in the Belly of the Whale

In the Belly of the Whale

I loved falling asleep to the sound of rain blasting the roof. The dusty, dry land here was begging for relief. I love waking up to a rooster, crowing long before dawn, drowning the soft coos of the pigeons gathering for their morning meeting.

I fell asleep thinking about the B like Britt orphanage and I awoke to continue those thoughts, marveling at the Gengel family who transformed their grief into a miracle. After driving through the rubble and poverty of the city, we raced along the coast, noting the tropical waters and palm trees, dotted with bony cows and goats. There were attempts at beach resorts here and there, abandoned and ramshackle places that served as squatting zones and gathering spots, littered with trash and sounding with children.

Then, there is the B Like Britt orphanage – on the crest of a high hill, on a real road built for this purpose, overlooking the ocean and the green mountains. I am not sure what impressed me more, the clean, hopeful structure or the playful children busily roughhousing, building train tracks, and braiding each other's hair, or the Gengles themselves – approachable, hospitable people who spoke of their journey over the past few years with a spirit of gratitude. That is the prayer for the day, creatively changing grief into gratitude over and over.

We begin the medical clinics this morning, and I am not sure what to expect on this first day. It only seemed appropriate to dive into Jonah and the Whale, to reflect on being in the belly of the whale from a place that feels like being in the belly of the whale: sewage and fumes, tent cities and hungry children, and an unstoppable faith to burst through the toughest moments.