this week alone

by Kayla Raymond

The alarm went off early Monday morning; I ran on the treadmill as the sun came up over the mountain behind me. Light began to shine across the still ocean and I began to make my mental “to-do” list for the week as my feet ran underneath me, taking me nowhere.

I’ve never been much of a runner. I threw the discus for the track team in high school; best way to get out of running, in my opinion. I inherited a treadmill from a friend last fall and I decided that maybe I would start to like running. I ran my first 5k this past summer, but still not sure I’m in love. I’ve been doing Jillian Michael workouts for the last four years, so the treadmill at least talks less than her (no offense Jillian, but I don’t necessarily feel at peace by the end of your work-outs!) There aren’t any gyms here and the idea of going out in public to work out also stresses me out, so the treadmill it is!

By the end of my Monday morning workout, I had a mental plan for the week and after a weekend off from all the hurricane drama; I was ready to take it on. Then, came reality.

This week alone…

I prayed over a friend who lost her husband Sunday evening. She is very sick as well and supposedly a “voodoo powder” was left at their doorstep and that’s what killed her husband. I have no scientific theory of what this powder is, except that I have a legitimate fear I may be burying my friend in the near future too if I don’t figure something out. She’s had blood work done and it all comes back negative. She wants to spend $150 on a medicine made by a “leaf doctor” but I’m not that quick to whip out cash to the leaf doctor.

FYI: voodoo doctors and leaf doctors are two completely separate things, I use to believe they were the same. Voodoo doctors use magic and witchcraft in their practices. A leaf doctor will use natural remedies (leaves and oils) in his practice.

Another woman who has diabetes was also critically sick over the weekend. We learned her caretaker “accidentally” gave her ten times the amount of insulin she needs and I now need to resolve this issue and potentially fire the caretaker. Someone broke into the orphanage and stole speakers that we use for church. We now have to consider letting a security guard go for not fulfilling all of his duties. A woman full on ugly cried to me because she couldn’t afford to send her child to school. Our school is at complete full capacity and unless I want my husband to divorce me, I cannot even consider putting another student in the school. I have zero extra dollars to help this woman.

I faced all of these issues by Monday afternoon.

By Wednesday my sister-in-law had her fifth miscarriage. Medical options were given to her, but for some reason she didn’t want them and has now lost another baby. I can’t even go into health care and illiteracy today, because…well, we would be here forever. It’s impossible, that’s all.

My heart hurts so deeply for her and I just want her to have a healthy baby.

By Wednesday night, I was gathered with a group of women and we talked about the “orphanage crisis” in Haiti and how the American church has done so much damage and how organizations run by people living in America can be so corrupt and how justice seems like such an impossible idea. Forgiveness? An even more impossible idea. How do you even fight for justice? How do you even face all of this?

I worked with my head down on Thursday, not even considering the amount of sorrow I’m dealing with for my Haitian sisters and brothers.  I burrow my head lower, realizing my to-do list isn’t going to get done if I sit around grieving. So, I work. I design invitations for a fundraiser that’s going to happen in November. I send out a budget to another person. I work on school sponsorship. I finalize orders for Rosie’s and then re-do displays at Rosie’s because as long as I’m busy, I won’t have to deal with all the emotional stuff.

But this week, this week alone, it is proving to me just how much of a marathon runner I actually am. Maybe I can’t run an actual marathon, but man, am I running some sort of emotional/spiritual one.

“I just honestly shouldn’t have to deal with all of this,” is what I pout and say to myself. How did people dying of voodoo and helping with their funerals become my reality? How are impossible medical cases in a system with no healthcare become my responsibility? How is it even possible that I am still moving forward in such a corrupt, ugly place?

I don’t write this for you to feel bad for me. I don’t write it for a pat on the back either. I write to tell you the truth, because the truth is hard most days. Facing the actual world is hard.

Tomorrow, I’m going out with some girlfriends to drink wine and get our nails done. I’ll probably cry to them and vent; it won’t make the situations go away, but I will more than likely feel better by the end of the day. So, see, you mustn’t feel sorry for me.

What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that this week alone was a test. It’s always a test, isn’t it?

Are we going to crumble under pressure or will we rise up?

Will we become paralyzed by bitterness and anger or will we move forward with grace?

Do we stop dreaming because the reality is too harsh or do we still get to dream up better tomorrows? What happens when we stop dreaming all together? I guess, I hope, I never know.

We’re all walking through hard things. Life doesn’t protect us from that. I just hope the hard doesn’t paralyze you or stop you or kill your dreams all together.

And, if you’re stuck, my advice is to hop on a treadmill. Just walk, if that’s all you can do. Talk with God on that treadmill. Tell him why you’re hurting. Tell him why you’re angry. Cry if you have to. He’ll show up in those early mornings. He always does.

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