This summer, Grace Children's Hospital hosted two young, ambitious women as Global Justice Volunteers: Kirsten Boone and Jamie Morgan. They were able to learn all about the hospital, start to learn the language, and create relationships with the staff and beneficiaries there. Kirsten Boone, while mostly working with Alberta Monpremier on Community Health, enjoyed stealing away to the inpatient ward to play with the children as often as she could. As many who have visited the hospital will understand, the children tend to steal your heart.
Kirsten kept a blog while she was in Port-au-Prince for the summer, and she's been gracious enough to share a post with all of you about a valuable lesson she learned from the children at the hospital:
The Pitter Patter of Rain
July 16, 2016
written by Kirsten Boone
There were four chairs bunched together in a scattered row. Two were old, metal chairs and the others were tiny plastic chairs made for children. Each seat faced the open door of the inaptient ward at Grace Children's Hospital, and each secured a different vantage point to peer outside.
Rain had just started to fall, and it was still in the curious phase. The phase when each drop comes at a sporadic moment and there seems to be a note of uncertainty as to the severity of the storm. Great palm trees outside of the door were beginning to sway, back and forth they seemed to wave at the door. The air was moist, not like the usual clinging humidity, but colder, crisper even. Above the palm trees, the sky had lost it's blue and the sun was hidden.
From inside the door, in the four chairs, we sat and waited for nature's theater. Beside me sat three tiny humans, their big brown eyes curiously fixed out the door. On my lap, another little friend leaned forward to gaze upward. The temperature had dropped and each child was adorned with a sweatshirt, delighted for the rare occasion to wear one. And then almost on cue, eight pairs of brown eyes shifted to me, and a voice exclaimed, "Kirsten it's starting!"
Wind gushed in through the door, and the kids squealed in excitement. The pitter patter of the rain on the roof turned into a steady roar. Safely hidden inside, we sat and watched. No one wiggled or chatted away, everyone was fixed by the beauty of the storm.
Until this moment, I had never really watched the rain before. Sure I had fallen victim to starring at it drearily through the window, but I never truly appreciated it before. As we sat there, together, everything was peaceful and calm; we huddled together and happily watched the storm unfold.
I want to remember every detail of this moment. My heart breaks to think about going home next week, and the inevitable tears that will fall as I leave my little friends behind. When I get home I am going to remember to watch the rain. I will remember the lessons the kids have taught me: to take joy in all of my surroundings, to find moments to rest and to sit in awe, and to actively make room in my life for peace.
I hope the kids in the inpatient ward know what great teachers they have been. I hope that they know worthy they are of love. I hope that they never lose their joy and wonder.