I’m running out of things to say
Steeve shared a post on the Haiti Awake blog today.
I proofread it for him before it was shared, so I have had a day to try to process what he said. Except I can’t process it.
Steeve is always optimistic, joyful, upbeat. But this post is heavy, dark, desperate.
As this crisis nears its 5 year anniversary, as the country of Haiti plunges deeper into the abyss, I am left with empty words.
How does one support a friend who is facing a future without any hope of relief, of change? How did the optimism of 10 years ago become the despair of today?
We both need prayer
He’s known his own measure of suffering in this life, but on that particular Sunday, he wanted to pray for me.
He came to me purposefully, intentionally, boldly. He asked me to sit, and he began to pray over me - a long prayer, a prayer from the heart, a prayer of intercession, a prayer I could actually feel.
So often I am compelled to pray without ceasing for my friends in Haiti, but during this trying season, I am so thankful to know they are praying for me, too.
I am reminded of James 5:16, “Be praying for one another, that ye may be healed; very strong is a working supplication of a righteous man.”
Haiti needs healing right now, and so do I.
A moment of shared humanity
This photo.
It grips my heart, and I can't stop thinking about this moment that would have been so normal if it hadn't taken place behind prison walls - behind prison walls intended for juvenile male offenders but a place now housing adult females as well.
"It's a girl. I'm having a girl. I'm going to name her Victoria."
Pure joy. Sweet expectation. A moment of shared humanity. Behind prison walls.
The children’s future
I have always believed that Haiti’s future depends upon Haitians themselves, and I have always believed that our children would be part of that future. But was the current conflict continues to drag on, as the country falls further and further into chaos, it’s hard to imagine a hope and a future for them in Haiti. It’s hard to imagine God’s good and perfect plan for them is there.
So many questions. So few answers.
Continuing to trust in the Author and Finisher of our faith.
This feels so personal
He is kind. He is caring. And today he is in captivity.
Last night I found out that a man I know in Port-au-Prince was kidnapped, along with two other people who work for the same business - a business I have frequented many times.
This gentleman has always been kind, and I always look for him when in the establishment where he works.
I saw him at the airport back in November. We were on the same flight to Miami. I asked him, “Are you leaving like so many others?”
”Oh, no,” he replied. “I will be back.”
Many leave. Many stay.
I do not think there’s a right or a wrong answer these days to staying or leaving, but my heart breaks for those who have chosen to remain in the country of their birth . . . and are daily living with fear.
I didn’t even know his name
You never know who your kindness will tough
It was to be my last trip to Haiti for the foreseeable future, and I felt like it was right to be transparent with certain people - particularly the boys of the English class at CERMICOL.
As I started to share my new reality, many boys looked sad. Some looked shocked, but I noticed one boy in particular drop his head. And then he began to weep.
The more I shared, the more he wept.
When other boys asked to pray for me, I took this boy’s hand and asked him to sit with me. He sat down, I took him in my arms, and he continued to cry.
And I realized - “I do not even know his name.”
After we finished our time together, he told me, “You care about me. Haiti Awake cares about me. No one else cares about me.”
And I didn’t even know his name.
Questions without Answers
How can a place so foreign become so familiar?
How can I have more questions, fewer answers?
How can the place where I am so completely different become the place where I feel most accepted?
How can a place so broken be so whole?
How can a place that is far from home be the truest form of home?
How can these amazing individuals I've known for a few short years be the very people who know me most fully?
How can there be so much joy mingled with so much heartbreak?
How can one explain something for which there is no explanation?
How does one remain hopefully optimistic?
Haiti and her people have humbled me
Our assumptions are often so incorrect.
I remember the first time I saw him. He was standing in the middle of the busy street with a bucket, leaning on his shovel.
He had such a broad smile on his face as he waved at vehicles, often taking off his cap anticipating a driver might place something in it.
For years I commented, “He’s not doing anything. He just stands there day-after-day.” But then one day I asked my driver to slow down so we could give him a few goude. I remarked, “He is faithful. He’s always here. He seems kind. I respect his fidelity - even if he’s not doing anything.”
And then, over time I realized, he had become part of our community, one wave, one beep-beep, one interaction at a time. I anticipated seeing him in the street, having a chance to greet each other, to smile, to share a moment of humanity.
And then a few weeks ago he came to church for the first time. And according to Pastor Steeve, he’s been faithful each week since.
Yesterday he came to church early and was seated alone, so I went over to try to make small talk. I was showing him photos of my family on my phone when he interjected (in Haitian Creole), “Things aren’t good in Haiti. When the streets are blocked, I can not work. It’s very difficult.”
“I can not work.”
His words struck me. All of these years he’s been doing what he could. His faithfulness? It was tied to his belief in his work, in how he provides for his family.He went on to tell me with pride where he is “working” now. He told me if the streets aren’t blocked this week maybe I will see him there. Of course, if we can go out, we will look for him.
After church, once again my heart was struck deeply as I watched this friend slowly, carefully shuffle his way out of church. He can barely walk.
All of these years I never knew this because I have only seen him standing in the street.
And suddenly my understanding of everything shifted. He has been doing what he could to make a living. He has pride in what he does. He hasn’t been looking for a handout. He has been making a way in the manner that he could. He could stay home and make excuses for why he can not do anything. Instead, he is doing what he can.
And once again Haiti and her people have humbled me.