(When the idea of doing a blog to track what we're doing down here first started, it was going to be a place to share photos and our day-to-day going ons. After day one we realized that there was so much more we wanted to share. Photos weren't going to happen but stories did. And trying to find just one story a day to talk about became impossible. The following was written on our last day of work and with an untold amount of tears. The person in this story has impacted me more than any one else I've ever met in any country over the last 20 years of short-term missions. And this story, in no way, does him justice.)
His name is Robinson and from the moment he showed up on our job sight he had my heart. He works harder than any person here. I truly believe that if it weren't for the lack of nails he would have continued to work through the pouring rain. The only time he took a break was when Wick or I forced him to drink "bag water."
Even now while the rest of us are taking a break, he is still hammering, bare feet, sweat-soaked shirt, soulful eyes. The only time he speaks is to ask for more nails or to say thank you.
He watches Wick's every move. Every swing of the hammer. Every step. He doesn't ask questions. He just watches and he never smiles.
I wish I could tell you his life story. I wish I knew his wife's name. I wish I could tell you that his life belongs to Jesus. What I do know is that this man served, asking for nothing and expecting nothing. And in his own quiet way impacted not just me, but many of us.
His name is Robinson and somewhere in Haiti he will always have my heart.
Until tomorrow...
Friday, August 13, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
A Pile of Trash
(Jennie Edwards shared this during our evening meeting. I think we all cried...)
Praising and praying is how we drove in this morning. The wild road that we have travelled to and from church is under construction and this morning there is a detour. The detour just happens to lead us on a journey down the most incredibly nutso road. A road where out our left window is shear paradise, blue water that looks like what we will see in heaven. "He has made everything beautiful in His time." (Ecc 3:11).
And out the right window, a man using the sidewalk as a bathroom and the worst slums you can possibly imagine. A boy comes out of the ocean naked, just done with his morning bath. We drive on. A few feet later a man dumps a pan of bathroom waste into the same water. As we drive they stare at us. And we stare back. Clearly two worlds apart.
We stop for motorcycles to whizz by, or for a goat to run across the road. As we do, we are sometimes inches from these Haitian men and woman, strangers passing by. On their way to collect water, find food for their family, or get their hair braided. I can't always tell where they are going. But they are going. They all seem to be in motion. Walking. Walking. Endlessly walking.
We pull down the road that leads to the church. Day 2 of VBS. So much awaits us. So much for God to teach us. "Father, what do you want me to learn today? I'm yours."
We have team conversation and prayer which I video on my iPhone while standing amidst a pile of trash. Victoria keeps saying everything here is opposites. I'm starting to get it. She is right. As I am videoing on my cool iPhone, the men behind Wick are pushing a huge truck up the hill stepping through piles of trash. Away from us.
We start setting up and the kids start arriving. They come in packs. Cute little girls and their friends. Boys and their buddies. These children are starved for love. Wilda, the prettiest little girl, eyelashes so long they touch her eyelids, with chocolate eyes that sing and dance. A little mischievous and a lot darling, they love fist bumps and high fives. They love to laugh. We start with songs. We act nuts and they smile and eat us up with their eyes. They can't get close enough. Literally. When I walk, they are holding my arms, legs, waist, my soaking wet shirt is stretched out by a few inches from them hanging on it. We play in the sun until we literally can't do it anymore. Then we march.
A line of sweaty kids with hands on the person shoulder in front of them seems to work well. It keeps them focused and orderly. So we march.
Victoria has a slew of sweaty ones. I have the other sweaty group. We march.
I'm dehydrated. I'm over extended. I'm overwhelmed. They each individually require more love than I have. So I smile at one. Touched the head of another. Cup another one's chin. It's actually like popping open a bag of really salty chips. Having one only makes you really want to have another, then another, then another until you are shoveling chips into your mouth unabashedly. The kids are that way. I touch one. There's another. I touch her, hug him, fist bump her, then him. Then I am completely swarmed and engulfed. I'm glad I'm tall.
So we march into the filthy pile of disgusting half-burnt trash. When I came to Haiti I was so clean. My clothes were clean, my hair, my phone, my shoes, my luggage, my backpack. Now, just mere days later, I'm standing in a big pile of trash, that I NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS would have stepped in. Or looked at... Or taken a line of kids through. But here we are, stomping, clapping, and singing in this pile of trash. It was the only way to the shade. And shade was what we had to have. An escape from the harsh brutality of one of Haitians biggest challenges - the blazing hot sun.
We are singing..."From cross to cross, my Jesus is the best, my Jesus is the best. Nah nah nah nah nah."
Over and over in that pile of trash. Everything here feels spiritual. Everything here IS spiritual. There's nothing else. There's just a big bunch of kids surviving. We're all dehydrated. No one ever goes to the bathroom. Not me. Not the team. Not the children. No one. So we are stomping. We're clapping, In the trash. We're dirty. The dirt sticks better when you're sweaty. Like when I was a little girl and would sneak in and grab a spoon and reach for the sugar. The second time in, the sugar sticks to the spoon. All over. A layer of white. That was us, but it's not white. It's brown, black, grey. It's a mess. I'm a mess. And I like it.
The children are studying me so carefully. They wipe my dirty arms. They can see my dirt so vividly on my white skin. Dirt shows up. And they want it off. They move the hair out of my eyes. But I don't mind the dirt. The dirt is what alluring. The more I love on them, the dirty I get. I am changing.... At the end of each day, I wash it all off in a cold shower. But even in the shower I am thinking of my new Haitian babies. This dirt has stained my soul. And it's not coming off.
Praising and praying is how we drove in this morning. The wild road that we have travelled to and from church is under construction and this morning there is a detour. The detour just happens to lead us on a journey down the most incredibly nutso road. A road where out our left window is shear paradise, blue water that looks like what we will see in heaven. "He has made everything beautiful in His time." (Ecc 3:11).
And out the right window, a man using the sidewalk as a bathroom and the worst slums you can possibly imagine. A boy comes out of the ocean naked, just done with his morning bath. We drive on. A few feet later a man dumps a pan of bathroom waste into the same water. As we drive they stare at us. And we stare back. Clearly two worlds apart.
We stop for motorcycles to whizz by, or for a goat to run across the road. As we do, we are sometimes inches from these Haitian men and woman, strangers passing by. On their way to collect water, find food for their family, or get their hair braided. I can't always tell where they are going. But they are going. They all seem to be in motion. Walking. Walking. Endlessly walking.
We pull down the road that leads to the church. Day 2 of VBS. So much awaits us. So much for God to teach us. "Father, what do you want me to learn today? I'm yours."
We have team conversation and prayer which I video on my iPhone while standing amidst a pile of trash. Victoria keeps saying everything here is opposites. I'm starting to get it. She is right. As I am videoing on my cool iPhone, the men behind Wick are pushing a huge truck up the hill stepping through piles of trash. Away from us.
We start setting up and the kids start arriving. They come in packs. Cute little girls and their friends. Boys and their buddies. These children are starved for love. Wilda, the prettiest little girl, eyelashes so long they touch her eyelids, with chocolate eyes that sing and dance. A little mischievous and a lot darling, they love fist bumps and high fives. They love to laugh. We start with songs. We act nuts and they smile and eat us up with their eyes. They can't get close enough. Literally. When I walk, they are holding my arms, legs, waist, my soaking wet shirt is stretched out by a few inches from them hanging on it. We play in the sun until we literally can't do it anymore. Then we march.
A line of sweaty kids with hands on the person shoulder in front of them seems to work well. It keeps them focused and orderly. So we march.
Victoria has a slew of sweaty ones. I have the other sweaty group. We march.
I'm dehydrated. I'm over extended. I'm overwhelmed. They each individually require more love than I have. So I smile at one. Touched the head of another. Cup another one's chin. It's actually like popping open a bag of really salty chips. Having one only makes you really want to have another, then another, then another until you are shoveling chips into your mouth unabashedly. The kids are that way. I touch one. There's another. I touch her, hug him, fist bump her, then him. Then I am completely swarmed and engulfed. I'm glad I'm tall.
So we march into the filthy pile of disgusting half-burnt trash. When I came to Haiti I was so clean. My clothes were clean, my hair, my phone, my shoes, my luggage, my backpack. Now, just mere days later, I'm standing in a big pile of trash, that I NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS would have stepped in. Or looked at... Or taken a line of kids through. But here we are, stomping, clapping, and singing in this pile of trash. It was the only way to the shade. And shade was what we had to have. An escape from the harsh brutality of one of Haitians biggest challenges - the blazing hot sun.
We are singing..."From cross to cross, my Jesus is the best, my Jesus is the best. Nah nah nah nah nah."
Over and over in that pile of trash. Everything here feels spiritual. Everything here IS spiritual. There's nothing else. There's just a big bunch of kids surviving. We're all dehydrated. No one ever goes to the bathroom. Not me. Not the team. Not the children. No one. So we are stomping. We're clapping, In the trash. We're dirty. The dirt sticks better when you're sweaty. Like when I was a little girl and would sneak in and grab a spoon and reach for the sugar. The second time in, the sugar sticks to the spoon. All over. A layer of white. That was us, but it's not white. It's brown, black, grey. It's a mess. I'm a mess. And I like it.
The children are studying me so carefully. They wipe my dirty arms. They can see my dirt so vividly on my white skin. Dirt shows up. And they want it off. They move the hair out of my eyes. But I don't mind the dirt. The dirt is what alluring. The more I love on them, the dirty I get. I am changing.... At the end of each day, I wash it all off in a cold shower. But even in the shower I am thinking of my new Haitian babies. This dirt has stained my soul. And it's not coming off.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Four Walls
Inside four walls 16 "white people" sat underneath a blue tarp that sheilded the sun but did nothing to keep the heat from overwhelming them. On the other side were 50 or more Hatians, dressed in their most beautiful clothes, barely moved because there was not blue tarp over them.
Inside four walls a group of believers worshipped the same God. The God that made each of them unique, but exactly the same. The God that allowed some of them to enjoy the creature comforts of the US, while others there faced another day of no food and certainly no clean drinking water.
Inside four walls 16 "white people" were thanking God for how He had blessed them - health, family, jobs, food to eat daily and clean water. We felt rich because of what we had. We felt lucky becuase of where we lived. All we had to do was look around us and feel sorry for what they didn't have. For where they lived. Their country, their daily stuggle just to survive, surely made them worthy of our pity.
Inside four walls a Hatian pstor spoke - first in Creole then in English, "We are lucky to live in Haiti where we can freely worship OUR God."
Inside four walls 16 "white people" sat stunned. Lucky to live in Haiti? IS he for real? Were those words translated correctly?
Inside four walls a group of Christians, a church, worshipped their Lord. Lucky to be in Haiti? Yes.
Inside four walls a group of believers worshipped the same God. The God that made each of them unique, but exactly the same. The God that allowed some of them to enjoy the creature comforts of the US, while others there faced another day of no food and certainly no clean drinking water.
Inside four walls 16 "white people" were thanking God for how He had blessed them - health, family, jobs, food to eat daily and clean water. We felt rich because of what we had. We felt lucky becuase of where we lived. All we had to do was look around us and feel sorry for what they didn't have. For where they lived. Their country, their daily stuggle just to survive, surely made them worthy of our pity.
Inside four walls a Hatian pstor spoke - first in Creole then in English, "We are lucky to live in Haiti where we can freely worship OUR God."
Inside four walls 16 "white people" sat stunned. Lucky to live in Haiti? IS he for real? Were those words translated correctly?
Inside four walls a group of Christians, a church, worshipped their Lord. Lucky to be in Haiti? Yes.
Monday, August 9, 2010
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...
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...
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Sent With Love
We range in ages and abilities but we're going with one common goal: to love and serve the people of Haiti.
Pray for us! And check back for more updates and pictures.
Our team:
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