A Bottle of Water

(Our intertnet connection is flimsy at best.  Therefore, the big plan of posting pictures... yeah... not gonna happen at this point.  BUT we'll keep trying!!)

Our ragamuffin group made it to Haiti! After a "delightful" prolonged stay at the Myrtle Beach Airport and a few quick hours of sleep in Ft. Lauderdale, we finally reached our destination. We're tired. It's hot. But I don't think for a second any of us would change a minute of the last 24 hours (and none of us can believe it's only been 24 hours).

Victoria, one of our team members, is keeping a journal to give to her daughter when we get back. Following is what she worte during our drive from Port Au Prince to St. Marc.

Thanks for praying, you guys. And keep it up. This is just the beginning.

IT'S HOT!! JUNGLE HOT!! It smells like garbage, the dust almost chokes you, trash ankle deep along the streets. Rubble and tent "neighborhoods" as far as the eys can see. It will be three hours till we get to St. Marc. As we drive through Port Au Prince all of us take pictures continously, unconscous and numb to what we are seeing...

I wanna cry... I wanna help... I don't want to admit I'm so freaked out and scared to death. Scared of the Hatians attacking our open windows asking for hand outs. Scared of how we'll eat. Scared of going home in 7 dyas only to forget these feelings of guilt and sorrow tugging at my heart and gut. Diane, I hope pictures will give you an insight of the poverty here on the streets. Almost makes Manna House look like the Ritz. We roll and bump into a town swerving pot holes, goats and natives literally inches from being hit. Horns blarring. Impatient trucks filled with bunches of bananas, yied up goats and people so sqoosed they are sitting on each other. Our family record of 16 in Freedy James? Every vehicle looks that way. One or two to a motorcycle? Try three or four.

Oh no. Stuck. Stuck. Stuck. Stuck in another traffic jam in the middle of a tiny town. Music coming from who knows where, arguing, womening balancing baskets like a national geographic magazine and flies swarm in the open widonws the milisecond our raggety wheels screech to a stop. Then it happened... Brandi passed a half empty water bottle to a desperate momma right out of the window. Clinging to her hips was a hot little baby with no emotions in her saddened eye. Almost without thinking she raised the cold water to her babies lips before her own. So touched, I raised my camera to capture this action of a mothers' love.

Oh no - ours eyes met, I wasn't prepared for that. She was to be a picture stored away in a shoebox. Like a memory. Not a real person! Just as they press themselves against the window words come from the dirty cracked lips. Words in a different language. Words I didn't understand. But words I could feel. What could I give her? What should I do. Time was in slow motion yet I still had no time to react.

How did I this happen? How did I get here? Why was it in God's plan fo rme to be here with thse people. Thankfully we pulled away, tears filled my eyes before the woman was out of sight. Unable to sort through or process any of my surroundings I let the tears come. Tears of sadness. Tears of guilt.

Until tomorrow...