This is an easy one......

I think part of my "writing" problem is being overwhelmed with the idea that I would have to think of something "new" every day.
It freaks me out.
This hour will be easy, not an easy topic mind you, just one I am familiar.


I really don't have a clue why I stopped to talk to her, but I am aware I broke some rules.
Unspoken ones of course.
It wasn't until I lived in Haiti that I came to really pay attention to those who are homeless.
I don't know that I thought Haiti had any homeless people.
When I was visiting, I was so overwhelmed and everyone seemed poor and homeless as far as I was concerned.
If I had my way, I was going to take every single kid out of that God forsaken country for one big do over.
(For this, and many other ways of thinking, I would find myself having to repent.)
Who knew working people on the streets tended to dress in nothing more than rags.

It took me awhile to really learn the rhythm and flow of the streets.
It has a language all it's own.
There are layers and layers.
There is a wrong way and a right way.
Some are easy, others will NEVER make sense.
The common denominator seems to be survival, survival comes in many different packages.
It seems to me the only way you can really hear is to say anything.

Not everyone dresses in rags.
As a matter a fact, if not working, most people take great pride in their clothes and in looking nice, wearing perfectly pressed, and sometimes, dry cleaned clothing.
In a world where you can't control anything, it makes perfect sense to me.

As for mental illness, there just isn't a place for such a thing.
So, when in fact, you really do see it, it tends to be really sad.
There is no question that mental illness played a powerful role in the choices made, or not made, by the Deli Mart Lady.
Medication, another language.
AIDS and mental illness have their own scarlet letter.
No words needed.
These are things the world can't fix with a band-aid.

There is another another unspoken language on the streets of Haiti.
Everyone knows everyone, yet no one knows anything.
No one sees "them", but everyone knows what "they" are doing or where "they" are.
This is the rule I broke.
I stopped and talked to her.
Looking back, it seems to me that everyone was taking care of her, but no one was.
She was homeless woman who had hundreds of children to keep an eye on her everyday.
God is funny that way.
She was considered "forbidden and unclean" but she was theirs.
I crossed the line, I was feeding her and talking to her in the middle of the day and I was taking her picture.
I am sure it was the later that was the real problem.
It was the picture.
The shame.
For this I am sorry, I meant no harm.

As I scanned the "Live Feed" on Facebook to see what was up.
I got to Beth's status update....
The homeless lady who camped out in front of our gate died. Makes me incredibly sad - like she was part of our Haiti family. We would often hear her singing hymns in Creole - she refused shelter but took food. She liked Sheila and liked Jesus - that's a win, win!

I was sick.
Honestly, I couldn't move.
My heart was sick.
I loved her!
Why? I am not sure why?
I had so many questions.
I wished I could pick up the phone to call Beth.
Think, what was her number?

Soon after we left Haiti the Deli Mart Lady moved to John and Beth's gate.
Beth said, it was my fault, but I think she knew Beth would be kind to her.
I loved seeing the little updates from Beth every once and awhile.
I asked her to give her cookies for me.

I would be lying if I didn't tell you that I wanted to fix her and make her come to sewing school and stop all this nonsense.
Stop collecting bags of stuff carrying them back and forth, even tying them to her small frame unable to stand with the weight.
Stop sitting in piles of trash.
She needed to take a bath.
Yet, I often noticed someone had cared enough to do her hair, sometimes she was beautiful.
She was cooking with tiny bits of charcoal next to the car catcher full of trash.
I worried that she would be sick or sicker.
I wanted her to sleep in clean white sheets, sit at a table with flowers and be loved by a family.

I learned an unspoken language from her.
I pray she learned something from me, maybe she thought I was the crazy one!