{rice, beans & love}

"The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet" – Frederick Buechner

the expansion is finished

It’s finished, you guys.

The expansion. It’s complete.

The foundation is poured. The walls lay high. The rafters crisscross and the roof provides all the shade. There’s the outdoor patio and the office with so much space. There’s the extra storage room and a huge island in the middle of the kitchen where salsa magic happens.

It’s a dream that I get to walk into each day.

I can remember the day I launched this crazy idea of salsa & greeting cards & more space into the world. I had no idea how to raise $100k. I had no idea what I was really getting myself into at all.

But, I took the leap and I dreamt big and prayed bigger.

These magical, honestly kind folks rallied in my corner. On a summer’s eve last June, so many people walked into the Rosie’s in Rock Rapids, Iowa. They looked at floor plans and budgets and tasted our mango salsa. It was then that I knew God was going to do it A L L. The money started coming in and more people came rallying into our corner. Friends raised money over Facebook, another friend wrote a blog, others cheered us on from afar and others traveled all the way to Haiti to see this project through.

In Haiti, things take years. Literally. No project is ever done efficiently, effectively, or economically. It’s the opposite of our very efficient American mindsets. But, this expansion project could not have happened any more quickly. From the day the stakes for the foundation were set, there was no turning back. And I have to believe Satan was too afraid to even come close and try to disrupt the insanity of it all. Everything went so well. Sure, there were frustrations, miscommunications and hiccups, but nothing that ever truly set us back.

T O D A Y.

Today, Rosie’s is employing four Salsa Sisters. Now that we have a real kitchen and space to work out of, we hope to see this business grow quickly and employ more. Rosie’s greeting cards is providing jobs to eight other mamas. We have two boutique employees, a cleaning lady and a boutique manager, who helps me oversee salsa and card production.

Gertrude. Genese. Anise. Rosie.

Malette. Marie Maude. Juliette. Marie Marthe. Marilene. Mamoune. Guerline. Lenise.

Daphne. Christella. Elyse. Hermanie.

These women gathered together on opening day and we worshiped and prayed together on our front patio. They all signed contracts – not a single one of them have ever done so in their lives. And, they all have the opportunity to care for their families with dignity because of their jobs.


I hope this list of employees only continues to grow. I hope we can continue investing into other companies by consistently purchasing their goods. Just in the last two months, we added three more companies to our boutique. I hope we can continue this conversation of orphan prevention and be brave enough to stand up for the injustices all around us.

I hope this place…this expansion…is a light in our community, a safe place for long-term missionaries, a highlight for visitors on their trips, and a business that changes the course of people’s future.

May people find their way through our doors and leave hopeful. Hopeful for a brighter future. Hopeful for a better Haiti. Hopeful for a better world.

Our purchases, our lifestyles, our choices are what will change the world. Choose wisely, friends.

Love from a grateful and humbled dreamer,



to the oval office

I can understand how some one might look at the country of Haiti and label it as a “shithole” – the moment you land here in the heart of Port-au-Prince, the smell of burning garbage, the loud noises of traffic, the intense heat and the sight of extreme poverty will overwhelm your senses. If you’re the arrogant, egotistical and narcissistic type, you’ll surely only be able to see shit and label it for what it seems: a shithole.

But, if you’re lucky enough, you’ll come to Haiti and have the opportunity to be a part of Haiti’s story, which is written with so much strength and fortitude. You’ll have to first jump off the high horse you so arrogantly ride, but if you’re courageous enough to do so, you’ll see people whose stories are full of redemption, resilience and spirit. You’ll be nothing short of breathless and inspired.

I have been thinking about the President in the Oval Office because of his recent comments and my heart aches for him a bit, actually. It must be so lonely up “at the top” where nothing but power and money and ego reside. There must just be a point where people “at the top” – not just the president, but all leaders, political or not – can no longer climb up, so they feel they have the right to only look down and degrade. They’re so small themselves, wayyyy up there, they need to make everyone below them feel small, too. I can’t fathom the amount of entitlement they must feel. Although we are expected to make it to the top, I imagine it’s probably a horrible place to be, because it’s the only reason I can come up with that would make a person so miserable to want to say such horrible things. I don’t know what else would motivate such constant hate and negativity.

To be in power and to have so much control, it must be overwhelming. To have so much money and come from such a prestigious place, it must create such a prideful environment. Seriously, think about how toxic it must be to all those around? The darkness. Ugh, it’s so deeply troubling and saddening.

I have been thinking about what it would be like to sit in the Oval Office and have a conversation with the President of the United States and I don’t even know where I would begin. I would more than likely just sit there with tears in my eyes, but I hope I would eventually become brave enough to tell him about my life.

A life full of so many incredible experiences…really, daily experiences…where I’m humbled and privileged to live and work in a country he claims to be a “shithole”. I would tell him about all the beautiful people I serve and the ones whose lives were taken too early due to natural disasters, illness and starvation. I would tell him how I’m a stronger, more beautiful person because I’ve had the chance to live in a place he will more than likely never have the audacity to visit. I would hope to have the strength to tell him about the really hard days, where the problems seem unsolvable and the hardship feels too unbearable. I would also hope that my faith would be strong enough to tell him about the incredible opportunity I have to look up and out with faith, to a God who sees it all.

I also hope I could bear witness to him about the Jesus I know. I would tell him about my Jesus who dwelled with the sick and poor, who built no walls, and who welcomed all. I would hope that Jesus’s message of grace would soften the president’s heart and allow him the opportunity to see people for who they are. I would hope that he would begin to see past color and status and religion and nationality and start to see people as humans…for from ashes we are all formed and to ashes we will all return.

Really, I’m trying to understand what it must be like to be you, Mr. President. Maybe you’ve never been shown grace. Maybe you’ve never had the chance to experience real joy. Maybe your life has been built on earthly things that you’ve never had the real opportunity to experience true love. Maybe you’re so wounded inside that all you can give the world is pride and hate. I don’t know. I pray for you today, though, Mr. President.

I also invite you. I invite you to my home in Haiti. First you will meet the most incredible Haitian man who has forged a way for the people of his community. He’s my husband and some day I hope he will also be an American citizen. After meeting him, you’ll have the chance to meet my three adopted kids who have incredible stories of survival. They too have dreams of living in America and getting their educations there. I hope you won’t be the person to take that away from them. Then you’ll meet my Rubie, who has a white mama and a black papa and is nothing but a light to this dark world.

I’ll take you on a walk through the village, where you’ll meet the kindest of souls. I will ask my friends if we can be invited into their homes, where I know they will offer you a chair and a cold Coke. You won’t imagine the blessing it is to receive gifts from people who have literally no material possessions. We can venture to the mountains and I’ll watch as your breath will be taken away by the views. We can spend time at the beaches and as we head back to my home I will be sure to take you to the local markets, where you won’t even be able to the fathom the work ethic of the Haitian people. Their strength to provide for their families will leave you speechless.

Mr. President, I invite you to have your world shattered. I invite you to step down from your pedestal and come see these people, face-to-face. I invite you to be ruined, only to be redeemed with hope. I invite you, knowing you’ll experience a joy that only Haiti can offer.

I’ll encourage you to reconsider your words and think about all that Haitians (and so many other people from other developing countries) have to offer the United States. Their work ethic. Their ingenuity. Their beauty. It would be an honor for the United States to welcome so many of these people. I get there’s a place for screening and applications and interviews for visas, but let’s shine some light on all the things these people have to offer!

Lastly, I would end with the story about January 12, 2010. I had just finished spending a week in the hospital with my mother, who battled an acute case of Hepatitis A, which she had contracted in Haiti. As a 19-year-old, I faced the decision to be screened as a possible liver donor if it came my mom needing a transplant. I watched people pray over her in the hospital room and I watched Jesus heal her. I watched doctors tell my mom that a transplant would no longer be needed and they had no medical reasoning for her dramatic healing. I remember sitting in the hospital hotel’s room with my dad as he told me that if I wanted to believe in good, I also needed to believe in evil. I could no longer be the same person as God performed the most beautiful of miracles to save my mom. My mom should have been in Haiti during the earthquake that devastated Haiti, but instead she was in a hospital. She was suppose to be visiting a little boy she had rescued from an orphanage the month before. We will never be able to explain it, but God’s always had his hand on our story.

I believe in miracles, Mr. President. I also believe your heart and the Oval Office are in need of one. I think evil is reigning in that place and I pray for the Holy Spirit to storm in and take it back. May all things be redeemed according to His good and perfect will.

my christmas wish

I just spent three weeks in the America. Bless it.

America has all the goods, but it also has this incredible numbing power over me. I get trapped in the aisles of Target, thinking I need all of it but knowing I don’t. I walk the hallways of the mall, now filled with holiday vendors and find myself wanting to buy all of it when I simply came into the mall to help my mom pick out a pair of new glasses and eat Chinese from the food court (it’s my ultimate guilty pleasure while Stateside!)

As a graphic designer myself, I can’t even handle all the pretty packaging and store fronts. It is so pretty, you just want to buy it all. And at Christmas time, it’s all the more enticing. Don’t even get me started on my trip through Bath and Body works.

Literally, the only reason I don’t buy it all (minus the fact I can’t actually afford it all) is that every time I reach to buy something off the shelf that I do not need, I can hear my mother’s voice in my head saying, “and how do you expect to get all of that back in a suitcase?” Valid point, mother. Fine, I won’t buy it.

Two fifty-pound suitcases fill up quick!

But, that’s not the point. My point is I’m back in Haiti, coming off the high of an over-stayed trip in Americaaaa. Side note: I had strange sores all over my hands upon my arrival in the States and my doctor thought it was leishmaniasis, (google it for yourself, it’s a real thing) so after a biopsy and two weeks of waiting for negative test results I unexpectedly got to enjoy over-stimulating Christmas shopping for two whole extra weeks.

So, here I am…back.

Yesterday, a ten-year-old was brought to the orphanage. Her mom leaves her at home, naked in the dirt on a daily basis. She has clubbed feet, doesn’t walk and has never gone to school a day in her life. We’re considering placing her in the orphanage. And, I just keep asking God why he continues to bring children who can’t walk into my life? Like, what’s up, God?

I was handed a list of needs for the Starfish program as we will be graduating ALL of the women in the program next month. We are looking to refocus the purpose of the program and the only way I feel we can do that is to start from scratch. Some of the women in the program have been around for 2+ years. It’s time. But, with that I asked them all to write what’s the biggest need they still have. Ten of them asked for new homes. Ten of them still don’t have safe shelter.

There’s an opportunity coming our way to employ a few women and so I asked the other two Haitian women who help run the Starfish program who we should consider employing. And, how do we even choose? Lumane has 7 children and needs a job. Viginie lives with an abusive boyfriend and a job may be a way out for her. Eglitha just had a newborn and needs a job, too. Then there’s Carmesuze and Rosier, too. Don’t forget Calix, she’s trying to feed her five babies, too.

Oh, let’s not forget that I still have unpaid fees at schools for Starfish kids, too.

So, here’s my Christmas wish: I simply want to meet the needs of my neighbors. The needs of my mamas and the needs of the people who come looking to us for hope. 

We can be the hope this year.

Guys…here’s my point. And, I’m going to be blunt…you’ve already got it all. If you have a job that allows you to pay your bills and a vehicle to transport you, you’re so well-off. If your kids have clothes on their back and a bed, where you have the honor to tuck them into every night, you’ve got more than you’ll ever know. If your kids get to go to school and be in extra-curricular activities and if you have a doctor to bring them to when they’re sick, you’re killing it as a parent. If the rain falls and you don’t have to think twice about getting wet, you’re so fortunate. If you never go to bed hungry or never have to worry about where your food will come from the next day, you’ve hit the jackpot. If you’ve ever said the words, “I don’t know what I want for Christmas…there’s nothing the kids really need this year…”

Guys, you just don’t even know how good you’ve got it.

I always feel this way around the holidays. Giving gifts is fun. I love gifting people, it’s probably why I’m in this line of work to begin with. Today, in fact, I got news that a mama who makes greeting cards for Rosie’s gave birth to a healthy set of twins last week, and it literally felt like Christmas. I filled a whole bag full of new onesies and blankets for the babies. Giving gifts is a blessing, simple as that. I love buying special things for the special people in my life. There’s nothing wrong with gift-giving. But, I just feel like there should be more to it than just giving stuff.

What if we said to our kids, instead of gifts you don’t need anyways, we are going to sponsor kids to go to school? What if we don’t do family gifts and build a family in Haiti a house this year? What if we challenge our workplaces to giving money instead of spending so much money on a holiday party? What if our schools collected money this year instead of doing a pizza party? I don’t know, it doesn’t have to be extravagant, but what if we just started a conversation and it led to something different…

Friends, I write with hope…and with a pit in my stomach, because there’s this urgency when I face the needs…that we can be the light this year. Our givings can snowball into something so much bigger than ourselves. Our intentional giving this holiday season can be so much more…

As you gather with your loved ones for Thanksgiving in two days, take in all that you have. So much more than you’ll ever need. Have hard conversations with your loved ones and dare to do something different this year. Dare to be the difference for a life, a kid, a family in Haiti.

Let’s be the hope. Let us bring heaven to earth.


Make a donation to Touch of Hope with a memo: christmas wish

and we will be sure it makes a difference in Haiti



this week alone

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.


a miracle in the mess

This story starts a year ago when I met Marie Maude: a 22-year-old, homeless mama pregnant with her third child. I was 7 months pregnant at the time and boy, did my heart break for her. We quickly admitted her into the Starfish program, found her housing and reunited her with her two beautiful girls who had been living with their grandma.


Marie Maude a year ago with her vibrant daughter, Nedgie and her little shy daughter, Esther

I left for the States to go on my own maternity leave and prayed for a sweet reunion with Marie Maude and her baby upon my return to Haiti with my own new baby. Unfortunately, Marie Maude lost her little one during labor, but I still returned to find a hopeful, young mama.

Several months later Marie Maude started working with me at Rosie’s making our gift cards and this lady is full of sass and joy. Her little shy Esther now gives me lots of kisses and the two girls will start school up on the mountaintop this fall!


Marie Maude, in the hat, proudly working with Juliette

Yesterday a twenty-one year old mama with a tiny, malnourished 19-month-old babe stood before me after Starfish had dismissed. Some of the women were still hanging out under the gathering space at Tytoo and this woman not only caught my attention, but their’s too. First, my always rambunctious friend, Filane, who is a mentor to the Starfish program, started asking her questions as we noticed just how little and sick this sweet baby was. She clung tightly to her mama as the mama would tell us we should take the child and put her in the orphanage. Quick to respond, Filane said, “Oh! Don’t you see how much this baby loves you! She needs you the most!”

Quickly other women would gather around us and before I knew it they all had a plan to take care of her. Some volunteered to make a special meal for the child, another went to the back kitchen and made them a plate of food and lastly, Marie Maude volunteered to house her.

My entire heart just about exploded.

This is it, people: if we empower one, how quickly they will be able to turn around and empower others. I whispered to God then, “is this what it’s suppose to look like…the gospel? Your kingdom coming to earth? Is this what you meant when you told us to take care of the widow and the sick? To take them in, just like that?”

I suppose it is. I suppose when you stop and just let the Holy Spirit work, He will indeed work and miracles will happen. Even in the mess, the really ugly mess of it all, miracles still get to happen.

This was my miracle yesterday and boy, am I clinging tight to it.

I’ve been somewhat drowning in the mess of life lately. Yesterday alone the security guard at Tytoo turned away nine women. All nine of them I’m sure having valid reasons to come talk to me. All of them desperate for some type of help. But, I just couldn’t face another need. This alone – the needs out side the gate – can kill ya and burden ya and wear ya down to just about nothing, but a sweet friend reminded me with these words just when I needed them most: “Remember that God is ultimately the one responsible for His children, don’t try to carry the burden. You can be part of the story, as God calls and allows, but don’t try to carry God’s responsibilities.” So, with those wise words, I moved forward with my day.

The needs of the twenty-two women in Starfish alone yesterday was enough to face as we prepare to register and send their combined sixty-eight kiddos to school in a month. But, the one who I allowed through the gate yesterday, showed me that God must have already set her and her babe apart, because it seemed all so ordained. I didn’t have to do anything. My sisters in Christ were there to ask all the questions and take care of all her needs; all I had to do was show up, love them and meet them in the mess.

Before going home at the end of the day, I stopped to see Afaina and her mama in their new place, making sure they were okay with the new living arrangements. A large bag from market full of food had been delivered, Marie Maude and another women in the community had already begun mopping and preparing a room for them and most sweetly of all, Afaina smiled at me and let me hold her. Boy, is it going to be sweet being a part of her story and loving on this precious child of God.


Love from Haiti,


waiting while He works: Rosie’s expansion project

Friends, I’m going to be honest. I’ve been scheming and searching and wrestling with the words I want to string together to tell you where I’m at these days. But, I’m so all over the place, it seems nearly impossible. But, I need to write. I need to get our needs out there.

So, here’s the deal. God’s at work. He’s so at work, in fact, that I can barely stand it. But, He’s also making me wait. And, in this season of waiting, I can’t find the words to say.

There’s a movement happening in the Starfish program. We are beginning to discuss what it would look like to completely revamp this program. I don’t have the final details yet, but God’s working on it.

There are three women who come to my house each week and we whip together some pretty awesome salsa. The word about this awesome salsa is starting to get out and people actually want it! I can’t grow this business until God shows up and gives me money to build Rosie’s expansion.

Photo on 7-27-17 at 11.22 AM

As I type this out, three women are working behind me, finishing up the gift cards we are making through Rosie’s. We are crammed in a small back room at Rosie’s, but we are working and there’s worship music playing and it’s beautiful. We have been selling our cards like crazy, but we seriously need more space. This morning a friend stopped by to buy cards and two of the women greeted her and cheered her on as she picked out cards. These women are so happy to be working. God, make space for our dreams.

I sat in the office at Tytoo this last Tuesday with a 21-year-old mama and her 18-month-old babe. Both of them were severely malnourished and I could see it in her eyes how distressed she was. I asked her why she came to talk to me and she told me how the father to the baby just recently died in a car accident and she didn’t know what else to do. She said she just knew she needed to come. All I could provide her on Tuesday was some food, but I told her to come back. She’s gotta come back and I’ve got to believe that God will show up for this one. He’ll make a way.

Philippians 4:19 reminded me how God will supply all of our needs, according to His glorious riches. And if this promise is true for me – how He will meet all of my needs – then it must be true for this mama too. And all the other mamas.

I rock my sweet babe Rubie to sleep after a frantic Haiti-day and I just sit there and cannot fathom what it must be like to not be able to rock your baby sound asleep, knowing his or her belly is full and the night ahead will be sound. I just cannot fathom it.

I know God wants Haitians to have jobs. He wants there to be dignity in the way we walk and in the way we work. There shouldn’t have to be brothels where women sell their bodies so their babies can eat. There shouldn’t be institutions where babies are left and abandoned – separated from their mamas – just so they can eat.

And, so while I cannot fathom it or comprehend it, I know God does. He’s just and He’s making a way for mamas. He’s setting our hearts on fire and giving us such ridiculous ideas to pave a way for more jobs and less babies in orphanages. He’s doing this through Rosie’s and through so many other beautiful companies that I get to partner with here in Haiti. He’s allows me to keep looking these women in the eyes. It’s the hardest thing I do, but it keeps this fire inside me so very alive. Their desperation moves me to action and I just plead that you would join me and move with me. That we would work towards a day where less mamas come knocking on the gate, desperate for help, but instead get to rise each morning, knowing they have a job to go to and get to walk there with dignity. Proud to support their babies and send them to school.

There’s got to be a way to break this cycle of poverty and I believe it begins here: job creation.


blue print for Rosie’s expansion

Rosie’s Boutique currently employs two girls who have transitioned out of Tytoo Gardens orphanage. They help run the boutique and serve our teams. Rosie’s employs Elyse, a mother to six, who comes and cleans the boutique twice a week. Rosie’s employs seven women through its gift card collection and we are looking for more boutiques and gift shops to sell our cards. Shoot me an email if you know anyone interested in selling our cards! Lastly, Salsa Sisters is operated under Rosie’s effort to create jobs and is currently employing three women.

Rosie’s expansion is a dream to allow Rosie’s boutique to grow and to continue reaching and employing more mamas through our all of the above efforts.


the Salsa Sisters team!

Our goal is to raise $100,000 for Rosie’s expansion. We have the first $25,000 raised + we have finished purchasing the land in Haiti where we will build the expansion. We are now looking for 75 people to come together and commit to raising or giving $1,000 each to meet our goal. If we join hands, I know this goal will be met. I pray for hearts to be moved, knowing this is God’s work and He’s got it!

If you would like to DONATE to Rosie’s expansion today, click HERE to donate through PayPal *please add a Rosie’s expansion in the “add special instructions” box*

or send donation to

Touch of Hope
205 Old Mill Lane
Rock Rapids, Iowa 51246

*memo: Rosie’s expansion*

If you would like to be one of the seventy-five people commited to raising or giving $1,000 towards the expansion, please fill out the form below so we can keep track of the commitments!

Downloadable PDF about Salsa Sisters and our card collection, please share and help us spread the word!

rosies cards

salsa sisters

Love from Haiti,


five years and a harvest

This week, I celebrate – not sure if that’s the right word, actually – five years in Haiti. It feels like yesterday when I packed all my knit Old Navy skirts into a suitcase and said I was going to be a missionary. I laugh at those skirts now as the Haitians think I’m actually more Haitian because I wear jeans every day. I was so naïve then. This place, it has taught me so much. So damn much.

I can’t fully grasp it, actually. It’s been five years.


I don’t know why that feels so heavy. I guess you grow up living in the world around you and one day God calls you away from that world and into a whole new one. You never intend to stay there forever, because it’s not the world you’re familiar with. But, here we are and forever doesn’t really seem that long anymore and I really begin to wonder: will I spend the rest of my years here?

I’ve learned a lot these past five years. Really, I’ve learned more than earning any college diploma could have taught me. Really, there’s a part of my soul that still wants to be twenty-one and in college again. I made some of my best friends there and made some incredible memories in college – none of them including class. I would pay so much to go back to my old college apartment to only wake up to my roommates in the morning and die laughing on the floor as we talk about the funny things we did the night before.

But, the reality is that I’ve officially lived in Haiti longer than I went to college. It’s weird.

I wish I could say I’ve become an expert on Haiti, but she’s truly a place that could never be fully captured or understood. Can a place of poverty and oppression and corruption ever truly be legitimized or defined?

I think what actually bothers me the most is that the longer I live here and the more I learn; my soul actually becomes more unrest. You would think it would be the opposite. You would think five years would have created some type of contentment or finished work. You would think five years of work would have by now paved a way towards justice and freedom. And while freedom has been found for some and stories of victory have been written, there’s always seventeen times more the workload.

I graduated five women from the Starfish program last month. Victories. Five of them. But, then the following week THIRTEEN women showed up to enroll and the week after that TWELVE more. For every victory, it feels like a boat washes ashore dumping vulnerable, at-risk, desperate mamas at my door. They’ve washed ashore, looking for relief and it only makes me like I’m drowning all the more.

I call home to my dad asking where we sit on finances for Starfish and housing and everything else. I’m overwhelmed by the needs and my voice cracks and I say, “we need more, dad.” We need more partners. We need more sponsors. We need more churches. What more can I do to make people realize just. how. desperate. we. are.

I want more victories. But, it’s funny how victories are becoming a catch-22 because when I graduate one, I have to decide off a list of SIXTY-FIVE, who will be next. I discern and say, “God, lead me.” And, so He leads me…

He recently led me down a dirt path. Inside the broken metal gate that simply locks from rusty nails folding together, I was offered a 5-gallon bucket to sit on. I would watch a 6-month pregnant woman converse with Mami Sarah (director of the Starfish program). I silently sat as she swatted a dirty t-shirt above her sleeping two-year-old boy, who innocently napped on a piece of worn cardboard. They talked for what seemed like hours as my world stood still.

“Five years,” was all I could think to myself.

You’ve been facing this misery for five years. When will it be over? All of the misery.

I felt super alone in that moment. I could feel Satan’s power in that place. How lonely these women must feel as the day drags out and relief from hunger and thirst never quite fully quenches them. How desperate they must feel as the night drags out even longer and they soothe their hungry babies to sleep. How the rain must make them shiver as it soaks all of their possessions. How it must. just. be. so. hard.

I’ve been looking this misery in the face for FIVE YEARS and I still. cannot. fathom. My heart. It’s so broken.

Just down the road from where I sit on this gallon, is an orphanage being built. I’ve been hearing stories of a Haitian pastor who is running it and an innocent white pastor in the States who is believing all stories from Haiti. I actually believe the pastor in the States has the best intentions, but for the pastor in Haiti it’s just a business. The orphanage is a business. That’s the reality.

And, this mama that we are talking to, well, she’s considering putting her baby in an orphanage once he or she is born. She’s not even ashamed to say it, but “that’s her only option,” she explains. I don’t know if it will be the orphanage just down the road or one of the other TWENTY orphanages that are up and running in a five-mile radius of me on this 5-gallon bucket.

The reality agonizes my soul. I’m so damn lonely on this bucket.

The scripture from Luke has been coming to mind a lot lately:

“For the harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few.”

And, I’m just like, YES.

So, here they are…the top five things (I believe) I have learned in the last five years:

  • I need people. I need American people. I need Haitian people. I need people who are like family and people who keep me accountable. I need people who let me be real. I’ve learned that it can be really hard to work with people in ministry. I’ve learned that people you try to help, people you respect, people you thought would be there for you for the long run, will all but turn around and try to take you down. But, I’ve learned and the community God has given me is beautiful.
  • Poverty is not a surface issue. In the beginning of this adventure, I thought I would be able to figure it out. And, I’ve come to the conclusion that I will never be able to. I won’t ever be able to comprehend the Miami airport only being a one and a half hour plane ride away from my reality and me on a 5-gallon bucket. I won’t. The world just shouldn’t be this way in 2017. Poverty is complicated, full of hurdles to overcome. Obviously, if it were easy, it wouldn’t exist.
  • God never changes but He is always revealing a new work in me. I’ve learned the need to be creative and innovative and to be a go-with-the-flow kind of soul person to do this work. If you come here with a flow chart and a defined purpose, it will fail. Your work in this realm of things should always be open to change. You should constantly be having conversations about change and be willing to change. Being a part of the conversation about job creation and orphanage prevention and ways to make that happen encourages me. For the past few decades the conversation has been about orphanage creation and handout institutions. The North American church and short-term mission mindset has allowed a culture of dependency on the white person and we have deemed it acceptable to put children – who have parents – into orphanages. This shouldn’t be. The conversation is shifting. I love that. If your heart isn’t open to change, I suppose you need a good heart-check with Bondye. I’m always asking God to soften my heart and open my eyes to His plans. His plans currently include salsa and babies being raised by their mamas; I’m humbled because He has entrusted me with these visions. I some days fear what else He will bestow unto me and ask of me, but, on the other hand, I can’t wait to see what else He will allow me to see and do.
  • Being a believer in Christ is not all it’s cracked up to be. Haiti didn’t really teach me that; life did. But, regardless, it’s hard. We really need to support and love each other more. Doing so on a deeper, more sincere level. But, we really need to be more serious about this commitment we make to Christ. If you claim to believe in Jesus, how are you being a part of the harvest?
  • THE HARVEST IS GREAT. We can all be a part of it. Whether it’s in our own backyard or across the ocean. There’s work to be done. I long for Jesus and I can’t wait for Him to return.

The woman who offered me her 5-gallon bucket to sit on in front of her tattered tent is named Eglita. She’s one of our newest admits to the Starfish Program. She’s broken my heart all over again. I’m anxious to get to the States and put together a newborn baby kit and help her welcome her baby, due in August. I’m praying that our efforts through the Starfish program will keep mom and baby together. I’m praying for people to come alongside us. I’m praying for workers.

For the harvest is great…

To say the last five years has been a ride would be an understatement. The Lord gave me the word steadfast last week. I wanted to through in the flag a few times last week and then He spoke steadfast.

I want to thank you all who have stood steadfast with me these last few years. Thank you to everyone who has said, “yes” to our efforts in Haiti and supported us. Thank you for changing and evolving with us. Thank you for being a part of the conversation and helping us create jobs through our efforts at Rosie’s boutique. Thank you for sponsoring kids at the school. Thank you for helping building houses and keeping families safe. Thank you. Thank you. I couldn’t have stood steadfast and endured this all without you all.

And while I could go on and on giving thanks, I also stop in my tracks, because there’s still so much work to be done. I’m so far from being finished asking for more. More sponsorships. More Starfish support. More houses to be built. Projects and expansions and visions to see fulfilled. All to give Him glory. Our work is so far from being done…

God, prepare their hearts. Send the workers. Open the gates. Let is rain. Holy, holy rain.

As always,

Love from Haiti.