Another Trip In

As you can see, this blog has become quite neglected over time. With Facebook and other forms of connection, I simply don’t get around to posting here as often. Plus, my running has suffered quite a bit, so I don’t often write, I suppose.

Nonetheless, after my trip last spring and a post here, many of you decided to give towards the work in Haiti. We were able to purchase 40 mattresses for the children in the home at Mountain Faith Mission, as well as use additional money to build enough beds for each student. It was a huge success, and I cannot share the joy that I felt to be able to witness the joy on their faces to have a mattress. These children are not “some kid in Haiti” but instead, these are my friends whom I love.

In 29 days, I will be making trip number 10, once again leading a group from my church. Here is the scoop:

1. A kitchen. In 2010, the kitchen for the children’s home fell in the earthquake. This hasn’t been a huge ordeal, because they found other options to cook at. They moved it beside the present girl’s dorm. The problem with this is the fact that the smoke often billows into the dorm, making the west wing of the home almost completely black in the walls near the ceiling. Thus, our group will be building the kitchen that will be next door to the new girl’s dorm that is already under way. Last year, we began talks and have been fortunate to already have this under way in being built. Also fortunately, the kitchen has already been paid for by the awesome people at The Springs Church in Marana, AZ.
   
   
2. Girl’s dorm building. When the kitchen is drying from laying block and whatnot, we will hopefully be able to do some work on the girl’s dorm. The sooner we can get it to completion, obviously the better for our girls. Their home has some leaks and issues, and the sooner we can get them out of the old house and into the new, the better.
3. Painting. This is my first trip from church in which we’ll have three ladies attend. There are some paint jobs that need to be taken care of which they have volunteered to help with whenever they are not fattening all of the men up from the kitchen. One of the ladies happens to be my smokin’ hot wife, so I am excited to be able to minister with her once again in Haiti. Anything that needs painting during the week, our lovely ladies will coat with paint.
4. Schooling. My wife’s father will also be making his second trip with our group. He is a Christian school teacher (20+ years experience) and has a heart for Christian education. We will be doing some vision tripping while there with our school to see about some new projects. We would like to begin some more in depth teacher training, as well as just improve the structure and layout of the schools, as many of them have sub par facilities. Likewise, we hope to be able to come up with some new projects to better support our teachers both educationally and financially. Hopefully, we will be able to visit a few of our schools.
5. Coffee. This is one of my favorite parts of the trip and I am hoping that it will all come to fruition. Of our churches in our mission, only one of them is high enough in elevation to grow Arabica coffee. This village (Montagne Terribe) is around 4700 feet in elevation to the west of Sodo. Many of the children in our home come from this village, where their parents still live, and just so happen to farm. Many of these farmers grow coffee. My goal is to get to Mt. Terribe and meet with some of these farmers, for no other reasons than to learn from them. I want to see where their coffee goes and see what type of output is happening. If they are satisfied, we do nothing, of course. They already know better than me. But, if they have opportunities to grow more, and then transport it to Port-au-Prince, one of the coffee companies in country, or even better, using Fair Trade, get it to the USA, this is my project that I plan on pursuing while I am there.
6. The Party. Finally, when I take in groups, we like to celebrate with the kids in our home. We like to have one of our Haitian ladies to make a giant spread of food to eat. Last year, we had some of the best rice and beans with chicken – my favorite Haitian meal. Last year, we fed everyone for around $150, and that was around 55 people. The goal is to do this once again, because the fellowship is phenomenal with our friends that we are able to spend time with for a week.

Here is my report of upcoming events, and if you would like to support this trip (none of the money goes to our group, expenses, etc. but only to the Haitian projects listed) you can contact me via Facebook link to the right, Twitter, email, or leave a comment and I will contact you. Likewise, you can donate via PayPal and simply designate your gift to the projects listed.

Again, many of you have given in the past and helped out in major ways. These gifts would be tax deductible, and again, would be used 100% for the children’s home projects listed above.

Contact me if you have any questions.

Preparing To Go To Haiti

Two weeks from this moment I am scheduled to be on a flight from Miami to Port-au-Prince, Haiti. This will be my ninth trip to Haiti which has become a significant part of my life and my ministry. I serve as Children’s Home director for Mountain Faith Mission of Haiti, which in essence allows me the opportunity to work along side our missionaries and serve the students who live full time there.

I don’t do anything specifically on the Haitian side of things but instead have the pleasure of working in the states to help raise funds for the every day functions of MFM. Goals include finding people to support the children’s home by donating monthly and essentially sponsoring an individual student. While the students are taken care of regardless of having a sponsor, the $30 comes in handy for curbing the every day cost. Likewise, my church took on the project to do some children’s home renovations earlier this year to work on bathrooms, shower, and roofing issues.

So trip number nine brings an exciting element to me. My wife is making her first trip with me this time. She has always desired to go, but because of having a teaching degree and always going at the beginning of September we have never set it up for her to go. She wouldn’t be able to miss school at the very start. Ironically, she has yet to actually have a job as school starts due to the awesome teacher job market in our area right now. This year we bit the bullet and are very excited to serve together.

I am enjoying watching the excitement come up in her. Two weeks out and she is already packing. It is fun to watch, but also creates even more excitement in me as well. I am ready for the people who have been wonderful friends to me over the past five years to meet my better half. I am ready for her to fall in love with the students in the children’s home.

So I was thinking of ways to prepare someone to go to Haiti. What should one know ? How do you prepare for a trip to Haiti which finds itself in the news as a dangerous and poverty stricken area?

Here are some thoughts…

1. Know the culture.
All too often it seems that we in America decide to go and visit a nation without being knowledgeable about who they are. Haiti is not St. Louis, Missouri. This goes deeper than knowing that they speak a different language and that there was an earthquake in 2010. Instead, one should be familiar with how the culture lives. For instance, there are conservative people in Haiti. I haven’t figured out if it’s a result of American missionaries in the 1900’s or if it is something see, but the area where we go in Central Haiti is conservative when it comes to Christianity. I had my wedding ring looked at and was told “pa bon,” or “no good.” While I think my wedding ring is fine and dandy, I don’t wear it down there anymore. I want to show them that I respect them, their culture, and their way of life. A friend of mine who goes has tattoos on his arms. This is again not part of the culture of the Christian people we minister to, so he wears long sleeves all week. Likewise, the area we are in, the women wear skirts all the time and the men don’t wear shorts. We live with them in this manner while we are there. This is THEIR culture. In Port-au-Prince, it is different. But when we are with them, we respect their culture and do as they do.

2. Don’t do things to stand out.
I have heard of many people who take missions trips to haiti and other places who fall into the trap of thinking that it is necessary for a giant group of white Americans to wear brightly colored matching t-shirts. You can check out multiple sources of missionaries who discourage this thought process. In the case of Haiti, you already stand out because you are white. This can be compounded by having thirty people wearing neon green shirts. You won’t lose someone…I promise.

Coupled with this is the ideas and concepts that you promote on your t-shirt. I have seen shirts that say stuff about saving Haiti and rebuilding Haiti and whatnot. There’s even a new movement with the slogan “Vacation To Save A Nation.” The way that we talk about things and present ourselves in another culture is sometimes repulsive.

I have stayed at a few guesthouses in PAP during my visits and without fail, when more than one group is there it seems that the two groups continually share stories trying to one up another. “We built 83 houses and fed 4500 people!” While the other group is talking about the 9600 people they gave clean water to.

I don’t want to sound cynical, but what a group does in 7 days in haiti, or wherever, is not bringing total redemption to the nation. Any many times, sometimes it does more harm than good… Keeping our role in perspective, we go quietly, serve humbly, and learn from those who live there…either American or Haitian. We are simply blessed enough to see what God is doing around the world.

3. Have the correct perspectives.
I feel like I touched on this in the previous point, but it’s essential. Perspective in working with a place like Haiti is essential. This is why study is essential before a trip like this. My wife will be reading When Helping Hurts by Brian Fikkert. This book is essential to developing a correct view on how to serve the poor without being detrimental. Is it wrong to send down shoes to a place like Haiti? Probably more than you think. Is it detrimental to go and build a house the way that we want? Venturing to say very much so in this one. My favorite…what about building a water filtration system for the people? Are we willing to do more than just build it and supply it, such as doing education on the upkeep and maintenance of the filter. How can you hit the root problem of the issue? How can you create jobs? This book, as well as Walking With The Poor are essential for Christians to read to help change the perspective we have towards working with places like Haiti.

While it is hard to reduce all of preparing for Haiti to these three areas, I think it is a good place to start. At the risk of sounding cynical, I think the American church is messing up short term missions trips more often than not. I don’t have it figured out on how to do them right, but I am trying and want to do everything that I can to get there.

Tomorrow, I hope to post some inside views of missionaries who have shaped my thinking on the issue. They are in the trenches and looking to improve the way STMs are done.

Have you taken a STM and how would you define one as being successful?

What Do I Do In Haiti?

What do I do in Haiti?

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.

M’Sonje Li

M’ Sonje li. I miss her. I really do. My little friend, Shella Felixe. Eleven years old. One of eight children. She lives in our children’s home with Mountain Faith Mission. My wife and I sponsor her. She’s my favorite.

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.

 

I just have to write…

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.

What Is Help?

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.

Joy

Six trips to Haiti has refocused and changed my perspective numerous times. It is hard to look at Haiti and not carry some sort of bias as an American, in my opinion. My perception throughout my numerous trips has been reshaped and remolded based upon each of the experiences.

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.

Big Dreams

Lately, I have been thinking of Haiti a lot. I’m not 100% sure what has spurred this new deal, but it’s definitely active. The church where I serve is planning on a trip some time next year, and we began talking about what and when and how, etc. Maybe that’s it. In fact, Monday night/Tuesday morning I dreamt I was on my way to Haiti. When I woke up, there was sadness because it was cold outside and not ridiculously humid and hot…

Wednesday, I was running and thinking about Haiti. Yesterday I looked at my “Wall of Haiti” in the house and just admired some of my kids. This morning, listening to the radio they were having a drive to sponsor kids from Colombia through Compassion…so I’m thinking of Haiti.

Lately, I’ve been overwhelmed with thoughts of how to best serve the people. I’ve really struggled a lot with my position and involvement there. I’ve done some research and reading from people involved in overseas ministries and those who have studied the topic, and I never want to go with an attitude of “Rescuer” when I go to Haiti. I never want to go with an attitude of “Oh, I am going to go make a difference here through my actions…” I don’t want to have people who question how much work I am doing by handing out candy to kids. I want to give something much more than friendship and candy, and there seems to be a fine line there.

I want to go and work along side the people. If I help, I want to help them. If they need to learn a trade, I want to teach them the trade so they can do it further down the road and teach others. I don’t want to create an attitude of dependency, but an attitude of independence.

But I don’t know how.

This is nothing more than me blabbering about Haiti and how to help, but I want to do something. I want to do something great for them. I stare at the picture of Shella on my desk and see something in her eyes. I just want to help. I want to love on her family as someone that God has blessed…but I don’t want to just go and give money and pretend like I fixed the problem. I want to help create the opportunity for change.

I haven’t figured out how to do so, but we’ll get there.

Some of my big dreams I’d like to see happen:

1. To run a spring marathon. This sounds selfish. It sort of is. But, I have met some more awesome people who have found out about my love for Haiti. People continue to donate to Haiti, especially when people do stupid things. I want to do a stupid thing known as running a marathon. I am still looking into it, but there is a prospect of me running a full marathon at the end of April. With this, I’d love to have people sponsor me per mile or give one time gifts. I am still attempting to come up with the project to work towards, but it’s all in the works. Simply put, my dream is to have a huge spring – not running wise, but support wise for Mountain Faith Mission. Following the earthquake, cholera, and Tomas, accounts have run very dry. Basic necessities are being bought of course, but there is very little wiggle room. If people will donate because I’m dumb enough to try to race 26.2 miles, I’ll do it for MFM. Super Goal: I’d love to be challenged by a big donator. Someone who will say “I’ll match dollar per dollar up to $x amount if you run under xx:xx:xx or something of the sort.” I don’t know. But I wanna be stretched and get people excited about giving.
2. Have all of our children’s home kids sponsored by the end of 2011. What will that take? I don’t know. But we have approximately 25 more kids that need sponsors at $30 a month. I’m trying to get all of that shaped and organized better, as in the past, its only been by word of mouth. But to get those kids sponsored in the children’s home would be great. It would save money overall for the mission. It would support a great ministry. And it would give you a chance to build a relationship with an awesome kid in Haiti.
3. Have a big drive for MFM in 2011. What this means, again, I don’t know. But I want a gimmick. I want something that is easy for people to do. One of my good friends came to me with the idea of instead of getting a soda/pop/Coke/carbonated beverage/orwhateveryourneckofthewoodscallsit….whenever you go out to eat, get water. Then, apply that amount of money towards your donation. Keep track of it for the month, and at the end of each month send it in. It was 100% Ben’s idea, but I like it. I might help develop that for MFM and try to get some people to jump on board. Who knows?
4. Finally, I just want to see my kid’s smiling faces. That’s not so much a big dream, but it’s a reality, and possibly a double reality for 2011. I love the kids. This morning, I was talking to my best friend from high school about Haiti and was looking through my pictures. I can’t help but smile when I see some of my kids. So, to close, let me tug your heart strings and allow you to see some of the faces of my favorite children.

Why Do I Run?

This is why I run.  This is why I train. This is what makes 10 miles on a tiring Monday night in the dark and 28° plus a windchill in the teens worth it all.

Making Me Feel Special

Back in 2007, I took my first trip into Haiti. As we landed, I literally gasped as I had never seen some of the images that were laid before me. It honestly looked like a scene out of Black Hawk Down as they flew over African villages – and here I was in the midst of it. But, as I arrived at our compound for Mountain Faith Mission in Saut d’Eau, a mere 45 miles north of the capital of Port-au-Prince, a new feeling overcame me. Children ran around during our VBS and I was simply sucked in. They would just sit there, waiting for attention. I would play favorites because, well, some of them were simply so amazing that I forgot about the other three hundred kids on our compound that week.

That week, I met one little girl who I remembered her name. Her name was Shella and she was eleven years old. I took a picture of her, and I could always remember her because she was always wearing a brightly colored bandana. As I went home, I had plenty of other kids who I had spent more time with. There was Cristela and Wasdonna. Each of them were just my little buddies.

The initial contact with Shella.

As I returned in 2008, I first went to the store and had some of my photos from 2007 printed off. I brought in maybe a dozen of those photos. When we got to the compound, I gave some of the photos away. Sonya took hers. Cristela wasn’t in the children’s home. Wasdonna was nowhere to be seen.

On Sunday morning though, before church began, I was walking up the hill towards the mission house when I took a photo of a young girl. I turned the viewfinder around, and voila – the mother goes, “Oooooh Shella!” I got a puzzled look and I said, “Shella?” It connected, and I told them to wait a minute. So I ran inside and found the picture from the previous year and gave it to her. The family thought it was the coolest thing in the world. I was able to capture the moment of Shella studying the photo from a few meet away.

Shella looking at her picture

Throughout that week in 2008, I spent a lot of time with Shella. We became good buddies. She couldn’t speak English, and my Creole is laughable. But something funny happened. As I am down there, I learn a little more Creole each time. So I would learn a word here and there. One day, Ronnie came outside and asked all of the kids, “Eske ou renmen Jezi Kri?” Or, in English – “Do you love Jesus Christ?” They of course said yes. Shella was sitting by me and I repeated it. Unfortunately for me, my pronunciation of “renmen” was not good. In Creole, the “n” is rarely ever spoken, not to mention that the entire language is very nasaly and throaty. I could not get it right, and Shella kept insisting I repeat it. From there, a fun relationship was born. I would say a Creole word, and she would correct me. Then I would teach her the English word. That lasted all week long. We were good friends. She was always by my side.

The last night of VBS, I invited her up on stage as we were dismissing church. She had asked me earlier in the week for a photo of me and her, and playing favorites, I couldn’t resist. So I went inside the mission house and printed off the following picture, put it in a blue folder with some extra paper, and gave her a pen. I signed my name by the picture that night and told her that I would pray for her. She smiled huge and left.

Me and Shella - the picture I printed off for her in 2008

We left Haiti that year, and I was so in love with that little girl and her family. I keep a picture of Shella on my desk in my office, and every time I see it, I pray for her and her family. I continued to pray for her regularly.

Before my trip in 2009, I took more pictures to be developed and got them printed. This time I had pictures of Shella, Elda, and Gomez, her siblings. I was prepared to see them and rejoice at the reuniting we would experience that week. But unfortunately, Shella was not there. I never saw her at VBS in 2009. It wasn’t a great feeling, because that was my little buddy. Haiti had experienced Hurricane Ike the day after we left in 2008, how was I supposed to know if she and her family were okay? I found her pastor, and asked him about her family and he just smiled and said they didn’t come. I was okay, because I had plenty of other little buddies, but there was an emptiness inside as MY PROFESSOR, as I had called her so many times, was not there.

2010 rolled around. I took the pictures from 2009 back down. I had no new pictures printed off. Sure enough, Shella wasn’t there. I showed some of the other Americans the pictures of her and told them the story of how great she was. I told them about the time a little kid came running up to me and was just talking Creole a mile a minute. Shella was beside me, listening closely, then she turned around and used the Creole words that she knew I had learned to explain what he was saying. Thus, she was my professor.

On Tuesday night after the service, a bright spot hit. I was walking up the hill from the church and some girls were walking along with me. I asked them where they were from as they were laughing and giggling. They told me they were from Mirebalais and then they said, “Shella.” My eyes got big and I said, “Shella Jerome?” “Oui” they answered. I asked in Creole if she and her family were okay. They told me again yes with big smiles. I told them I had a gift for Shella, but since she wasn’t there, I would have to give it to them and they could give it to her. I got so excited because I knew she was okay. Unfortunately, she wasn’t at VBS because she had gone to Port-au-Prince that week according to the girls.

Wednesday and Thursday rolled around, but every time I saw these girls from the church, I didn’t have the photos. It wasn’t a huge deal to me – I ran the risk of never actually getting the photos to her if I gave them to someone who I couldn’t really communicate with.

Friday morning rolled around. The compound was empty. There were once 800-1000 people who were sleeping on our compound, and suddenly, it was just the people who lived there regularly. I had been outside with my kids here and there, laughing and cutting up. I had come back inside to finish packing and had cleaned up a bit. I had been outside all morning and was tired from waking up early. I had had some coffee, handed out some hair ties, and now I was inside, simply waiting on our tap-tap to arrive to drive us to Port-au-Prince.

Emily, the teenage girl who went with us, stepped inside for a second and said, “Ryan, there’s someone out here saying your name and has a picture of you…” I was confused, but I stepped towards the door. As I looked outside, I recognized a lady, probably in her 40’s and a young girl sitting next to her. Suddenly, as I got closer, I recognized her. It was Shella! I hurried to her with a huge smile on my face, fighting back tears, and I opened my arms. She hugged me and I hugged her back. It was a strong hug. I had never had a hug in Haiti like that.

I sat and I talked as much as I could with her in my limited Creole. I told her I was so happy she was there. I gave her the pictures of she, her sister, and her brother. Her mother had the very same blue folder in her lap that I gave her in September 2008. It still had that very same picture I had given her with my name signed right by it. I was out of things to say because I could communicate no more. I turned around, looking for Yves, one of our translators. I said his name out loud, but I couldn’t find him. Shella, a different one who lives in our children’s home was sitting there and immediately knew what I needed. She said, “Pastor John…” and pointed at him, one of our other translators. She then immediately ran and got John to come translate for me.

As John arrived, I explained to him my joy and the whole story of who she was and why I was so happy. He told them everything I said. I asked if she was in school, and thankfully, Shella is in school in Mirebalais. Then, Shella’s mother began to talk to John and John translated. She told me that they were at home that morning and the girls from the church who had been at VBS came home and somehow they crossed paths. These girls were talking about me and that I had been talking and asking about Shella. Shella found out and, according to her mother, begged her to come up to the compound to see me. That still makes me smile more than I have smiled in a long time.

I asked her mother if she needed money to get back on a motorcycle, and of course, she did. It cost $10 Haitian dollars to get from Mirebalais to Saut d’Eau – that’s approximately $1.25 US. So I ran inside, gave them $20 Haitian to cover to and from Mirebalais to Saut d’Eau. Then I didn’t know what else to do, so I gave $4 US to them for whatever they needed. They told me they were leaving, and then they were off. Not without first getting my picture for 2010.

Me and Shella - 2010

That’s joy. That’s overwhelming joy. I felt so unworthy to have some kid BEG her mother, and the mother to spend $2.50 to come see me. $2.50! Most of the stats I have ever seen on Haiti claims that approximately 75% of the population lives on less than $2 US dollars a day. Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know, but what I do know is that they spent their own money so that she could see me. I felt loved. I felt blessed. I felt special.

Want to know why I love Haiti? This is why I love Haiti. Not just Shella, but all of the people. Although, that Shella girl is pretty special to me.