Becoming Mama , livre ebook

Harvest House Publishers - Telfort Ismael Yvrose , Craig Borlase

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A Courageous Yes When Yvrose fled her native Haiti for the United States, she couldn't imagine she'd return. After suffering multiple miscarriages, she struggled to build a new life. In a desperate moment, she finally met Jesusuttering her first ';yes' to God. That one yes became many when she couldn't forget the faces of the children she saw in a recurring dream. Finally, a trip to Haiti brought her dream to life when she became Mama to the many children left with no home after a catastrophic earthquake devastated the nation. Becoming Mama tells the incredible story of one woman who had the courage to lay everything aside in answer to God's call. You will be encouraged by God's overwhelming faithfulness to Yvrose's every yes to God, and learn you don't have to sell everything or travel to far-off places to make a difference. All you need is an open heart ready to say yes to His call.

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Philosophie et théologie

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Publié par	Harvest House Publishers
Date de parution	01 octobre 2019
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9780736977661
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,1020€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from The ESV Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version ), copyright 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Verses marked NLT are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.
Verses marked NIV are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version , NIV . Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Cover design by Connie Gabbert Design + Illustration
Cover photos Sylvie Corriveau, Mateusz Liberra / Shutterstock
Published in association with the literary agency of D.C. Jacobson Associates LLC, an Author Management Company. www.dcjacobson.com ; Lauren Yono-assistant; lauren@dcjacobson.com
Becoming Mama
Copyright 2019 by Yvrose Telfort Ismael
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97408
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
ISBN 978-0-7369-7765-4 (pbk)
ISBN 978-0-7369-7766-1 (eBook)
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means-electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other-without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author s and publisher s rights is strictly prohibited.
CONTENTS
Dedication
Prologue
Part One

1. Lonely and Alone

2. Dreams and Visions

3. Two Miracles in Haiti

4. The Mountain and the Ocean
Part Two

5. Speaking Truth to Sin

6. Life (and Death Too)

7. The Unexpected Gift

8. A Kind of Ending
Part Three

9. The Day the Earth Shook Everything Apart

10. Becoming Mama

11. The New Lowest Point

12. The Healing Has Begun

13. The Riches of Being Poor
Part Four

14. All Things New

15. Welcome Home

16. The Powers of Darkness

17. Jabetta

18. Sweat Equity

About the Author

About the Publisher
DEDICATION
I want to thank God for transforming my life from a rebel to a servant.
This book is for my husband, Pierre-Richard, for embracing
me when I was rejected, for sharing and running the race of life
faithfully with me, for being a great father to my children,
and for keeping the faith when I am down.
This book is for my mom and dad, who brought me into this world.
This book is for my 38 children, for bringing
joy and happiness in my life.
This book is for my brother-in-law, Louis Derosier, who encouraged
me and paid my first semester in college.
This book is for Marie Desroses, who taught me how to pray the will
of God, how to listen to God, and how to say yes to God s call.
This book is for all my sisters and brothers who
encouraged me to stay in school.
This book is for all my friends who have supported me
since I returned to Haiti.
This book is for all those who have supported Hope House Haiti.
And this book is for all the churches who served us
locally and internationally.
PROLOGUE
Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Tuesday, January 12, 2010. 4:53 p.m.
B reathless, I try to roll from my back to my knees. I get halfway up, but then it happens again. I am thrown into the air. I hang here, just for a beat. Weightless. Then I am hurled down once more onto my back.
Forty-six years I have lived on this earth. Not once has it ever moved beneath my feet. Not once has it ever stirred. But the earth is no longer asleep. The planet is awake-and incensed. It is a violent, raging giant. It wants to be rid of all us parasites that have dared to touch its surface.
Another surge slams me down onto my side. It throws me the way a dog wrestles with a stolen toy, the way a cow s back will spasm to dislodge the flies that have settled upon it.
I spend these first seconds of the earthquake in a state of shock. Nothing makes sense. I wonder what is wrong with my hearing, for my ears have been robbed of all the familiar city sounds that had filled the air moments before. Then I realize that the strange feeling in my ears is not deafness but a noise so loud as to be deafening. The sound of the city being torn apart.
With this new realization comes terror, slamming into me with a force even greater than this concrete trampoline beneath me. I can taste the fear in my mouth, feel it all the way down to my stomach. It tastes like stale blood. Jesus, screams the prayer deep within me. Save us!
A series of kicks from the ground and I am thrown across the street, tumbling, twisting, dragged through air and rubble by invisible ropes. Only when I come to a halt do I look back at where I was standing-the familiar street corner not far from my mother-in-law s home-and see it disappear under a cloud of bricks and dust. The sound alone is enough to crush me.
The street is narrow, barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other. I look up to see the wall of the building above me bulge and billow, like it is trying to hold back an ocean. It starts to crack and break up, and I know exactly what is about to happen. Another peal of thunder comes from the bricks and I see the wall break away and fall toward me. This is it. This is the moment of my death.
I m flying.
The earth sends me first to the left, then to the right, a paper bag caught in a hurricane. I hear the earth explode behind me. Everything happens so fast I do not know whether all of this is real or not. Am I really getting pulled out of the way moments before these buildings come down? And why do I feel no pain? Has death already happened?
I open my eyes. I am 20, maybe even 30 feet from where I was when the earthquake started. The street corner has disappeared. Vanished. The buildings that once stood so tall on both sides are now spread out across the road, nothing but bricks and dust and sky.
I breathe. At last the ground is still.
For a while, the air is quiet. A handful of car horns are bleating, but they are weak and feeble after the chaos of the last 30 seconds. And then, as if on the cue of some invisible conductor, the screaming starts up.
Save us! some call.
Jesus! Jesus! plead others.
Other cries sound more like those of a wounded, terrified animal. No words. Just pain and fear from the lips of men and women, adults and infants. I try to look, but I can t see any of them. The air is misted, a thin cloud of dust that catches in my throat as I try to breathe.
I check my body for cuts and breaks but don t expect to find any. I know that I have been protected, that not a hair on my head has been harmed.
I get to my feet and struggle back toward the corner. A figure approaches, more like a ghost than a man. He s covered in gray dust, and in his arms he carries a child, a little girl who can t be older than five or six. She s also painted gray, but there s blood covering most of her face. Her legs and arms hang limp as they pass by.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I exhale. I am alive. I am alive. Thank You, Jesus.
I stand at what s left of the corner, trying but failing, then trying and failing again to reach my husband, Pierre-Richard, on my cell phone. When I finally give up, I notice that the cries have grown louder and a crowd has formed nearby. Some people are helping drag others out of buildings, others can only stand and watch as those who are trapped can barely force an arm out through an impossibly small gap. Bodies lie on the ground; some are alone, others have people beside them, weeping or frantically trying to help.
Why do I get to survive when so many others have not? I push the thought away for now. I cannot stop. I have to get back.

As soon as I see my mother-in-law s house, I cry. Waves of relief wash over me as I approach the one-story timber and mud home, which is still standing. I step into the front yard. Everyone is alive.
That s when the question returns and ignites within me. Why me? Why am I alive?
As sure as the dust in my mouth and eyes, I know that God has heard my question and that He has an answer for me.
You are alive to do My will. That s why I ve put you in this place. You are here to represent Me. That s why you are alive.
The tears come almost instantly. It s like I am a child again, a newborn. I feel weak and vulnerable but also called into life by my loving Father. My every breath is dependent on Him. My life is His. I have felt this way before-years earlier when I was living in Florida and I handed over control of my life to Him. There were no earthquakes then, but my life was in ruins all the same. And just like He is doing now, God held His arms wide open and bid me come to Him. What had I done to deserve such love and kindness?
For the twentieth time I try to phone Pierre-Richard, but again the call doesn t go through. I have tried so hard not to panic, but as I sit and wait in the house he grew up in, I cannot hold back the fear any longer. I replay the last phone call we had, just five minutes before the earthquake struck.
It had been one of those calls that you have with your husband when you get home from a long trip where you have been apart. There was way too much to say in a simple phone call, so we stuck to the facts about where and when he was going to collect me. We ended the call the way we always do, saying I love you. Those three words don t