This is a question that I ask myself fairly often. I look at many ministries that are working in Haiti and realize I pale in comparison to the awesome work that they are doing. They recognize that their job is crucial and they do so with care, compassion, concern, and love.

Here’s what I mean. Haiti has become a hip place to go. I have seen many of my friends who were clueless to Haiti, take missions trips to the country since the earthquake. The earthquake exposed needs. It opened opportunities. this has been both good and bad. When I first started taking short-term missions trips (STMs) I had a warped view of what it is to take a trip.

Below, you’ll find some of the typical attitudes and thoughts I had that I feel are reflective of what goes on today.

1. There are poor people who need our help, so by going, we can take stuff to them that they need. This makes sense, right? They need stuff. We have tons of stuff. I was that way. I was thinking of the old shirts that I didn’t wear that I could take down there. I was thinking of the old running shoes that had lost all the cushioning and that I had to retire. Surely they’d enjoy some free shirts and shoes that I didn’t want anymore. This is a noble idea. It is giving of myself to people who don’t have these things, right?

   Stop what you’re reading right now, open a new tab, and Google “SWEDOW.” That was me. “Stuff We Don’t Want.” If we’re honest, why should I try and send a pair of old worn out running shoes with 650 miles on them and think that some person in Haiti would want to wear my sweaty, worn out, pieces of rubber? My trash is good enough for them? How messed up is that?

   So the answer is clearly, “Let’s go down to the Wal-Mart, buy some flip flops, shoes, clothes and mail them to these people, right? Wrong.

   Let me show you some pictures from the local market.I jokingly called this “JoAnn Fabric” at the market in Mirbalais. This is just one of the pictures that shows you they sell fabric, so that the people who know how to sew can make skirts, etc. I have other pictures of people who are selling t-shirts. You can also go by the Haitian Payless Shoe Source (again, cheesy Ryan joke…) where someone is selling new shoes.

   I post all of this, because it took me forever to recognize that by me taking down a bunch of junk, or even new stuff, I was hurting the economy of the fabric lady in Mirbalais. Why would we need some fabric to go and make a dress whenever that American guy will send me one? But not just her, we kill the fabric economy, and the lady who sews the dresses, all for an old piece of clothing.

   So my biggest thing learned in this, is by sending goods that they already have in country, I am stealing money from the person who has made that their profession!

2. I should be thankful for everything I have, because some people don’t have those things. Don’t confuse what I am saying here – you should be thankful for the things that you have. God has blessed my wife and I with jobs which has allowed us to buy some “pleasures.” But what I am saying through this point is: “If all we are learning through missions trips to Haiti and other poverty-stricken countries is that we should be thankful for what we have because there are poor people around the world, then we have missed the point.” Poverty goes beyond money and material things.

   One of my biggest guilts of going to Haiti, was this picture:I took this picture my very first trip. It was a beautiful little girl in Laboul, Haiti. But when I came home, suddenly I was like, “Oh, poor thing. She can’t afford this and that…” While these are true sentiments, what I allowed was to take the extreme poverty to manipulate people. I become a poverty tourist. I took pictures of these poor kids, not with the intention of building relationships, but I was exposing their poverty, making people feel sorry for them to give money, etc.

   It’s a confusing emotion, because does that little girl have an issue with her eye? Absolutely! Could it probably be fixed in the states fairly easily. Probably. (At least I’m assuming. As a youth pastor, the last time I performed surgery on someone, it created a difficult and long day…) My point is if all I have coming back is this picture that will make me put it in front of people and say, “Wow. Look at that little kid. She is so poor. We better be thankful. We better send her some shoes. Or maybe a dress. Or maybe some crayons…” then we’ve missed the point.

3. I’m making a huge splash through this missions trip. This is the hardest one to swallow for me. When I took my frist trip, people were saying things like, “That’s so great that you went. They really need a lot of help.” As if me, as a senior in college at the time, studying youth ministry, was going to go and turn around the government infrastructure of the county in an 8 day trip. Ater seven trips, I still haven’t figured out what makes Haiti click. I still haven’t figured out what I’m doing half of the time. I still can’t figure out my role within the mission as the Children’s Home Coordinator.

   STMs are about us. As stated, what is a group of 10 men from my church going to do in May? In the overall picture of things, not a whole lot. Yes, we have some projects with the children’s home, to work along side some of the local Haitian workers to work on the children’s home and do some building projects. (This is because we work with them, because they are more than capable, know the building down there, and it employs them.) But after 7 days of work, Haiti is still poor. People are still hungry. People are still in tents. This isn’t to say what we are doing is worthless and that we shouldn’t do anything, but STMs are a lot about perspective.

   I was in Haiti on a vision trip with a friend last March. It was different, because I wasn’t with our mission the entire time. I was able to ask some awesome people at the Heartline Guesthouse some questions about STMs. One of the answers I got about short term teams has stuck with me. Sitting at dinner, I asked three of the Heartline employees about STMs and the best thing an STM team should know before going on a trip abroad. One answer that has blown my mind said, “I am completely against STMs. But if it weren’t for an STM I wouldn’t be in Haiti today.” That blew my mind, because honestly, we’re not doing everything right. In fact, there are a lot of horror stories with missions trips where people go in as the great, white, American answer that will fix poverty. They build a house, high five, get pictures, and go home thinking they did something great. They never return, they put a star by their name, they post sad pictures and say, “Oh God, help them!” I know all of this, because that was me.

   Now, I have begun to understand how STMs are changing me. They’re for me. This is okay, but it opens up a megaphone for God to scream to me about my life, His Kingdom, and the Gospel. But the truth is, if they’re for us, we would be greatly messed up if we don’t seek to do them properly. We should seek to do them where they are for us, but we are still impacting those abroad. Not just with good intentions, but to understand the long term effects of our being there. To understand that we are not the answer, but restoring relationships with Creator and man is the answer. That when we take stuff in, we hurt the people instead of helping.

Slowly, God is exposing the wrong heart I had while doing STMs. It’s a long, slow, painful process. But it is the right thing.

As I plan a trip for May for our suburban St. Louis church I have fear. I have fear that when we go, we’re going to do something stupid. Not like starting a fight with a local gang, but instead, like messing up a life with our good natured American intentions. It’s a long process that is changing me, but I pray my study will be fruitful.

As we go in May, our projects will be slight building under the instruction of Vigor, our mission’s mason. More details regarding this project are coming soon.

Likewise, our church is supporting our children’s home where we are hoping to do some renovations and purchase mattresses and build beds for each student. They all have beds, but some share with another student. This is a great need. We will be buying mattresses in Haiti, having the beds built in Haiti by a metal worker. Our men will simply be exposed, with hopefully the right attitude of service to God, to what God has been doing in Haiti for hundreds of years.

If you would like to donate to our children’s home, whether to sponsor a student at $30 a month, or just a one-time gift to help furnish beds, mattresses, or updated renovations to the home, please donate on the PayPal link above.

What do I do in Haiti? I haven’t fully figured it all out. And as I try, I just hope I do it well.

I mean, I love all the kids in the home. I really do. But there’s something about Shella that has just stuck out to me.

After the earthquake, it was six weeks until a group headed into Mountain Faith Mission. My father took some nurses into the mission to set up a medical clinic for the area.

As they arrived on the property, it was nighttime and it was already dark. As they got out of the van, a young girl ran up to my father and simply said, “Ryan?” asking if I had come. That young one was Shella. At the time, I didn’t really know Shella all that well. In fact, I was utterly confused as to who this young girl was.

In September 2010, as I made my fourth trip to Haiti, I noticed Shella a bit more. I’ll never forget that she was always lingering near me, and on my last day there, when I was in need of a translator because of a visit, she was so perceptive that she had already run to get someone when she recognized my awesome Creole skills were lacking. That stuck out to me. As she sat at a distance and realized I wanted help, she jumped from the porch, ran and got Pastor John to translate, and went on her merry little way. Smart kid.

Then my sixth trip had come in. I had thought about that young girl numerous times. The story went that her father had died in the earthquake and mother couldn’t afford the kids. (Father wasn’t dead, but instead running from the law, and now in the Dominican Republic, doesn’t have anything to do with Shella or her siblings…) As I arrived in May 2011, that’s when that special connection happened.

I was leading the trip for our church. The day after we arrived, I led some of the men around our mission property to see some of the different buildings. We walked to the new church building and behind it, the greenhouses. As we looked at the greenhouses, I noticed there was a stalker among us. About 25 yards behind us, there was Shella. She was simply standing, watching at a distance.

We went lower on the property towards the school, and I continued to check over my shoulder. There she was, staying at a distance behind us. I waved for her to come to us, and she quickly ran, grabbed my hand, and we began to walk. That was the beginning of the most beautiful thing in the world to me. I love that child.

For the rest of the week, where I went, she could always be found just a few feet behind. She followed me one day after she got out of school. She stole my hat. This gem was taken shortly after. It sits on my desk in my office. 

The most amazing thing to me was her contentment. Our kids in the home are wonderful. They don’t ask for things as a whole. They’re polite. They’re courteous. They’re wonderful kids. Kids want stuff, but our kids are phenomenal. Shella takes it to the extreme. I’ve asked her numerous times if she needs anything.

My favorite was when she was sitting in my lap behind the girl’s dorm. I asked her that question. I got this answer:

Shella: Tenis. (Tennis shoes)

Ryan: Okay.

Shella: Chosèt. (Socks)

Ryan: Anything else?

Shella: No. (Except she says it in the most precious way. “Na.”)

And that’s it. “I could use some tennis shoes. I don’t have any. I could use some socks. I don’t have any. But that’s it.” And it’s true. She has some sandals, but that’s it. There’s no wishing for more. It’s a need. It’s truth. It’s not her asking me as the American benefactor to all her grandest wishes. I’ve asked every time. She’s even told me “nothing.”

She has followed me. She’s sat still on my lap, just to spend time with me. She’s told me about her family. She’s laughed. She’s picked on me. She even bit my ear once.

I love that child.

The last church service we were in, I couldn’t help but weep over her. Not because she’s a Haitian child who doesn’t have an Xbox. But because she’s a child whose mother cannot afford her. Whose father has abandoned her. That breaks my heart that her dad has left her. And I cried. I prayed to God that He would break Abner’s heart and he would return to be a father. To support his wife. To raise his kids. That’s her need. Not tennis shoes. Not socks. She needs her daddy.

Unfortunately, the last time I saw her, she had her face hidden. As we were loading the van to head to Port-au-Prince, she wouldn’t look at me. She was sad. As was I. I asked her what was wrong, knowing what it was, but she wouldn’t answer. She simply hid her face, turned her back to me, and that’s it.

I grabbed her and pulled her close to me. I had tears in my eyes.

“M’rinmin ou. M’ap sonje ou.”

“I love you. I will miss you.”

And that was it.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that child. My desktop on my computer has this picture:

That’s as she stalked me. Justin grabbed the photo as she was peering over the wall in our school. It pierces me every time I look at it. But that’s my girl.

M’sonje li.

Mirlanda was the sister of Mitane, our children’s home director.

Mirlanda died on Thursday.

I got the call around 6pm, right before I began Bible study with some friends at church.

Mirlanda was prone to epileptic seizures. The story that I received was that the shower was not working in our girl’s dorm. Some of the girls proceeded to go outside, about 70 yards behind the dorm to the creek in order to bathe yesterday. On the way there, some of the girls stopped to talk, but Mirlanda proceeded to go ahead to the creek.

The next details are truly unknown, but what we do know is that in the creek, she died. The first report was that she drowned after she was seen to have fallen, but I am assuming there are a few more details in the mix that I don’t have the capability to find out. The assumption is that she possibly had a seizure, was unsupervised for a few moments, fell beneath the water and drowned there.

As Richard and Wilma Turner were in the states for a while, Pastor Turner received a phone call yesterday from Pastor John and Eric, two of our mission leaders. Pastor John was trying to explain everything to Pastor Turner, but Pastor Turner said there was so much noise from crying and wailing in the background that he couldn’t understand. Eric then called Pastor Turner as he walked off to a distance to explain what had happened.

Mirlanda’s body has been sent to Mirbalais, a local town about 10 miles to the east to be put on ice until the funeral occurs. Pastor Turner is on his way back home today and will arrive in Port-au-Prince around 3pm.

Mitane, Mirlanda’s sister, is currently pregnant. Pastor Turner is fearing that her grief will cause her to go into premature labor.

As I received the call, I didn’t know how to react. Mirlanda was not someone that I sat and talked to for hours like I have some of the other students. That was not her personality. She was the epitome of introvert. But I had sat on the front porch of our girl’s dorm and sang with her and the other students before. When I received word, I immediately grabbed her sponsorship card out of my desk. What do you say?

Now, I am just a mix of emotions. My heart is broken. That was a friend. She was 18 years old. An accident occurred. I wish I had the money to fly down next week to attend the funeral. I just want to sit with my kids, my friends, and weep. I want to show them that I am not just some American guy with an interest in Haiti.

Thousands of kids die around the world every day in third world situations. Most of them, from preventable diseases and other issues. I’ve read their stories. I’ve seen their pictures posted by missionaries.

Today, that’s me posting. Yesterday, death had a name and a face for me. It’s not just “some kid” in Haiti, it was Mirlanda. Shy, introverted, dry-sense-of-humor, Mirlanda.

Please join me in prayer for the entire Mountain Faith Mission community as they mourn the loss of a sister, friend, and daughter.

If you would like to contribute to help with the funeral expenses, please donate via PayPal and mark your donation for “Mirlanda.” If you would like to send a check, please email me to let me know. We are trying to curb the cost for the mission as much as possible. Mirlanda had no immediate family outside of Mitane, the mission was her family. And today, they mourn.

Mirlanda Phariscat
July 7, 1993 – October 20, 2011

On one side, I read a lot of reports of short-term missions trips and I am very critical. I have become more and more critical of other’s trips because I am a judgmental jerk. (At least I openly admit it.) Many trips these days have seemed to become all about the goers. I glanced at some missions trip photos recently, and all of the captions had this voice behind it of how blessed the receivers were because the goers decided to “sacrifice” by coming. I don’t mean to be a jerk about it, but it happens. 

On a further note, I hate it, because it’s so reflective of my attitude many times, especially in the past. I remember my first trip to Haiti, I was overwhelmed by the poverty and felt that by giving my material goods, I was benefiting them. The more I have gone to Haiti though, the more I question everything I’ve done in the past and in the future. I run a lot. When my shoes get worn out with 600-700 miles, they’re done. I had the idea I could take them and give them to people in Haiti… Today, I look back and think…”Wow, who wouldn’t want a pair of shoes whose sole has been rubbed raw, have miles worth of sweat and stink, and are far from brand new?” My rescue mentality was shifted from actually helping those in need in the most beneficial way to appeasing my conscience by “giving” yet, in the end, it was just crap I didn’t want.

People talk about how great the work I do in Haiti is, but Haiti has warped me. I feel sick a lot times when I think about Haiti, because I don’t really know how much I’m doing. Yes, relationships are worth a lot. But many times, that seems to be the only substance I have to contribute to my friends in Haiti. Yet, I could never imagine not going to visit them…those are my kids, friends, and adopted family. I love them – not in a “We just spent a week at church camp…” friendly sort of way, but no, really, I love them.

So on side number one, I see people congratulating themselves and pretending like Haiti has suddenly benefited greatly and is on a quick road to recovery because of their presence. I guess it’s easy to see it, because many times, I identify with that sentiment. Those kids were lucky I brought them candy, right? How blessed they are because of me…right? Wrong, Ryan. Wrong. Stop patting yourself on the back. Serve. Go to serve, not serve yourself.

On the other side of the coin are the voices of those who live and serve full-time on the mission field. Those are the true heroes of missions. They are the backbone to getting things done, and they do things right. I love reading the thoughts of people on the front line. The people who don’t just say they love the people of Haiti (or whatever country) but they show it through the services they freely give.

But what I don’t like about it, is the truth that they speak. They speak, sometimes, of the negative sides of short-term missions trips. The side of seeing people come in with the previously mentioned attitudes and how that negatively affects a team, or worse, the people they went to “serve.”

Or better yet, reading how many times, Americans treat Haiti and other third world countries as a sort of museum of poverty. They go, look, observe those pitiful poor people, go back and tell everyone we should be thankful for what we have. And many times, we miss the fact that beneath the surface of the poverty are people who have so much more than our shallow lives in America can ever give. If all we get out of a missions trip to a place of poverty is how much we have, then its a huge failure.

Or, what about going in, knowing more than the people whom you are serving. You are the teacher, they are the student. Clearly, they don’t know as much about life as you do – you’re American! They’re poor for a reason!

It scares me when I read that side of missions from full time missionaries, because honestly, I remember some of those thoughts and things that came out of my mouth.

And it makes me critical.

I don’t like to be critical of teams that work in Haiti, Uganda, China, Kazakhstan, or anywhere in the world. Why? Because they can be critical of me. Because I make the same mistakes that make me angry.

Missions trips are not about me. They’re not about you. I haven’t figured them out. But I’m warped by Haiti. It’s made me question everything that I do. Is it really the best route? Am I hurting someone by bringing an item to Haiti and giving it away? Am I hurting someone by being a part of a team?

I feel inadequate to go, because I don’t know how to contribute. But I can’t stop going. I miss my friends. My kids. My families.

Haiti has warped me.

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.

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.

Things there have been in full swing. We are still attempting to fund the building project with the children’s home which will supply two more rooms for some of our students to sleep. It will also provide a larger living area for Mitane and Yves, our children’s home directors who are expecting their second child and manage the 40 students who presently live on campus.

Vacation Bible School (or camp as we call it) is scheduled September 4-8. I will be traveling in with my father and Justin on September 1. We will travel home on the 10.

Other than that, things remain busy in the life of Ryan, and things at MFM have been relatively quiet. Groups have come and gone all summer, making an impact and seeking vision as to how to better be involved with MFM.

I received an email the other day from the Turners. We are in need of some funding within the children’s home. Mitane, the children’s home director in Haiti, as well as the Turner’s daughter, has been living in front of the Turners house with her husband, Yves, her daughter Yulie, and three girls from the children’s home – Hermithe, Tanise, and Edliene.

It is with great joy that we can say Mitane is again expecting. But this means there would be seven people living in a two bedroom house. When the new children’s home dormitory was built, it was made with the foundation where Mitane could have a house

The current house.

built on the property so that she could be closer to the children’s home and be able to monitor things more closely. Likewise, it would expand the room, both giving more space for the family, as well as some of the students in the children’s home.

This project is a great addition to the mission and creates extra space for our children’s home. With forty students in the children’s home, thirty seven of them live in the two dorms. There are only 19 twin sized mattresses for those 37. The other three girls live with Mitane, also sharing beds.

I am in the process of getting bedding and mattresses for each of the students, but having more room for our director, as well as our students will help aid the living conditions at the time as it is.

If you would like to give to this project, please donate via PayPal and notate your donation as “Mitane” or “CHHouse” so it can be distributed properly.

The total project, for a three bedroom house, will cost approximately $2800, and we have had approximately $400 given to this project. Any money is beneficial and would be used 100% for this project. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me.

This is in a picture frame on my desk at work.

When I think about it, I can’t help but smile.

I love this little girl.

Meet Shella Felixe, my girl in Haiti that Lindsey and I sponsor through Mountain Faith Mission.*

* Interested? It just so happens I’m the children’s home director and we have about 30 kids who need someone to fall in love with them and sponsor them at $30 a month. Want more details? Leave me a comment or shoot me an email.

The first trip I went on in 2007, I focused on the enormous difference between Haiti and America: poverty. It is such an obvious difference, so it is hard not to examine everything through that lens. Seeing mud huts with rusty roofs is hard not to notice when you live in an area that has $250,000 homes. But I was impressed with what I saw on the first trip – there was a genuine contentment with the Haitian people.

Five more trips and I find myself wit ha similar perspective. The contentment is overwhelming. While the poverty is beyond noticeable, a new perspective has crept into my mind as I see overwhelming joy in the lives of the Haitian people. There is pure joy in many of the hearts of the Haitians.

To me, there is something special about being a truck with forty Haitian kids who are excited to travel beyond the walls of their mission. They are joyous at the opportunity presented to them, allowing them to make a 30 minute drive that takes them to a place that on the front, looks exactly the same as the palce that they live.

There is something beautiful about having a dozen Haitian teenagers sitting around you as you attempt to speak their language. They laugh at some of your horrible mispronunciations, while you return the favor when English words are said. They giggle at your ridiculous attempts at humor. And all the while, the joy is so overwhelming as they ask you to sing for them. Or, they simply ask when the next time is that you will return to see them again.

It simply proves that true joy is not found in things. True joy is beyond the reach of materialism. And as I see their true joy come out in worship, relationships, and life as a while…I find true joy. While it is 91° outside, I am surrounded on a small 6×6 cement porch with a dozen people, and an eleven year old girl sitting in my lap…I have indescribable joy. As I mispronounce nearly every word in the Creole language, I have joy. As I sit through over an hour of Creole hymns and worship before the pastor even preaches, my joy begins to overflow. And as I walk down the road with a little girl clasping my hand, my joy is matchless.

My kids in Haiti are one of my sources of joy. As they laugh, I can’t help but smile. As they teach me their language, I can’t help but laugh. As a small hand latches onto mine, I find pure joy in a relationship with a child who longs for love – the same type of love that I took for granted as a child. Amazingly, a tiny hand embraced in mine brings out a number of emotions.

Six trips to Haiti bring a new perspective each time.

This trip I saw joy…not in the Haitian people, but in myself.