tube-free, peaceful - because that's how he is now.

I have experienced loss before but not like this.  His death would be sad no matter what but the events surrounding his death are not only unjust, but tragic.  I have never felt so helpless in my life.  My mind replays the events every moment I have alone.  How lonely he must have felt.  How confused he must have felt.  How helpless he must have felt.  It's something I don't know I will ever get over - and I hope I never do.

Something important I have learned over the last two years can be summed up in two simple words: lean in.  When it hurts, lean in.  When you are suffering, lean in.  When you don't understand, lean in.  When the pain is unbearable, lean in.  So many times in my life when something has happened that I can't explain and that doesn't make any sense, I just ran from it.  I ran from the sadness and the confusion and the difficulty only to be knocked over by it years later.  I pushed anger and unforgiveness to the back corners of my heart instead of bringing it to the surface and letting myself feel it and be freed of it.

Our Father wrote us love letters in His Scripture preparing us for the trials we will face.  "In this world you will have trouble..." It's inevitable.  We can't avoid pain - it will always find us.  And if we don't prepare ourselves for it and lean into it and let ourselves feel it, one of two things will happen; we will either be knocked over by it when we least expect it or we will harden our hearts to it in order to protect ourselves.  Both scenarios have serious consequences.

For many of us, God has been working tirelessly to give us "hearts of flesh" - a heart like His.  A heart that breaks for this world's injustices.  A heart that longs to be part of His perfect plan for redemption.  That means feeling things the way His heart feels them.  A heart that experiences great joy is also one that knows deep pain.

I've been tempted this week, since losing Arturo, to keep myself busy.  To not talk about him.  To lose myself in distractions.  But God keeps whispering to me, "Lean in..."  Because he is not just God.  He is also a Father who knows deep pain.  A Father who watched His son suffer on a cross for people who didn't even know He was doing it for them.

So instead of busy and instead of avoidance and instead of distractions - I stop in the middle of my bedroom, a worship song blaring, my hands in the air and tears falling.  I talk about him with people who ask how I'm doing.  I scroll through his pictures on my phone.  I imagine him in the arms of Jesus, with a perfectly whole body.

Even when it hurts, I lean in.

(This is the song that will forever remind me of my little Arturo)

Hope House T-shirt Fundraiser

So, many of you have asked about how to get your hands on a Hope House t-shirt.  Well, here's your chance!  In one week we will be putting in our first order of Hope House t-shirts.  If you want one, here's what you need to do.

1) Send an email to amanda@hopehouseintl.org
2) Subject line: Hope House Shirt
3) In the body of the e-mail, put:
        Your name
        Your address
        Which t-shirt you want
        What size you want (they are unisex)
4) Make a payment via Paypal
    Make a payment by check - make checks payable to The Manna Foundation
    The Manna Foundation
    PO Box99472
    Louisville, KY 40269
    (Write Hope House Shirt in memo line)

Once your payment is received, your t-shirt will be mailed out the week of May 15th!

**We are raising these funds specifically to purchase a ministry truck for Hope House**

Thanks so much for your help!!!
Mike and Goody

Brave, brave, Mamas

Over the course of the last year, I have held seven orphaned babies in my arms.  I have changed their diapers, fed them bottles and held them while they slept.  The first baby I ever cared for was named Regina.  She had the most beautiful eyes with the longest eyelashes I have ever seen on a child.  She was smiley and cuddly with a calm demeanor.  When I picked her up she wrapped her hands around my arm and nestled into my chest.  She was so confused in this place with unfamiliar faces where her Mama was no where to be found.  She closed her eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.  I just held her in that hospital chair and fought with all my strength not to lose it in front of the staff.  I was so angry at her mom.  How on EARTH could you leave your child in a hospital?  What kind of heartless human being would you have to be to abandon a helpless baby?  I cried the entire way home.

Over the course of a few months, I spent hours every week just holding sleeping babies.  They craved touch so badly.  Almost instantaneously, each one would fall asleep shortly after I picked them up.  The hospital staff thought I had some crazy gift - I knew it was just their deep need to feel love again.  During those hours I had absolutely nothing to do except think, pray and try to make sense of this beautiful tragedy in my arms.  What started out as a very condemning heart toward these birth moms, changed over time to one of love and compassion for them.

A few weeks ago, we had kind of had a dramatic morning involving my daughter.  She picked a hot pepper from our garden and touched her face with the oils that were on her hands.  She immediately had an intense reaction and a lot of pain.  After a lot of screaming, terrified looks and a container of yogurt rubbed on her face, she finally calmed and fell peacefully asleep on the couch in our living room.  As angry (and frightened) as I was a few minutes earlier because she had disobeyed and touched the pepper I told her not to touch - I was quickly filled with complete love and adoration of her as she lay there sleeping.  She was mine and I loved her with this intense feeling that is absolutely unexplainable in human terms.  I was suddenly reminded of the babies in the hospital and the birth Moms who left them there.

I could never imagine being so desperate that I would abandon my child in a hospital.  I could never imagine a situation so destitute that I would think my babies could be cared for better by someone else but me.  I could never imagine that my child would be better off without me.  But for hundreds of thousands of Mamas around this world - that is their reality.

So often, people that hear what we are trying to do (Dominicans, Haitians and Americans alike) respond by saying something along the lines of "How selfish is that Mom?"  "How horrible!"  "I can't even imagine!"  But let me tell you something; abandoning your child in a hospital is one of the least selfish things a mother could do.

Have you ever lived in such poverty that you eat pies made out of dirt?  Have you ever watched one of your children die from starvation?  Have you even been tricked into a life of prostitution that is dangerous, not only for you, but for your children too?  Have you ever been addicted to cocaine because that's how your pimp keeps you under his control?  Have you ever been sexually abused as a child to the point that, as an adult, you think you are worthless and can't climb out of a hole of depression?  Chances are, most people reading this have never and will never experience any of these circumstances.  But for a huge percentage of women here in the Dominican and in many countries around the world - that is their reality.

Do I think one day these women up and decided in order to live the life they want they need to kick their kids to the curb?  Not in a million years.  Do I think that some of them have fought and tried and prayed for a way to get out of the life they are living, but can't?  Absolutely.  Do I think that in one of the most unselfish moments of their lives they decide their children deserve better, even if that means giving them away?  Oh my goodness, yes.

In a perfect world we wouldn't need to care for other mothers' children.  But we know this is not a perfect world.  And whether you know it or not, Mamas, we see you.  We love you.  We wish we could have found a way to support and love you and help you take care of your own children but we promise we won't let them be alone.  We will take care of your children.  We won't let you down.  We won't let the toughest choice you have ever had to make, be made in vain.

Brave, brave, Mamas.

You Aren't Worth It

If you follow me on Instagram you know yesterday was a tough day.  And like most tough days, I seek out meaning in the hard things.  God has taught me a lot in the last two years about asking him questions that are hard.  Questions they didn't teach you to ask when you were growing up going to Sunday school.  Questions that most Christians avoid because they are afraid of the answers...or worse yet, no answer.

On my drive home from the hospital yesterday, I kept replaying the scene in my head over and over.  The sound of the hustle and bustle of doctors and nurses and moms going in and out of rooms.  Machines beeping.  The smell of bleach, as the cleaning lady had just finished mopping the floor.  A faint smell of coffee that one of the moms was drinking.  In my head, I was avoiding looking in his crib.  To feel the weight of that pain all over again.  To remember the heaviness in my stomach as I listened to the neurosurgeon talk us through his complications.  There were times during the conversation I tuned him out - I couldn't help but let my mind wander to the worst.  And as I held my little Baby A I asked myself the hard question: "Why am I even here?"

It may surprise you that the question rolled around in my head; believe me, it surprised me too.  But as I looked at this precious baby sleeping in my arms I knew it was a question I have struggled with since I met him two months ago.

You see, I have no obligation to be there with him.  From a ministry standpoint, it doesn't even totally make sense.  Children's Services has already told us we can't take him home.  We aren't registered as a "disabled baby orphanage."  I am also not a nurse.  I have no training in caring for a child born with hydrocephaly.  Plus, it's an hour of driving to only be able to be with him for two hours.  Believe me, I've used these arguments with myself when I struggled to not want to go to the hospital.

But there is always this pull.  A thought in the back of my mind.  If I don't go see him, who will?  If I don't go hold him, who will?  If I don't change his diaper and change his sheets and feed him, who will?  If I don't pray over him, who will?  If I don't show him with my actions and my words that he is worth it, who will?

It changes everything...those two words.  Worth it.  Is it worth it?  Is he worth it?  Is he worth the sacrifice of time?  Is he worth the emotional turmoil I feel when I hold him and when I have to leave him?  Is he worth sleepless nights trying to figure out how to get him home?  Because ultimately, all of these things we face everyday, all of the opposition, all of the tough situations, all of the painful circumstances that involve people we love and people we don't even know, all come down to one thing:  Are they worth it?

I first learned about worthiness from my parents when they found out my Mom was pregnant with my sister, Abbey.  After a simple prenatal test, it was discovered that Abbey would be born with Down Syndrome.  That day the doctor asked my mom when she wanted to schedule the termination of pregnancy.  My mom politely told her that because of her belief in God and her belief that Abbey is not a mistake she would be continuing with her pregnancy.  For the first five years of Abbey's life, my mom practically had to hold her every night, propped up against the wall, so that Abbey could breathe to sleep.  She had many bouts with respiratory illness and we almost lost her an several occasions.  Countless hours in physical therapy, occupational therapy and doctors appointments.  We received ridicule from many people, our friends would call her a retard and kids made fun of her at school.  But for those that took the time, even though sometimes it was hard and often uncomfortable for them to get to know our Abbey, they showed her, and us, that they understood she was worth it.  That even though she was different than them, had to do things differently, saw things differently - it made her even more worth it, not less.

So as I asked myself the hard question sitting in a public hospital holding a sick baby that wasn't even mine, Jesus responded to my question with his own..."Is he worth it?"  Because ultimately, this question that Jesus is asking all of us is about much more than a sick baby in a hospital.  This is just as much about a drug addict, a Muslim, a struggling single mom, a refugee from Syria, a homosexual, a Trump supporter or a Sanders supporter, an autistic boy, a family on welfare, an illegal immigrant, an abortion doctor, a soldier or a missionary in a foreign country.  The thing that connects all of these types of people is that they are worth it.  They are worthy of your friendship.  They are worthy of you knowing their story.  They are worthy of a seat at your dinner table.  They are worthy of the sacrifice of your time to be with them.  They are worthy of a fair chance to be educated.  They are worthy of love, care and affection.  They are worthy to be told they are worthy, that they are worth it.

Somehow, as Believers, we have mixed up Jesus' message.  None of this is about us.  It's not about our schedule or our routine or our career or our ten-year plan.  It's about showing this hurting world that they are worthy to be loved and that they are treasured by a Savior who died for them before they were even born.

It took a sick little baby to show me exactly what Jesus has been trying to show me my entire life.  I am complicated and obsessive compulsive and selfish and irrational and sinful; but I am worth it.  And so is Baby A.  And so are you.

Let's stop telling people whom we may not understand, "You aren't worth it."  And lets start doing the uncomfortable and the seemingly impossible to show them that they are.

We have a new runner!

We are so excited to WELCOME JENNIFER TO THE "I RUN FOR HOPE" RUNNING TEAM!!!!

"I am running for Hope house to help raise funds to get orphans the care they so desperately need sooner than later. This is a tangible way for me to make a commitment to Hope House and the orphans of the Dominican. I am not naturally a runner so I feel this is a way to for me to not only accomplish a 5k, but as I am training it is a way for me to remember the Braisteds and Hope house during my runs."

Jennifer will be running Capturing Hopes 5K in Winston Salem, NC, on May 8th, 2016.

If you are interested in joining our team, please e-mail Amanda at amanda@hopehouseintl.org or click on the "i Run for Hope" tab above for more information.

Baby Luis

 

I've avoided writing this post for a week and a half.  Partly because I was really hoping the circumstances would suddenly change.  And partly because I'm still just kind of in disbelief.

I showed up a week ago Sunday afternoon to the hospital to care for this sweet little bundle.  Life events with our family kept me from visiting him on Friday like I had planned, Saturday was Emi's birthday so the earliest I could go was that Sunday. 

I walked into his room so ready to squeeze his little body and give him kisses - only to find his crib empty.  To say I was shocked is a vast understatement.  At first I looked at his little cabinet to see if his stuff was still there and maybe the nurses had taken him to run tests or to bathe him.  But everything was gone.  Some of the other moms saw my discombobulated demeanor and began to tell me the story.

Conani had found his birth mother after three weeks of searching for her.  The other mothers said she walked in the room, visibly pregnant with yet another baby, like a toddler throwing a fit because they had to do something they didn't want to do.  She started bagging up his belongings (which weren't even his, they were all donated items) and complaining that Conani "made" her come get him because she has a responsibility to uphold.  She slung him over her shoulder, grabbed the plastic bag and marched out of the room.  Not a word to anyone.  The moms said she didn't even say a single "thank you" to any of them who have helped care for him over the past month after she abandoned him there.

As you could imagine, I was angry.  I was sad.  I was disappointed.  I walked out to my van and cried.  That sweet baby boy, so many confusing things have happened to him in his 10 weeks of life.  And now, I couldn't even ensure his safety from here on out.  I yelled at God.  I mean, goodness, how could THIS be in your plans?

My anger has subsided but I think of him every morning.  There's an empty corner in our room where we prepared a place for his crib to go.  And it dawns on me heavily that this is the life we have committed to.  The beautiful stories of redemption that are yet to come -- but also the stories and heartaches that make absolutely no sense to my human heart.

Last night, I read in Jesus Calling:

"During times of severe testing, even the best theology can fail you if it isn't accompanied by experiential knowledge of Me (God)."

I am grateful that God has taken us on this journey that has often been lonely, trying, heart-breaking, and difficult.  It has solidified our beliefs in a just God but more than that He has allowed these tough situations to give us first-hand knowledge of his faithfulness.

Luis and Gilverson and Regina and Sara -- they may be our first encounters of an unjust world but they most certainly won't be the last.  We have seen the mighty works of our Father.  We know His heart for children.  Therefore we trust in His faithfulness even when we don't understand the outcome.

Weakness of Mine

A couple of months back a friend wrote me an email.  She is a good friend, an honest friend, and she constantly points me toward Jesus.  It was shortly after we lost Gilverson, an abandoned baby I had been caring for for three months.  Mike and I had finally decided that we would try and adopt him and when we went to talk with Children's Services about it, they informed us they had sent him to an orphanage in Santo Dominigo.  I was completely crushed.  I had been guarding my heart with him for the months I cared for him in the hospital, knowing full well he wasn't mine, but still wanting to love him the best I could.  I finally gave in to hope when Mike told me that he would be interested in adopting him if they would let us.  God had aligned all the signs.  Would we actually be bringing this baby I loved so much, home with us?

Some depression sank in and I felt a very deep sadness.  It actually kind of shocked me, the profound way I had grown to love a baby that didn't share a single gene of mine.  Either way, many people had been following the journey with me and I posted the sad news on Instagram.



It was shortly after that post that I received the email from my friend.  She had been approached by someone else who had seen my devastated post on Instagram, to which the person proceeded to ask, "If she was so devastated over this ONE baby that she had cared for, does she have what it takes to run an orphanage where there are hundreds more just like him?"

When I first read the words, I'll admit, I was mad.  Not at my friend who was just the messenger of the posed question, and not really even at the person who asked the question.  I was mad that I had let myself be so vulnerable to people "out there" following us on this journey.  Up until I met Gilverson, I was positive, encouraging and maybe even a little peppy on all of my posts.  I didn't want people to see the difficult parts of this road - Satan constantly tries to lead me to believe people don't support weak missionaries.  But that is who I am and have always been.  Maybe not weak in the way the dictionary describes it or the way bullies use it, but I am in fact, weak.

Since I was a small child absolutely everything bothered me.  I cried over everything from Disney movies to dead butterflies.  I could walk in on an emotional commercial and only see the very end of it and sob as if they were speaking of a dear loved one.  When friends hurt me in school, I could hardly pull myself together enough to go.  When boyfriends broke my heart, I was completely inconsolable.  It's just who I was, and am.  I always, always, always saw my tender heart as a curse.  I've had to work really hard to convince myself that being this way was the way God made me, and that my crying, weak, inconsolable soul had a purpose.

Then here I was, a grown woman, who had had her heart ripped out and somebody saw my weakness once again.  It wasn't even like they had to dig very deep to see it, either.  I put it out there, for literally the whole world to see.  What was I thinking...

A couple of mornings ago, I could feel my weakness taking hold of me again.  A plethora of circumstances over the past two weeks had finally taken a toll.  I was practically begging God to make me tougher.  To make my heart more durable.  To change it from flesh, back to stone.  And to no surprise at all, He answered me:

"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'  Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weakness, so that Christ's power may rest on me.  That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weakness, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties.  For when I am weak, then I am strong."  -2 Corinthians 12:9-10

God's power is made perfect in my weakness.  My tender, constantly breaking heart is made perfect through God's power.  Ultimately, it doesn't change the fact that there are just some days -- some things I see, some cases I know of, some children who are suffering -- and my weak heart can't take it.  That as I sob holding a child who's mother chose to leave him in a hospital bed, God is working to transform my tears into love's redemptive power.

So if someone were to ask me, to my face, if I am "cut out" for this kind of work, my response would be simple:  No, I am not.  I am not ready to, every day, see children who have been abandoned by people they thought loved them.  I am not prepared to hold a baby who has never felt the loving arms of another human being before.  I can't fathom the hurt and pain and suffering that the kids who walk through our doors are going to know.  But that doesn't mean I don't kneel down in the trenches with them, hold them, cry with them and spend sleepless nights praying over them.  For where I am weak, He is strong.  And soon, many children will be depending on that very weakness of mine.