I returned Saturday. It was harder this time than any other time. Mainly, because as I continue to make trips to Haiti, the language barrier is broken down. I can communicate more freely. I am in no ways close to fluent, but I can carry on some basic conversations.
This allows me to get to know some of the kids in the children’s home with which I work. I love these kids and their spirits. Their work ethic puts most people in America to shame. Their smiles are contagious. And their voices, coming together to sing praises to God, are unmatched.
But their stories hurt. I don’t understand everything about Haitian culture, but I do know that some things within American culture are cross-cultural. Parents are necessary in the life of a young person. Not only that, but God has commanded parents to raise their children spiritually. And that’s where the stories hurt, because some of these young people don’t have both sets of parents.
For instance, my girl – Shella. Lindsey and I sponsor her monthly. She’s my buddy down there. She’ll sit in my lap most of the time. She’s never asked me for a single thing. She smiles a lot. And her personality is so sweet and funny.
I was able to sit with her and find out a bit about her family. It went something like this:
Ryan: What’s your mom’s name?
Shella: Roselinda
Ryan: What’s your dad’s name?
Shella: Abner
Ryan: Does your mom ever come to see you?
Shella: Yes. She’s here now.
Ryan: Does your dad ever come to see you?
Shella: No.
Ryan: Where is your dad?
Shella: I don’t know.
Ryan: Do you want to see him?
Shella: Yes.
The story could continue, but it’s basically the same thing over again. Shella’s story hurts me. She’s one of 8 children. James (26), Randy (23), and Roselore (20) are not in the home. Roselore lives with her mother in Mirbalais. Mom loves the kids and comes to see them when she can. She doesn’t have a job, nor a husband to help out, so the money is not there. Sometimes she sells things to make money, such as hair ties, and basic nick-nacks for other Haitians to enjoy.
Guerda (17), Alex (15), Chantale (12), Shella (11), and Dade (7) all live in the home. Mom simply cannot afford to care for them in Mirbalais.
Dad was on the run. He had gotten involved in some illegal practices. He had been embezzling money from the church that he worked with…yes, in our very mission. He fled to Port-au-Prince and died in the earthquake…or at least that was the rumor. The family mourned and eventually moved on. That was until this past spring when dad showed up and visited the family. No one knows if there were just rumors of his death, or if he started to rumors to rid the search party for him. But the kids had to go through the emotional turmoil of losing the dad, then seeing him resurrected.
Dad wasn’t around for long though. Today, supposedly he’s fled to the Domincan Republic. Who knows what the story is? The point is, life hurts for those kids. Mom can’t afford to come visit them because she doesn’t work. Dad has nothing to do with them and has possibly fled the country.
As Shella would sit in my lap and curl up, putting her head on my shoulder, the question was: “I wonder if she ever did this with Abner?” What I do know is that she can’t now. She can’t because he’s gone. He fled. He has nothing to do with his kids.
My heart has always broken for kids who have lost a parent, either through death or through selfish decisions. The point is, parents should be parents.
So what is help? How do I help Shella?
The worst part of this story is the fact that Wednesday morning, I was roaming about the property and saw Shella. She told me that she was going to go and live with me and Lindsey in America. She had the cute grin, just playing around. We began to talk about it. I asked her sister, Guerda, what she thought about that. Guerda and I decided that it would be best for Shella to stay in Haiti. We were able to joke and play around about it.
When I talked to Shella later, she told me that it was her mother’s idea. Her mother was the one who wanted Shella to go home with me.
Would that help though?
That’s my thought. What is help? What does help look like for Shella? What does help look like for the other five in the home? For their mother? Is taking the children to the states to live with me really help?
After living in American society for my whole life, I’m not convinced that it is helping them. What would it look like to help Shella’s mom get a job and afford to raise her children? My prayer has been for God to break Abner’s heart and to come back into their lives.
Help doesn’t come from me. Help is a far cry from what I’m doing. I’m simply in love with an eleven year old girl with a gorgeous smile and a personality to match. I love her older sister who mothers all of the young girls in the home. I love the brothers who spend time playing and goofing off with me. All I am doing is being allowed to play and build a relationship.
Helping Shella, and the other kids in the home, is a different perspective. If I give them clothes, at the end of the day their basic relationships are still broken with their families. If I give them food, they still have a dead parent. If I give them stuff, dad has still fled to the Dominican.
Help is only found in restored relationships with God. That’s poverty. It’s brokenness. Sin has broken everything.
I can’t help, can I?
I feel helpless. I want to help. I don’t know how.
All I know is that what I used to consider helping my kids, now seems useless. To help, is to restore their families. And that is where I don’t know what to do.
