Thursday

My friend Evelyne's elderly mother died on Sunday morning.  It has been a long, hard road for both Evelyne and her mother, and the last two years her mother was confined to bed and non-verbal.  The funeral was scheduled for Thursday at 3 pm in the cathedral.

I've traveled so much the past few years that I've actually been out of town every time a friend's loved one has died, so I hadn't yet been to a memorial service in Haiti.  I asked a co-worker about appropriate attire and she suggested white, or, barring that, black. I should wear heels if I had them, although after the funeral I would need to walk several blocks to the cemetery. I asked if I could wear my hat (I have a skin condition on my face which is aggravated by the sun). She said, “The big one?” Apparently my floppy Target hat is not fancy enough to wear to a funeral. A pillbox type, or even a big Easter-type hat would be fine, though.

I change and head out and see my friend Solencia just up the street. She's just left the office and is on her way to her home in Limbe. Instead of taking a taxi-moto to her bus stop she walks with me to the cathedral. We get to the cathedral and she waits there with me a bit since there's a delicious breeze coming through the large, open central doors. We don't see a casket, but Solencia says that funerals often start late. Eventually she leaves to catch her bus and I take a seat. Mass starts, but there is still no sign of a casket. After several minutes I think that perhaps the funeral was to be in the smaller chapel next door. I walk outside but the chapel is closed. Two young people standing by tell me that there are no funerals there today, but there is a funeral at the Sacre Coeur Church, “Lots of doctors and nurses were there.” I say I didn't know that that was the correct funeral (my friend's mother was a laundress). But then I remember that her daughter volunteered for the Red Cross. “Oh, yes, there were lots of Red Cross people there.” The Sacre Coeur is 17 blocks away and it's already nearly 3:30, so I go to hail a taxi-moto. I have to wait to cross the street since a marching band is passing by – Flag Day is this Saturday and the marching bands practice for weeks beforehand.

Flag Day 2011

I get to the Sacre Coeur and slip in the back. I listen attentively to the priest to see if he will say Evelyne's mother's name so that I will know that I am indeed in the right place. Nope, he just said, “Madame G--.” Oh, but then he adds, “And Madame T--, and Madame P--.” So, apparently this funeral is for three women, including my friend's mother.

At the end of the funeral I give my condolences to Evelyne's niece and also greet Michel, who works where I live and has helped with some of the arrangements. We follow the caskets out the door and stand at the entrance to the cemetery. He says he wants to wait to greet Evelyne. While waiting I see another friend – it turns out that Madame T- is his wife's great-aunt. Eventually Evelyne comes out of the cemetery and we express our condolences.

Michel hops on a moto and I start to walk back. The Sacre Coeur is near several street markets and I have a few things I want to see if I can find. Two blocks in I see someone selling nail polish. I ask if he has polish remover – check. I have no idea how much it should cost, so when he tells me 30 gourdes I say, “Isn't it always 20?” He says, “No, it was 25 but it's gone up.” He asks if I want to buy a lovely face powder. No, thanks, just the nail polish remover.

I go in further, looking for deodorant. After half a block a pre-teen boy sitting on a stoop with a woman who looks to be his mother calls out, “Foreigner!” I say, “Good afternoon.” He smiles, and his mother asks what I'm looking for. “Deodorant, but I don't see any here.” “The guy next to me has some.” The guy at the next stall looks to have only electronics, but apparently he has some deodorant in a box in the back. I see lots of no-name brands. The last one he pulls out is a tiny Avon, which I've at least heard of, so I buy it.

I go back to the main street, since I know that in a few blocks there will be a lot of peanut vendors. I meet one at 8 L and ask to try her peanuts. Bleh. I don't know what to say, so I say, “Another time,” and move on to 9 L where I'd gotten some good ones last week. Ah, there's the merchant I bought from last time. I try her peanuts, since I've not bought from her consistently and I don't yet trust the quality. (I'm looking for a new peanut seller since my last one – who never had a bad batch -- stopped selling months ago to take care of her sick husband.) The peanuts are okay today, so I buy some. She asks if I want the skin removed, which I did last week, since I was buying for some friends who were going to make peanut butter. I say no, since I've heard they stay fresh-tasting longer with the skins on and these are just for me.

Next to her is woman selling mangos, which is the last item on my list. She says they are Rosali mangos, 10 gourdes per pile. She wants to put them in the plastic bag that I already have, so I move the breakables aside and she loads them in. Her next customer helps hold the bag for me.

It's been a hot day, and I'm pretty thirsty, so I decide to stop by a juice shop. My favorite juice there is guava, but today they only have papaya and pineapple. I choose pineapple and ask them to hold the sugar – they usually add sugar even to that super-sweet fruit! The guy manning the counter says he hasn't seen me for awhile. I sit down in the air-conditioned loveliness and look up at the television, which is showing a documentary on meer cats dubbed into French. A little girl walks closer to the tv and stares. I love seeing behavior that crosses cultures like this – she's got her eyes wide and mouth open in typical childlike wonder.

I finish my pineapple juice, say good-bye to the guy at the counter, and leave for home. I tend to enjoy walking through the city – as long as I've already gotten it straight in my head that it is a public event. Moto- and car-taxis slow down and ask if I want a ride, and I now nearly-automatically give the correct head-and-hand-shake which means no. Street kids ask me for money or tell me they're hungry and I chat a little with them, giving them some crackers or peanuts if I've got some (today I do) or telling them “another time” to which they smile and say “okay.” Random people say hi, kids call out “foreigner” and smile when I greet them in response. If their parents are with them I get a smile and a greeting from them, too. If I ignore them because all of the attention is embarrassing, I miss the smiles. And if I ignore the young men – well, if I respond with a “thank you” when they tell me I'm beautiful, or say hello when they greet me, then they smile and say something funny, to which my best response is to laugh, and then everybody laughs, and all the time I've never once stopped walking. But if I forget and ignore them they can start yelling or get icky – this happened earlier today.

I get home and Madame Elias, the evening cook where I live, says she saw me at the cathedral. She had gone there for the funeral, too. She said she looked down for just a moment and then I was gone. She asked some people where I went (I was the only obviously-looking foreigner in the church) and they said out the side door. But she couldn't find me. I explained about the funeral having changed locations, and I was sorry I hadn't seen her, we could have gone there together.

I go up to my room to paint my toenails for the first time in years. I have worn toe rings ever since going to India in 1998, which, along with a monthly self-pedicure (sans polish) has always seemed to make my feet pretty enough. But now I take my toe rings off when traveling to rural villages or to trainings in other provinces, since in many places in Haiti it is not considered appropriate for Christian women to wear any rings except on the third or fourth finger of the hand or as an earring. I told this to my friend Chrissy last month, and said that my feet always look so bare to me without the toe rings. Well, on Tuesday I received a box of goodies from some friends in Arizona and Chrissy had slipped in four different nail polishes!

As I'm painting my toe nails “Pretty Petunia” I hear another marching band. Now, I've lived in several countries where the normal response to hearing any kind of commotion is to stop what you're doing and go look at whatever is happening. My North American self has tended to resist this – I'm either occupied with something else, or I don't want to gawk, or I think it won't be all that interesting anyway. But years on this has finally changed – I'm curious, I'm more relaxed, and I'm also more easily entertained. So instead of finishing my toes I go outside to watch the band. Here they come, marching proudly down the boulevard, everyone matching in white t-shirts and jeans. As they reach the curve of the street they pause and march in place while continuing to play. A girl about 6-years-old comes running up along the beach to see the band and starts dancing as soon as she gets up to them. Her bright pink shirt makes her easy to spot as a few seconds later she moves to stand in the midst of the band, imitating their movements as they continue to step in place. They start moving forward and she marches with them as they turn the corner out of sight.

Flag Day 2011

Count your blessings

Today I read a beautifully-written article about the recent bombings in Boston.  It provided me with insight into something I've been wondering about lately -- as the author writes,"Death is always unexpected in America." This week I've been reading a study on the book of Luke by N.T. Wright, and he mentions the healthiness of the "old spiritual discipline of listing one's blessings . . . especially in a world where we too often assume we have an absolute right to health, happiness and every possible creature comfort." Haiti, the country I currently live in, thankfully does not experience bombings. But death is not unexpected here, and no one seems to think they have a right to health.

One of the first things Jackson, a Haitian friend, said to me as he was picking me up from the airport last week was how sorry he was about the tragedy in Boston. (I didn't respond to him quite as graciously as Ms. Zakaria -- my response was more in this vein.)  As I re-connected with other Haitian friends and acquaintances this situation was repeated over and over, even with those whose family members had recently died due to something easily preventable in the US, or those who were frequently without food in the past weeks.  Yet they cared about what had happened in my country and wanted to express their concern.

I have a good friend in the US whose son was born with a heart defect..  She has told me that of course it is really hard to know that one day he would have to have surgery to replace one of his heart valves.  Nevertheless, she is continually thankful that she has a secure job with health insurance and the access to cardiologists and regular tests.  She says she is mindful of the situation of mothers and fathers in Haiti and elsewhere who are unable to find health care for their children.

I really appreciate her perspective.   Illness is always hard, with the terrible uncertainty, medical costs, physical pain, and often loss.  And yet, one of the blessings we have in the United States that often goes unrecognized is the security of knowing that at least we are receiving the best medical care available.  Not perfect care, since physicians and other health care providers are human, and not readily accessible to all Americans, but by the world's perspective among the best available care for 2013.  It doesn't make up for the hurt, pain, and loss, but nonetheless that assurance should be recognized for the blessing that it is, and that it is a blessing unavailable to the vast majority of human beings.

In Haiti, as in much of the world, many people do not have a hospital or even a clinic accessible to them (plug for our ministry here:  this is why our house-to-house workers, or CHEs, are so important, as they teach prevention of illness and treatment of simple maladies!).  When there is a health care center nearby, it may not be properly staffed and will have very few labs and other tests available. 

Jean, a co-worker's brother, had to take his four-year-old son to the hospital in town this week after he was hit by a motorcycle (traffic accidents are very common here, please remember to pray for our safety!).  He described the bloody exam tables, not cleaned from patient to patient.  He said, "One of the things I've always been grateful for is that I've never had to go to a hospital myself."  He reflected a little more and then added, "Or prison."  We all laughed at that, and joked that we were glad he'd never committed a crime!  :-)

As my mother knows, I ALWAYS wear a helmet now while riding.  This picture was taken by Rhonda Hamilton before I'd purchased one.

Passion

The first time I traveled to Germany was in 1998 to visit my good friend Eva, my roommate from 1993 to 1996.  I was in my second year of medical school and I took a few extra days on either side of the Thanksgiving holiday.  I brought my notes to study since I would get back just before an exam - we were doing gastroenterology, I believe.  Eva's community orchestra was doing Tchaikovsky's violin concerto at the time, and many days I studied while she was at rehearsals -- Tchaikovsky's gorgeous music accompanying my work.  I have often recalled this time, remembering it as one of the great blessings that I have received -- in the middle of med school craziness I was able to visit a dear friend and hear one of the loveliest pieces of all time, live.  I was even there for the concert which was held in a lovely modern hall (next to a castle).

This year Eva's orchestra is doing a staged presentation of portions of Bach's various Passions.  Tonight I sat in on a rehearsal at the same beautiful concert hall I was at nearly fifteen years ago.

As the choir started their warm-up exercises I was reading Walter Wink's Naming the Powers:  The Language of Power in the New Testament.  I was immersed in this complex text about personal and structural and institutional evil and how Jesus' death changed everything -- not just for me personally but for the whole world.  Then the house lights dimmed and rehearsal started:  beautiful choral music with painful pictures beamed onto the white panels in the back:  bombed-out buildings, crying children.

Since this is Bach's Passion, I knew we were about to hear about the event I'd just been reading about, the event that somehow "disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them." (Colossians 2:15) The "already accomplished" peace and reconciliation of all things (see Colossians 1:20), even with the visible "not yet" of war and famine.

 

The Last Supper.  I think the breakdancing disciple in front of the table is Judas.

Jesus picks up the table at the end of supper and it looks remarkably like him carrying his cross.  It was a powerful image, and I wish I'd understood the words to know what the chorus was singing about at this time.

By this point in the rehearsal I'd started practicing memory verses, using flash cards I'd written out years ago.  When the stage lighting was too dim to see I held the cards close to the floor lights that were lighting up the stairs.  As this scene began I was reciting Lamentations 3:21 - 23, "But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:  the steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."  The dancer portraying Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane moved with passion -- at one point he looked like he was flying like a bird.  

I'd never before thought of this verse as referring to Jesus, but since I was reciting it at the same time as this scene started I reflected on its fuller meaning.  Last year I read Peter Enns' The Evolution of Adam, and one incredibly helpful thing he wrote was that the early New Testament writers re-evaluated everything in the Hebrew Scriptures in the light of Jesus.  This helped me to understand the (at first glance sort of wacky) way they seemed to quote the Old Testament.

So tonight, I was watching this incredibly talented dancer portraying Jesus begin to tremble, to reach up for help.  At one point his entire body was convulsing in agony as he prayed.  I continued to meditate on the fact that the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases -- and manifests itself in God pouring out himself for us.

Jesus' hip-hop dancing disciples (center) start to physically engage the soldiers (right) who have come to arrest Jesus.

Jesus leads his disciples in a dance.  I love the way this shows Jesus teaching them the "third way" of creative, loving, non-violent resistance.

Here Jesus puts himself between his disciples and the soldiers and then gives himself up to the soldiers.  A disciple breaks through and cuts off a soldier's ear.  Jesus heals the man's ear.

The soldiers interrogate and torture Jesus as the soprano (left) sings a haunting aria.  At this point I was going over Philippians 2:5 - 11, which begins:  Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.  And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death -- even death on a cross.  

The chorus sings part of "O Sacred Head, Now Wounded."  Later just a few instruments start the same theme and the crowd begins to shout, "Crucify him!" nearly drowning out the instruments.

"May the Lord direct [our] hearts to the love of God and to the steadfastness of Christ."  (2 Thessalonians 3:5)

Knowing

I received two e-mails in the past 12 hours. The first one is from a Haitian friend whose wife has been in and out of hospitals the past few weeks.  He hasn't managed to find a job for years – not too surprising, with unemployment at 60 – 80%. He put himself through secondary school (finishing in his 20s), and is constantly seeking opportunities but so often ends up going a day or more in a row without food. Last summer there was a job opening in town. He and I worked on his CV and he turned it in, but then they never ended up interviewing anyone. I'd heard recently they were going to start looking for someone for the post and so encouraged him to go back. Yesterday he wrote (my translation):

"Good evening, Momma Liz. I'm so happy that you wrote to me. As far as the [job opening] goes, I went there and they told me the director wasn't there. They told me to come back. I keep going back. That's why I didn't write you right away about this.

"[My wife] was really sick again! They hospitalized her, and I can't find any money looking high or looking low. Today I was able to go to the hospital! What is the worst is that she was pregnant, and the doctors gave her a medication that isn't good when you're pregnant. She took the medication for three days...Please explain to [our mutual friends] all of this for me, if they could send something for me now! Because there is a person who was supposed to use some money for her child, and she loaned me that money so I could run with it to the hospital...

"Okay, Momma Liz. To close I'll tell you that the baby in her tummy died. It seems that she was one month and 15 days pregnant. They've done a D & C for that. Momma Liz, the year that I've had! But Jesus still loves me! Okay, thanks. God bless you!"

And the second, from a Haitian man that volunteers with us. He has a technical degree, works really hard, is an upstanding, godly man and travels from village to village helping his neighbors. He's written to me a few times in the past few months, just keeping up. But then yesterday he wrote the following (my translation):

"Hi, Liz, how are you? And your activities, your family? I know that you and your family are under the security of God. Liz, please, I'm still young, I can learn and I don't yet have my own family – if you ever find a place in your country where they offer a scholarship to study any profession – if you find a possibility like this please check it out for me. Thank you. God bless you, Liz."

I am really angry. I'm angry at:

• the prince of this world, and for the corruption, greed, selfishness, and violence that breed injustice, misery, and poverty
• myself for my occasional fantasizing about moving back permanently to a rich country and having everything be convenient
• church teachings that separate the spiritual and the physical, not seeing the interconnection and Jesus' concern and broken heart and involvement to transform everything that is going wrong in our world
• really really bad medical systems, and lack of access to care
• the promotion of theology that I seem to hear frequently, that God always provides opportunities for us to be all that we can be, when this actually is not true for many of our brothers and sisters
• the fact that I have to decide again whether or not to send funds, worrying about creating dependency and a one-way relationship
• the fact that I have not been able to help find my friend a job, and that I don't know about any scholarship opportunities for my co-worker, and I'm not sure that there actually are any that would apply to him since he doesn't speak English
• the fact that my co-worker would love to be trained in any profession at all -- while so many of us are busy having mid-life crises or wanting the perfect job
• the fact that this story is repeated over and over, with so many people that I know -- including many of our CHE volunteers -- who are doing all they can but cannot pay for their children to go to school or for loved ones to get medical care

Now, as my pastor frequently says, “Please don't hear what I'm not saying.”  I'm not saying that the answer is always money, or everyone moving to another country, or never being introspective or dissatisfied with your career. And I'm not saying that it's not okay to buy yourself a pair of elegant boots while traveling in Europe (especially if they were on a mega-sale and really, you'll be back in a cold place next winter so they're also useful).  I'm just saying that I'm upset, that the world is unfair and unjust in its current state, and I can't un-know the people or the things that I know.

Two thousand years ago, a man named Paul wrote, “I do not mean that others should be eased and you burdened, but that as a matter of fairness your abundance at the present time should supply their need, so that their abundance may supply your need, that there may be fairness.” 2 Corinthians 8:13 – 14 I can't un-know that, either.

Feelin' the Love Tonight

The first thing Uncle Jim asks me this morning is, "So, d'ya wanna birdcake?"  His nickname is Uncle Byrd (sic), and every morning he cooks up his special multi-grain pancakes.  After a delicious breakfast, I leave the house in a car that my friend Amy loaned me last night -- she said that she takes the bus to work anyway, so I might as well use her car for a couple of days.  I meet Libby at a coffee shop for hours of beautiful conversation -- I had been staying with her family, but they've got a second house guest and my hacking, all-night cough means that I really need my own room.  My conversation with Libby is accompanied by an amazing espresso macchiato that my friend Pat makes me.  Later he treats me to a cup of coffee ('cause I need the caffeine, thanks to the all-night hacking).  He also treats me to some conversation after finishing his shift.

Thanks to Amy's car, I am able to run some errands!  Also thanks to Amy, my lunch is leftover green curry tofu, mmm....  Thanks to Pat's generosity, dessert is part of a 70% chocolate bar. (Ingredients:  cocoa beans, sugar.)

My church has a special "service of prayer for healing and wholeness" tonight.  I walk in to the sound of acoustic guitar and voice.  Later there is a Scripture reading, then harp music, followed by a time of silence.  I lift up a work situation, my physical illness, a dear friend.  Before the anointing with oil, the leader prays, "Blessed are you, sovereign God, gentle and merciful, creator of heaven and earth.  Your Word brought light out of darkness, and daily your Spirit renews the face of the earth.  Your anointed Son brought healing to those in weakness and distress.  He broke the power of evil and set us free from sin and death that we might praise your name forever.  By the power of your Spirit may your blessing rest on those who are anointed with this oil in your name; may they be made whole in body, mind and spirit, restored in your image, renewed in your love, and serve you as sons and daughters in your kingdom.  Through your anointed Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord, to whom with you and the Holy Spirit we lift our voices of thanks and praise."  And we all pray, "Blessed be God, our strength and our salvation, now and forever.  Amen."

We kneel at the altar to be anointed with oil.  We're a small group tonight, and those on the healing team know me -- I've gone to this church on and off since 1989.  Phyllis anoints my forehead and prays over me by name.

I leave the church, thinking of how lovely it is to be a part of the Church, to be able to walk into a place of beauty and healing where people know my name.  And how excellent it is to have a hat and long undies so that the 16-degree temps don't bite once I'm outside.  I drive Amy's car down to Highland Village, to see if I can figure out a present for Teri's birthday (I'd struck out earlier today).  Ah-ha!  I buy her the perfect gift, then walk into Barnes & Noble to get up-to-speed.  Christmas (and even some Halloween!) items are on clearance.  I leaf through a book by Stephen Colbert and struggle not to laugh out loud.  An endcap displays a book about boy band One Direction -- I'd first heard of them last month in Arizona, so I'm feeling in-the-know.  I pick up a combo-pack:  James Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Dubliners, which Dave recently recommended.  (I glance through it first, to make sure that it isn't a bunch of crazy Irish gibberish, like I remember Ulysses to be.)

I drive back "home," marveling at how easy all this is -- a car that works well and that is for my exclusive use, roads that are clear and in good repair that briskly take me where I want to go, lots of radio stations to scan.  Once at home I heat up the leftover snow pea and baby corn wok mock duck, also thanks to Amy.  My aunt and uncle (brother and sister) debate where I should leave Amy's car so that my aunt doesn't hit it in the morning -- close to the garage or far back on the driveway?  They crack me up.  I move the car farther back in the driveway, hoping it's the right choice.

I sit on my aunt's bed and we talk about our lives.  Then I send off a few work e-mails that I didn't get to earlier today.  Thanks to Christmas presents from my Mom, I snack on a Lindt "intense orange" dark chocolate bar.

I am feelin' the love tonight.

Transition Time

One of the best parts about this job is all of the incredible people I get to work with!  The above picture is of Erigeur and Madame Erigeur (I'll try to find her given name to include it here) with their daughter.  They are both very gifted CHE trainers.
“Copyright © 2012 Deborah Carr”

As you will have seen in my latest newsletter and Christmas card, I returned to the United States in late November to discern next steps in ministry with my main sending church, Epic Christian Church. (If you don't get my newsletter, please let me know!)  My mission organization, Medical Ambassadors International (MAI), asked me to continue working with them in a different region. However, the local Haiti team and our American church partners have asked me to continue working with them in Haiti.

Ministry in Haiti has expanded so much over the past two years that I have been there – not due to me but due to the fact that so many people are hearing about the effectiveness of our ministry tools, Community Health Evangelism (CHE), and are asking us to partner with them all over Haiti. In addition, our dedicated volunteer trainers continue to spread the good news of the whole gospel, which in these tragic times of cholera has been recognized for the good news that it is, both physically and spiritually! It is so exciting to be part of a ministry that is bearing so much fruit.

So, after much prayer and counsel, I have resigned from MAI but I will be continuing with the same work in Haiti as a missionary sent out by my Arizona church, which has an account for me and will accept donations for my work (see below for how to do this).  I will be traveling in the US and Europe from January to March, visiting friends and family.  During this time I will work remotely, assisting our American church partners with their communication and plans with the local Haiti team and helping the local team in other ways that they ask.

During my five years with MAI I've met so many wonderful people and seen incredible transformations of both individuals and communities, witnessing God's faithfulness over and over again. Thank you for your support which makes this possible!

Here I am with Erigeur's son on their porch.  He'd exchanged shirts with his little friend this day (she's a girl).  One of the elements of my job that I like the most is interpreting -- here for the photographer of this picture, Deborah Carr, and our Canadian interns at the time, Rick and Rhonda Hamilton.
“Copyright © 2012 Deborah Carr”

To donate for my work in Haiti:

Epic Christian Church

P.O. Box 550

Queen Creek, AZ 85142-1810

Write in memo line: Haiti Mission

To donate to the local Haiti team or to our Area Coordinator, Osse St Juste:

Medical Ambassadors International

P.O. Box 1302

Salida, CA 95368

888-403-0600 x215

Write in memo line: Haiti or Osse St. Juste

Shocking?

The tragedy in Newtown:  people said it was "devastating" and "shocking" and couldn't stop posting about it.  I didn't get it.  I mean, obviously I get that it was horrible, but it certainly didn't seem completely unexpected, given the frequency of mass shootings.  But my response seems so at odds with that of many around me (I am currently in Arizona).  Is that because I've been hanging out with non-American expats (primarily French and Belgian) in Haiti that are not surprised to hear of these things happening in the US, what with our lax gun laws and lack of health care coverage (including mental health care)?

I started to wonder if I was perhaps just getting immune to tragedy, with floods and cholera and other disasters and diseases coming one after the other in Haiti without safety nets or funds for adequate risk prevention.  And those things are happening to people I know personally, to my friends and their families. 

Or was it because I have been living overseas for five years and am more distanced from events here in the US?  Or perhaps was I not so affected because Connecticut is geographically far away?  But I'd just been horrified by the fire in a Bangladesh garment factory that killed 112 people.   Of course, I felt partially involved in that event since I had recently broken my decades-long ban on Walmart (I've always been aware that there's a reason why Walmart can sell merchandise so cheaply, I just tried to push those thoughts aside since the Walmart is the closest store where I'm currently living). 

Was it because I am painfully aware that I pay (via my tax dollars) to kill children overseas?


I don't know.