I’ve Fallen… and Apparently Forgot How to Stay Standing

This past week has been a blur. Literally.

Last Sunday around 3 a.m., I woke up on the tile floor between my bedroom and bathroom. Apparently I had blacked out completely and dropped straight down. I bruised my tailbone, hit the back of my head on the bathroom sink, and eventually landed on my left side — thankfully not the right side where I had surgery.

I had no idea how I got there, but the bruises have been quietly confirming it wasn’t exactly elegant.

My crying woke Jose. I told him I hadn’t tripped. I didn’t remember anything. He helped me up and walked me the few steps back to the bed… and I blacked out again.

The next thing I remember is waking up on the tile floor leaning against Jose’s chest while he was holding me upright. He said I just went straight down again. This time he caught me and lowered me slowly. I was out for almost two minutes.

And then the strange part started.

For the next five days, this became our routine.

I would get up to go to the bathroom — about twenty steps from the bed — and my blood pressure would suddenly crash. I’d black out and wake up again leaning against Jose’s chest. We never saw it coming. One minute I was walking, the next minute I was gone.
Over and over again.

We still don’t know exactly why my blood pressure was dropping so fast or so frequently.

I slept more than I ever have in my life. No insomnia medication needed. Apparently I looked about as bad as I felt because at one point Asher quietly asked Jose if I secretly had cancer. He said I looked just like my sister did the month before she died.

That one stopped me in my tracks.

More than once I woke up to find Asher sitting in my room just watching over me. He said I looked like a ghost.

And then — as suddenly as it started — it stopped.

By Thursday evening  the dizziness was mostly gone. I still have Jose next to me every time I even think about standing up, but I haven’t needed his strong arms to fall into.

For now… we’re calling that progress.

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And ironically… everything below this point is the blog I had just written Sunday early morning – right before I ended up on the floor.

You know… before I started the unexpected blackout rollercoaster.

So technically this update is both current and outdated at the same time.

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The Update I Apparently Posted (But Didn’t)

I owe you an update.

First, thank you. Truly. The prayers, the messages, the check-ins — they have meant more than you know. I’m only just now clear-headed enough to sit down and write this. For weeks the pain medication has been scheduled around the clock, which kept things manageable but also kept my brain somewhere between fog and fantasy.

I genuinely believed I had already posted multiple updates. In my defense, I remember posting them.

A friend messaged me this weekend to check in and I confidently replied,
“I can tell you don’t check my Facebook because I already updated.”

Her response?   “In your dreams.”

Apparently so.

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How We Got Here (Again)

We originally left Haiti to have my left shoulder operated on — a surgery that had already been postponed twice because the right shoulder kept demanding attention first.

The plan was surgery on January 15th with flights home scheduled for the 10th. But once again… the right shoulder stole the show.

Because of the complexity, I had to find a new specialist, which pushed surgery to January 29th. We tried to move our return flights once everything shifted, but there were no seats available.

So here we are — already back in Haiti — about twelve days into what has been one of the harder recoveries I’ve had.

This one has been different. With a typical rotator cuff repair, the shoulder is the main problem. This time they transferred a tendon from my back to my shoulder, which means the soreness now has its own zip code.

I can’t lay on my right side because of the incision. I can’t lay flat on my back unless I numb it first with the ice machine.

So I’m exhausted… but not exactly resting.

Very productive system. Forming coherent thoughts has felt like a competitive sport, and I’ve misplaced a few days somewhere along the way. But over the last several days, as I’ve shifted to using medication only when needed, I’m slowly starting to feel like myself again.

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The Work Doesn’t Pause

Thankfully, schools have been closed for Mardi Gras, which means we aren’t behind on our weekly school visits. That timing alone feels like a small mercy. We have a teacher seminar coming up soon, and we’re preparing to launch programs in three new schools.

Pain or not… the work doesn’t change. But here’s the part that actually makes me smile.

Pierre.
Snaila.
Genise.

I’ve trained them to run these programs without me. And they can.

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A Lesson I Learned the Hard Way

In the summer of 2018 my sister was diagnosed with cancer. I spent most of the following year in Ohio caring for her.

She had founded Empower Youth and had finally stepped fully into the work she believed God had called her to do. She was building something meaningful. She was always on her phone — coordinating, responding, directing.

Until she wasn’t.

First I started answering messages for her. Then eventually… the phone didn’t matter anymore. Watching that unfold changed something in me.

I realized that if this ministry only works when I’m physically present, then I’ve built it wrong. So I made a decision. I would train people to lead — not just assist.

Lead in my absence.
Lead when I’m sick.
Lead when I’m recovering.
Lead if I’m gone entirely.

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Replaceable (On Purpose)

My team doesn’t really need me anymore. And I mean that in the healthiest possible way.

They can lead this ministry without me — and lead it well. Obviously nothing replaces being together. But I have intentionally built this in a way where I am completely replaceable.That’s how it should be.

Paul trained Timothy.
He didn’t cling to the work.
He prepared someone else to carry it.

I’m trying to do the same thing. Right now I’m still figuring out how to live with a sling, sleep sitting up, and function with one usable arm. But in the middle of that… I’m also watching them step forward. They’re not thrilled about it. But I am. Because they’re ready.

And sometimes leadership looks like stepping back and cheering from the sidelines while someone else runs the play.

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Thank you for praying.
Thank you for checking in.
Thank you for carrying this work in ways seen and unseen.

I’m healing.
The ministry is moving.
And once again I’m learning that sometimes stepping aside is just another way God builds something that lasts.

Turns out the ministry keeps moving — even when I keep falling down.