Last night at church, I was able to sit down and talk with one of our members. She asked about my recent trip. Her mistake I suppose, as any time a door opens for me to talk about Haiti, it becomes a long saga of me talking, them pretending to listen, and I’m sure thinking “Man, I wish he’d shut up.”
She asked some great questions. And then she said, “I bet there’s not a day that goes by that you don’t think about them…”
Truth.
That statement has stuck with me. Why? Because since my first trip in September 2007, I literally don’t think there’s been a day that I have not thought about Haiti. Whether it is because of the painting of our mission church in Saut d’Eau that adorns our living room, the numerous pictures I have on Facebook, the black and white photos on our end table in the living room, or the background on my computer of my dear Shella – it’s daily.
Truth be told, I check the weather for Haiti more than I do for St. Louis, MO. If it rains here, so what? I have to reschedule my run? I have no softball games that night? But when a storm brews and flooding occurs, there are hundreds of thousands of displaced individuals living in tents. My heart breaks. Why? I don’t know them. I don’t know a single name of a person living in a tent. I don’t know their families. I don’t know their locations. I have seen many tents in driving from the airport north to my safe haven in Saut d’Eau.
I follow people on Twitter and have Facebook “friends” who live and serve in Haiti. Their updates fascinate me as I see the every day life, lived out as the hands and feet of Christ. They’re part of my connection. I feel fortunate that I can even keep up with their lives, when they live in the daily grind of life in Haiti.
Lala - In need of a monthly sponsor.
I think of my kids in the home. I have relived the conversations I had just 10 days ago. I was able to talk with Andrerose Flovine, a twelve year old girl from Montage Teribe, Haiti. She lives in our home during the school year. She sat with me one night as we Americans sat on the front porch of the girls dorm following the evening service. We took no translator, and simply laughed and sang together. The girls in the home wiped down the concrete ledge to remove the water so we, their guests, could have a place to sit. Andrerose, nicknamed “Lala,” was standing in front of me, so I pulled her back to rest on my leg. For over an hour, she sat there, content. She never spoke. She never asked me for a thing. She would just sing when the girls would sing. She would listen when the Americans would listen. I had part of a Clif bar in my pocket that I had been snacking on. She is now a fan of White Macadamia Nut Clif Bars. Two nights later, it was raining lightly. Church was beginning down the hill from the house we stay in. There were four Americans on the front porch, getting ready to walk down once the rain eased up. Lala was standing in front of the house, just staring. I brought her up on the porch and asked her if she had a father. “Yes,” she replied. What about a mother? “No, she died.” What’s her father do? She doesn’t know. Upon further discussion, I believe he makes some money farming. Her precious smile and introverted demeanor is on my mind today.
Just like Shella.
Just like Tanise.
Just like Dade.
Just like Meboshae.
Just like Moise.
And my list could continue.
What are they doing today?
They dominate my thoughts. Their smiles pierce my heart. I sing a little chorus in my head that I learned in Haiti that is attached to the famous hymn “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name…”
Glwa Bondye
Adoracion Bondye
Chapo Ba Bondye
Li Merite Lwanj
Glory to God
Adoration to God
I give my hat to God
He deserves praise
This is my normal day. In and out of focus as those individuals cross my mind. Thinking of the horrible Creole conversations I’ve had with them. Thinking of their smiles when I would mispronounce words, or just make a goofy face to see those toothy grins.
It’s that bittersweet part of coming home. I am 100% where God has called me. I love ministry at my church. I love my youth group. I love my congregation.
But my friends, yes close friends, live in Haiti. I want a life for them that is better than what most have – but it’s not a life with an Xbox, flat-screen TV, and two car garage. I want their smiles to be because mom and dad are leading them spiritually. I want their smiles because mom is alive. Dad is alive. They live at home as a family.
That’s what breaks my heart.
It’s a never-ending struggle. The more I go to Haiti, the more confused I get. As I posted last week – What Is Help? No really? What is it? It’s not throwing money at a problem, buying them rice and beans for a day, and walking about patting myself on the back. It’s not about me at all.
What is joy? It’s not found in things. I’ve seen more joy without having vehicles, mattresses, and food than I have where all of those things are taken for granted.
What is worship? It’s not the four song section of our Sunday mornings. I’ve seen worship take place with a little girl sharing Welch’s Grape Juice with two younger kids by pouring it in the cap and letting them drink. It’s a lifestyle.
What is? What is? What is? My definitions and worldviews have changed. The way I perceive my role in ministry has changed. The way I view material goods has changed. The way I view meals has changed. The way I view church, worship, sleep, showers, coffee, soda, telephones, computers, families, suitcases, shoes, t-shirts, gifts, money, and basically life has changed.
I think about Haiti every day. Not in a way that I pity their lives…but in a way that I have begun to pity what I hold most valuable.
