The 1 Chronicles 16 Challenge

Posted: February 9, 2015 in Uncategorized

Back Story

ark of GodThe Ark of God, which housed the tablets on which the ten commandments were written, the staff of Aaron, and a jar of manna, had been brought back to Jerusalem. The Ark, an inseparable part of the Israelites’ history, had been carried by them during their wandering, and served as a focal point for God to manifest Himself to the Israelites. King David wanted to have it brought to Jerusalem, but he was afraid, after a man named Uzzah was struck dead, when he reached out to steady the Ark, after the oxen pulling the cart stumbled, as the Ark was being brought to Jerusalem.

We, in 1Chronicles 13:12-14  read,

David was now afraid of God, and he asked, “How can I ever bring the Ark of God back into my care?” So David did not move the Ark into the City of David. Instead, he took it to the house of Obed-edom of Garth. The Ark of God remained there in Obed-edom’s house for three months, and the Lord blessed the household of Obed-edom and everything he owned.

David, seeing how by having the Ark, Obed-edom was being blessed, wanted the Ark moved to Jerusalem, where it belonged. So he selected men to go get it from the house of Obed-edom. It was a joyous event with singing, instruments playing, with trumpet players walking before the Ark, blowing their horns, and even King David got involved, by joyfully dancing before the Lord.

The Ark was placed inside the special tent David had prepared, the people presented sacrifices to God, and they worshiped. The instrumentalists played and David wrote a song. And this is where we will begin the Challenge.


Over the next 30 days read this song of David. Read it slowly, while reflecting on each verse, even on specific words. I suggest that you:

  • Set aside time to read this song, apart from your regular time of prayer, Bible reading and worship.
  • Find a quiet place, where you can be alone. This may mean getting up early or staying up late.
  • Begin by waiting quietly before the Lord, by focusing your mind and thoughts on Him. If you, let’s say, set aside 30 minutes daily, spend at least 20 minutes of that time bringing your thoughts into focus. Spend that time meditating and dwelling on God and on His attributes. Once you have gotten to the place where you are focused, you will discover yourself to be more receptive to what God is saying.
  • Do not speed read this song.  Do not gobble it down as you would a fast food burger. Savor each verse, slowly drink it in. Allow the Holy Spirit to speak to your heart. Personalize each verse. Ask, does this apply to me.  Is this something that I should be doing?  Don’t feel that you have to read the whole song in one day. Take your time. Allow the song to minister to you, to reach your heart, to effect change, to bring you to the place where its words become your heart’s desire and your greatest joy.
  • I pray as we begin this challenge that there will be a fresh love in our hearts for God, a renewed hunger to worship Him and a fervent desire to tell other about our great God.

Let’s Begin

David’s Song:

I Chronicles 16: 7-36 NLT

On that day David gave to Asaph and his fellow Levites this song of thanksgiving to the Lord:

Give thanks to the Lord and proclaim his greatness.
    Let the whole world know what he has done.
Sing to him; yes, sing his praises.
    Tell everyone about his wonderful deeds.
10 Exult in his holy name;
    rejoice, you who worship the Lord.
11 Search for the Lord and for his strength;
    continually seek him.
12 Remember the wonders he has performed,
    his miracles, and the rulings he has given,
13 you children of his servant Israel,
    you descendants of Jacob, his chosen ones.

14 He is the Lord our God.
    His justice is seen throughout the land.
15 Remember his covenant forever—
    the commitment he made to a thousand generations.
16 This is the covenant he made with Abraham
    and the oath he swore to Isaac.
17 He confirmed it to Jacob as a decree,
    and to the people of Israel as a never-ending covenant:
18 “I will give you the land of Canaan
    as your special possession.”

19 He said this when you were few in number,
    a tiny group of strangers in Canaan.
20 They wandered from nation to nation,
    from one kingdom to another.
21 Yet he did not let anyone oppress them.
    He warned kings on their behalf:
22 “Do not touch my chosen people,
    and do not hurt my prophets.”

23 Let the whole earth sing to the Lord!
    Each day proclaim the good news that he saves.
24 Publish his glorious deeds among the nations.
    Tell everyone about the amazing things he does.
25 Great is the Lord! He is most worthy of praise!
    He is to be feared above all gods.
26 The gods of other nations are mere idols,
    but the Lord made the heavens!
27 Honor and majesty surround him;
    strength and joy fill his dwelling.

28 O nations of the world, recognize the Lord,
    recognize that the Lord is glorious and strong.
29 Give to the Lord the glory he deserves!
    Bring your offering and come into his presence.
Worship the Lord in all his holy splendor.
30     Let all the earth tremble before him.
    The world stands firm and cannot be shaken.

31 Let the heavens be glad, and the earth rejoice!
    Tell all the nations, “The Lord reigns!”
32 Let the sea and everything in it shout his praise!
    Let the fields and their crops burst out with joy!
33 Let the trees of the forest sing for joy before the Lord,
    for he is coming to judge the earth.

34 Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good!
    His faithful love endures forever.
35 Cry out, “Save us, O God of our salvation!
    Gather and rescue us from among the nations,
so we can thank your holy name
    and rejoice and praise you.”

36 Praise the Lord, the God of Israel,
    who lives from everlasting to everlasting!

And all the people shouted “Amen!” and praised the Lord.


I have hidden your word in my heart, that I might not sin against you. Psalm 119:11

Your word is a lamp to guide my feet and a light for my path. Psalm 119:105

Tuesdays and Thursdays are our favorite days of the week when we celebrate success. Fat, breast fed babies on their mothers’ hips file in and triumphantly line up at the scale. We love the chub and glow in the victory of successful breast-feeding moms.

On Thursday the bellies line up at the scale, then sit while getting their blood pressures taken and eat a high protein meal while they wait for their individual prenatals. Happy midwives palpate bellies, give stern talks on drinking water and teach classes on birth.

Wednesdays and Fridays are harder. These are the days that we deal more with Haiti, than with the program’s ladies. Lives are complicated and answers are not easy. Sometimes we have no answers at all.

On Fridays we interview pregnant ladies for our program. This week a 16 year old with a half hidden swollen belly walked in accompanied by her mother. Her story had holes in it. Dates didn’t jive and the story was incredulous, but very well could be true.  The story was painful, horrific, sad, and terror filled. She told us of kidnapping, rape, forced tattoos, and a vague memory of the events. Tears coursed down her face as she poured out a story that made little sense. We do know this – a baby is coming very soon and this girl needs catch up prenatal care and lots of love.

At almost the same time another of our pregnant ladies came in with her husband. We told them we had to risk the mom out because her health issues had moved beyond our level of care. Her swollen legs dangled off our prenatal bed, her belly huge, her face filled with sadness and worry. We told her to go to the hospital and do it right away. Both mom and dad hesitated and didn’t want to go. They said they would be worried about the safety of their other children. I pictured little people, tinies. No, their kids were 17 and 19, surely old enough to care for themselves. But, they explained rape and theft are very common in their zone and they couldn’t leave their children to fend for themselves. How heart wrenching to care for the unborn child at the peril of the grown children. How can a mom check herself into a hospital while paralyzed in fear for her lovely teenage daughter.

These stories leave me heavy hearted and I push to get through the rest of the day. There is so much we can’t fix. Broken Haiti is filled with stories of real women with hurts and lives that are beyond difficult. Poverty is the foundation for so many ills. We patch, we fill, we cement, but the foundation is still broken.

We have scores of success stories and many tragic ones. We deliver babies and wonder about their future.  .

Fridays are hard, Fridays leave me worn out and I go home and eat a glutton’s amount of chocolate. The opiate of this teetotaler.

I’m reminded of another horrible Friday filled with sorrow and death. That Friday long ago that paid our way to hope. That Friday of death and destruction that ended in Sunday’s resurrection.

That power gives hope to our Fridays. It changes the stories we hear, the women we deal with, the desperation they face. There is always hope, there is always an answer, there is always redemption. Jesus promised He would carry us through this broken world, these broken Fridays. We can trust Him.

“These things I have spoken to you, so that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

Beth McHoul

The Janitor

Posted: January 4, 2015 in Uncategorized

I had been a Christian for about a year, and now found myself, after spending that time in a Christian drug rehab program, back home in a suburb of Boston. I got involved in a church there that was accepting of the “Jesus movement” types that starting coming to the church. We came, ex druggies and druggies, with long, unkempt hair, dirty and ripped clothes and yet, we were accepted. We, outside the church, listened to music that was radically different than the songs we were hearing in church. Some called it Jesus Rock. The church folks were patient with us.

I back then didn’t understand the challenges that we presented to this group of older, conservative believers. But they saw something happening in church, and they liked what they were seeing. The altar, after the service, would be lined with young people, non-church looking, acting and sometimes bad smelling young people, who were giving their lives to Christ, and filling the churches’ pews.

I learned a lot from the people in that church. I lived about seven miles from the church and not having a car I would hitchhike to church, often arriving early as I didn’t want to be late. Waiting outside, I would see some of the older folks come early and go inside, so one day I followed them and discovered that they were going to a prayer room in the basement, where they would pray for the service, for the pastor and for those that would be attending church. And so, every Sunday I would join them. I learned a lot there.

Interestingly and perhaps you can say something similar, the pastor was wonderful and though I attended the church for several years, I struggle to recall more than a few sermons that he preached. I was a faithful attendee at Sunday School but I can’t seem to remember many of the lessons, even the ones that I taught after I became a Sunday School teacher. Throughout the years I have heard thousands of sermons and preached hundreds myself. And I even struggle to remember more than a handful of sermons that I, myself, have preached.

Clearly preaching and teaching are an essential part of spreading the gospel and of the growth of the believer.  I, though, am saying that we can learn much from those that live seemingly ordinary lives but who touch us in extraordinary ways. Let me give an example.

In the town, nearimages where I was living, there is a Christian liberal art college. We would go there to attend concerts and special church services. I can’t recall the name of the pastor of the on campus church, or the name of the youth pastor, but I do recall the name of one of the college’s janitors. He had left the pastorate to take a job at the college, as a janitor. Some may see that as a step down, as perhaps a failure. But looking at it through a biblical lens, and through the impact that this janitor had on many students, and on those of us that would come around, I’m thinking that it was a significant promotion. This man, who would sweep and mop floors, and who would clean bathrooms and toilets, ministered to us in ways that a sermon couldn’t. He taught us by his actions and then by his words. I have long since lost contact with him, but four decades later I still recall how this janitor showed me Christ, by servant leadership. I believe that there are many serving Christ today that were greatly helped along by this servant leader.

It’s not my intention to trivialize or minimize the rolls of teachers and pastors, but rather to help us see the impact that servant leadership by vocation and calling can have in people’s lives.

Work willingly at whatever you do, as though you were working for the Lord rather than for people. Colossians 3:23

“You are the salt of the earth. But what good is salt if it has lost its flavor? Can you make it salty again? It will be thrown out and trampled underfoot as worthless. “You are the light of the world—like a city on a hilltop that cannot be hidden. No one lights a lamp and then puts it under a basket. Instead, a lamp is placed on a stand, where it gives light to everyone in the house.  In the same way, let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father. Matthew 5:13-16

It’s four decades later, and I haven’t forgotten the man with a mop, that has made a lasting imprint on my life.

John McHoul


Posted: December 11, 2014 in Uncategorized

Many of you reading this are familiar with Olez and Marc Lory, her handicapped 12 year old son. Many of you have visited her house with us in the community of Corail and have met Olez and Marc Lory.  He often could be found lying on a sheet on the cement floor. Clearly he had medical issues, but every time one of you took time to bend down and interact with him, you could see his excitement and the light in his eyes.  I’m sorry to write that this special young boy, who had been ill for several days, died Monday evening of undetermined causes. Olez had taken him to several hospitals but nothing seemed have helped, and sadly Marc Lory passed away. Beth writes below about Olez and her family.

Like many Haitians Olez goes by a few names: Rose Marie and Olez are two of them. I would name her Persistence, Strong, Bent but not Broken, Staying the Course, Fighting the Fight, Weary Yet Pursuing.

We met after the earthquake when the landscape was dotted with tents. On every vacant plot of land a community of tents sprung up all over the city. Olez and her large family lived in one. The baby, her grandchild, got stepped on in the tent so she came to the Heartline field hospital by night to find help for the baby. The child’s mother, Olez’s daughter, had died in that night of all nights on January 12, 2010. Crushed beneath the weight of cement she lost her life. Life itself almost crushed Olez. Hardship and loss are exacting their price, as weighty as the cement blocks when the earth shook.

Lise and Marc LoryAt the hospital Olez met Lise, (pictured left) a Canadian nurse volunteering at Heartline. Lise had been a child raised by her own grandmother after the death of her mom. Their shared grief instantly bonded them. They love each other still.

We have kept a relationship going with Olez. We moved her from the tent to a cement house in “Jerusalem” in the land of “Canaan”. A tribute to Haitian wit, this area was thus named after hundreds of tent cities were closed and families were relocated to this desert plain.

Unfortunately the old poverty moved into the new Jerusalem but in safer surroundings. Olez relocated with several family members. Her elderly mom, her husband, a few daughters, a deaf son, another son, and Marc Lory who looked like he had CP, all moved in together.

Our field hospital closed and we couldn’t keep up with the mounting health issues this family had. One young adult daughter was emaciated and in and out of the hospital. The husband had a variety of ailments. Grandma seemed ok. Olez worked on keeping them all together. Then one by one death took them. The emaciated daughter gone, the husband gone, a son gone, six in total since we met this dear woman. Their quality of life was poor, hospitals are over crowded, lab work was left undone, meds are often not understood-too little care too late. Doctors write prescriptions for medicines people can’t afford. Pills can’t cure a lifetime of bad nutrition and little health care.

The crowded house dwindled down to the sweet, twisted body of 12 year old Marc Lory and her deaf son. I sat with Olez once and asked her the story of Marc Lory, her handicapped son. This boy has spent his life on a sheet on a cement or dirt floor.   He was often soiled and undressed but his hair was braided. Braids of love. Braids that said his mom cared about him even if she couldn’t keep up with keeping him clean. Braids that said his life mattered.

She told me she had a uterine rupture and she lifted her blouse revealing a ragged, vertical cesarean section scar. The doctors at the government hospital got the baby out in time to keep him alive but not without profound damage. My midwife’s heart sank. Preventing such obstetrical catastrophes is one of the reasons we exist. Hospitals are crowded offering too little, too late once again.

RoseMarieOlez deeply cared, but she had to work and provide for the few people left in her household so Marc Lory was often left unattended for hours. We offered to try to help find a place that would care for this little guy and get him therapy and meet his medical needs. He died in the wait.

This little guy’s brokenness touched our own. I had a visitor to Haiti say to me recently that meeting him was the most profound thing that happened to her during her entire stay.   Seeing injustice, seeing unrelieved pain, seeing brokenness brings us to the cross where we look to the kingdom where things will be made right.

Come Lord Jesus. Come.

Beth McHoul

I have said often, that of all the people I know in Haiti, Olez  has suffered the most.  We would like to help her with the funeral cost which is way beyond her means. The cost of the funeral will be $2000.00.  This is for the services of the funeral home, the casket, the burial service, the location and food for a reception. Perhaps you have met Olez and Marc Lory and would like to help.  If so please click here and designate your donation to “OLEZ-FUNERAL  EXPENSE”, which you can do before sending the donation.  This morning Olez came to the office and she looked so tired, so weary.  Please, as well, lift Olez and her family up in prayer. Pray for strength in this difficult time.

John McHoul

The enemy of our souls always targets the little guys, the helpless ones, the tiniest. God in His wisdom created all breast milk good. Moms in fancy houses and moms in third world shanties can all feed their babies this liquid goodness. It is a gift. It is sterile, the perfect temperature, and is complete nutrition. So, why is breastfeeding such a hard sell? Why do moms who are resource poor disdain breastfeeding? Somehow they got the wrong message.

Every Wednesday morning we midwives and helpers pile into our ambulance, armed with gift packs, a guitar, and hope as we travel 4 miles to a government run hospital. The paint is old, the rooms overcrowded, the moms and babies are often two to a bed and the nurses don’t have modern, working equipment. The NICU sports a line of bassinets with too tiny, yellow colored, still, doll like babies. Their moms sit hopeful. We sigh. We pray.

We gather in the large postpartum ward and like singing minstrels we belt out a jingle each week with rhyming words admonishing moms to breastfeed their babies as soon as they are born. We clap, we dance around, and we make a scene. The nurses seem to like this and join in. It’s a little like church as we sing the praises of colostrum and mother’s milk. It’s a lot like church in that the enemy is lurking, attempting to harden hearts and block ears from such a worthy message.   We pass out papers with the lyrics, we pass out gift packs and we attempt to get the new moms hooked on what we are singing about.

We go from bed to bed. Most often the baby is bundled and ready for the Alaskan winter. Mom sits by weary with the cares of her life, she might be eating, visiting, or just staring, trying to recover from her birth experience.   Her life is hard whether she is a teen mom or a 40ish mom of six. Life isn’t easy and now she has another person to look after. Not much hope abounds in the weary, overcrowded, ghetto neighborhoods of Haiti.

Midwives, comrades and nurses, we spread out and visit each bed. Sometimes those beds hold a lone woman whose baby died. We cry with her, we pray with her. Other beds have twins. Still other beds hold two moms and two babies, strangers till they shared a hospital bed, blood and fluids mingling from one mom to the next.   We try to engage each woman. We attempt to help her baby latch on to begin the process of receiving life-giving nutrition. Most times moms state they can’t put their baby to the breast till the milk comes in. That could be two, three or even four days after birth. Word has it, from grandmas and aunties that colostrum is bad and must be thrown away. This first milk is full of exactly what a baby needs. Throwing it away is like throwing natural vaccines and health down the sewer.   So we strum the guitar, belt out the lyrics and try to beam the message across to the moms that baby needs this liquid gold and baby will thrive if given breast milk.

Moms light up when a baby who they thought couldn’t feed latches on and sucks heartily. We light up too! We feel like we are starting a little revolution that moms can join and their babies will be healthy. Lies are broken, superstitions are exposed, and light breaks through every time a mom who would not nurse puts her baby to the breast.

It’s deadly if they don’t: Diarrhea from bad water, foods babies can’t digest and fillers that rob their bodies take thousands of precious lives. If moms only knew. We are here to tell them.

After a few hours we pile back in our ambulance and drive the few miles back to our safe haven. Our maternity center looks more beautiful when we return. We check in with our postpartum mom who is in our bed with pretty sheets, in a clean nightgown with her almost 9 pounder at her breast. We sigh. Tears come as I think of the dozens of ladies we left in such bad conditions.

But superstition is never far away. The enemy is prowling and grandma is trying to buy off the devil. She states she must make a tea from boiled cockroaches and feed it to the baby to keep the newborn safe from evil spirits. Her daughter-in-law rises up in new mother indignation and threatens to call the police if grandma tries such a thing. Battle won. Mom listened in class every week of her pregnancy and she will have none of this! The maternal grandma tells us that she too is pregnant and has been for years. The baby just isn’t born yet.

These lovely grandmas, these matriarchs, these women who could be giving the new mom sage advice instead give wives- tales and fear based admonitions. It is their truth, their old ways, their paradigm.

So, week-by-week we bring the good news in prenatals and class at our Heartline program; in song and pamphlets at the local hospital.   Jesus came to set us free from superstition and beliefs that strangle our souls and kill our babies. Like Herod of old, the enemy wants to kill the children. We say Jesus came to set them free and they shall be free indeed. Darkness flees when light comes in. Babies thrive when moms understand to breastfeed. When superstition is broken and God’s light pours in, a culture changes and grows. The difference is eternal.

Beth McHoul

Port au Prince, Haiti

GUERDA: Mademoiselle Miracle

Posted: August 8, 2014 in Uncategorized

We met Guerda right after the earthquake in 2010. She was 8 weeks pregnant and came in for a prenatal visit. She wore a Donna Karan cap with dollar signs all over it. It would be her signature lid for months. I knew her by her cap. That was just before I started to know her by her blood pressure. At her first visit I took her BP. I was a new midwife and the stroke level numbers the machine read made me stop, stare and go get another machine. Not possible. A young, thin, healthy looking girl can’t possibly have this high of a blood pressure. But, she did. She still does. We just know how to manage it better now 5 years down the road.

g2 We were still picking up the pieces from the earthquake and the Heartline Field Hospital was in full swing. As Guerda’s pregnancy advanced and her BP went even higher we put her on bed rest at the field hospital. She had a cot in our makeshift community and she joined in on church every night. She believed. She trusted. She lost the baby like she had lost several before.

Jonna Howard and I were the midwives on staff at the time. Every few days we would check Guerda, shake our heads at her BP in spite of meds and check the baby. Heart rate still galloping along. And then it didn’t. Stopped. Silent. A precious baby girl had slipped away and Guerda was left with the grueling task of labor and delivery. We attended her with tears of sorrow rather than joy. Guerda was quiet, sad and accepting.   Her husband was quiet and loving.

Guerda came back looking for work from time to time. I am still mocked that I tried to get her to use a solar oven to make cakes and sell them. Troy rolled his eyes when I asked him for the solar oven. Guerda hadn’t a clue. It was a fail. She came back looking for work again and we hired her to help out Cherline at the maternity center. She once again became part of our family.

Pregnant again and back on bed rest she went. This time we gave her a bed and a TV. No more earthquake conditions. Guerda set the TV on the Haitian gospel station at full volume and never turned it off. We joined in whether we wanted to or not. She prayed, she sang, she took her meds, she rested, she believed and her baby grew. This time the heart beat never stopped. Her BP continued to taunt us with high numbers but the baby girl persevered in growing and developing.   Meds that costs $15 US daily were donated to keep this high-risk pregnancy going. A box of meds costing thousands was worth millions and millions for the life they were saving. We all got involved, we all dared to love and believe. Day by day, heartbeat-by-heartbeat we were daring to believe that Guerda might have a living baby. We held our collective breath, prayed without ceasing and scheduled a cesarean at 34 weeks.

g3 Guerda, the girl who lost several babies at different stages of pregnancy came home to us with a living, perfect little girl! Guerda, who watched moms come and go in our program, now has a baby of her own. It is precious watching her lovingly care for this tiny miracle baby. Cherline calls her “Mademoiselle Miracle”! Indeed she is! I am so grateful for Guerda’s persistence, her trust in her Savior Jesus and the skilled team who took care of her.

“Weeping may endure for the night but joy comes in the morning!”

Beth McHoul

I feel an urgency to sit at the keyboard and spill out the story, lest my own heart forget. I don’t want the events to die away like the soreness of my leg muscles. Each day since Marathon Monday, I feel less aware as the glory of Boston fades, and I re-enter Haiti life which I love so desperately.

Like the Gatorade stands that gave energy and water, so God energized my soul through the process of marathon training. Like volunteers with paper cups of water God met me at every mile, washing me clean with heaven sent help.

I had only one goal and that was to finish the 26.2 miles. I’m older and slower than I was when I ran my first marathon 12 years ago but I knew I could still reach the finish line. What I didn’t know was how complicated training would become and how many people it takes for a runner to cross the finish line. My heart is so very grateful for the team of people that made this happen. I’m still overwhelmed by their goodness and love to me.

I flew into Boston a week early to enjoy my family who live there and settle in with my running sister Charleen. When I arrived the house had been taken hostage by a virus, causing hours of vomiting and diarrhea and days to recover from. Fear started knocking on my gate. After training in over 90 degree heat I was looking forward to a spring time marathon day. Day two after my arrival there was snow on the ground. Isn’t it spring yet? I couldn’t thaw out. I walked around in layers of clothing, dodging kisses from recovering virus victims. I did silly things like buy hand sanitizer and a fleece running jacket. The journey back to trust needed to happen. I needed to look back and see the hand of God through my training. I needed to drive the stakes of God’s mile markers back into my heart. I needed to remember He is faithful.

He is faithful indeed. Marathon Monday was a lovely day with spring sunshine and my fleece jacket got tied around my waist and given away as soon as possible. I felt great and was eager to run. The joy was palpable! Runners, at the starting gate,  seemed ready for victory. Fans cheered and there was not a stretch of the entire 26.2 miles that had an open space. Every spot was filled with fans who stayed from the start to the finish, many hours later.  Speedy elite runners and recreational charity runners all got support and encouragement. What a gift! What fun!

At mile 13 I saw Troy and Tara! Troy, the PR man had the camera and Tara was in running clothes. I pulled her in and we ran together the rest of the race side by side. It was fitting, we trained together and now we ran together.   Such joy!


Beth and Tara

At mile 20 John, his sister, our daughter Morgan and others were there to greet us and cheer us on! What fun! Adoptive mom Karen came down from Vermont. Other friends were scattered throughout the miles and I heard their cheers.   At the finish we met up in the family area where cheers of joy greeted us. My speedy sister and Joanne from Calvary Chapel had finished earlier and were waiting for us.

Only the black toenail remains. Clothes were washed, planes boarded, and we are home in Haiti again.

My finisher’s medal is tucked away in my keepsake drawer. Marathon accomplished. I’ve slipped back into the never-ending race of life in Haiti.   It’s a race with lots to laugh about and some hard struggles with mile long hills. Heartline, with all its different programs, seeks to provide opportunity for men and women to succeed. So often all someone needs is a chance, a class, an opportunity, a skill and they are off and running.

We are still needing funds for the race. The marathon is finished but the race to help Heartline help others is still on. Join us! Run with us!  Click here to give to reach the total of $1000 per mile or $26,000

Beth McHoul