I wish I could live life on a mission trip high. I am desperate to write of my precious Haitian stories, hoping they never slip through my finger tips. I am eager to remember my time spent with such a fortunate bunch. I don’t say that to mock them. I am humbled by a people who love God for who He is and not what He does for them. I am blessed to have spent time in a country overthrown with hardships and sorrow, yet shining with the joy of the Lord. They are a group, not polluted by television or influenced by mainstream images and trends. They understand community and hard work. The children are not spoiled, or self centered but instead learn early how to make much of little. The ground may shake below them, but their faith does not tremble. When faced with disaster, they do not become angry with God, instead they cling to His promises and hope. They take pride in their country and believe in a better future. They are gracious. They are loving. They changed my life.
I was speechless as we landed on the strip of concrete, also known as the Port-Au-Prince airport. I sat shotgun in an old pickup truck with a busted windshield as we drove deeper and deeper into the country. For the first time ever, I remember trusting God with my life. I mean, genuinely recognizing I was in His hands and at the mercy of His will. I didn’t have the comfort of 911, or a familiar city. No cell phone, no AAA, and nothing was in English. I had absolutely no control over my life and I was RELIEVED.
As we drove down muddy roads lined with people trying to make a living, I felt as if at any moment the director would yell “Cut!” and the projector would flicker off revealing the green screen backdrop. I can only describe it with the cheesy term, culture shock. The commute revealed a scene and a smell that I will never forget. A woman approached the vehicle. Her eyes were white, where there should’ve been dark pupils. In shame, I looked away. I saw people missing limbs. I saw people digging through mountains of trash looking for there next meal, or way to make money. I saw more bare feet than I could count. I witnessed more skinny arms and bloated bellies than I was prepared for. I felt ashamed, scared, overwhelmed and I wanted it all to go away.
The place I stayed was literally a beautiful oasis surrounded by huge concrete walls, topped by barbwire. I remember the first night sitting outside in a lawn chair listening to the vibrant, sometimes frightening, sounds coming from outside the walls. This is where I cried for the first time. If it makes any sense, I cried because I hadn’t yet cried. I’d like to think I rank pretty high on the compassionate scale, yet there I was… immersed in a fascinating new culture and terrified to look anyone in the eye.
I don’t know if the word ashamed, gives what I was feeling any justice. But, there under the Haitian moon I begged God to make sense of it all. Why are some born into wealth, and others poverty? Worse yet, why is it so easy for me, amidst all my material possessions, to be ungrateful? My mind ran a mile a minute, flooded with ideas of what to do, or how to help. I knew I would never be the same, but I could only at this point ask God where to go from there.
The next morning, I visited a missionary compound in Leogane. I listened in on the conversation, but I was more interested in this man from New Jersey’s faithful leap into another world. Here is where I started to learn of a vision for Haiti’s future. I wasn’t just standing in a courtyard of a school and church… this was a haven for children to leave with full bellies and solid Christian foundations. The future of this country lies with the children who love the Lord and desire to make their home a better place.
Before leaving the compound, the people gathered around us and prayed for safe travel and God’s will. This was so un-American and I loved it.
Our next stop was at a precious orphanage only a few miles away. Here I would meet 11 precious little ladies who all shared a roof and a bedroom. They each gave me a kiss on the cheek and I shared one of my favorite things with them… CANDY. I watched as the littlest one in the bunch placed the wrapper and all in her mouth.
They were proud to show me their room. I smiled as I saw “Jesus loves you” written on the door to the boys room. There was a concrete floor, ceiling and walls. They had no electricity so it was very dark inside. But it was clean and the girls had made their beds. They had beautiful blankets made for them by a class from Naples Christian Academy and these blankets covered a bed frame and springs. They were without mattresses.
The mother of the house stood proudly as I explored her home. The kitchen looked more like a work shed but in that small space she prepared meals for her beautiful 16 orphan children. My eyes were still adjusting when I noticed a brightly colored fabric hanging over a window. I couldn’t help but blurt out how lovely her curtains were. Her face lit up. She was beautiful and you could just tell her soul was at rest. She was a real life Proverbs 31 woman.
I wanted to give every penny I had to this Pastor and his wife who had taken in these precious little ones. They weren’t waiting around on a hand out, they were making the best of what they were given. Pray for this sweet family.
I can’t wait to share Day 2 with you, but I’m afraid I need to pace myself so you’ll actually give it a read and not be discouraged by a lengthy novel.
…to be continued.
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