The joy of knowing Handy for 10 years
On July 17, 2013, I met Handy for the first time. It’s hard to believe 10 years have passed.
Though our meeting was brief, and I never thought I would see him again, God knew. And He made a way.
Since that day, we have seen miracles with our own eyes as our Father has done exceedingly abundantly above all that we could have ever imagined (Ephesians 3:20).
As I looked back at old photos this morning, particularly photos of the first 5 years, I thought of how progress often happens in imperceivable increments, but continuous investment in lives can yield a bounty of blessings when given the opportunity to grow.
I was reminded today of a quote I read years ago.
“He who called you to where you are declares that you needn’t repent of being in one place at one time. You needn’t repent of doing only a long, small work in an extraordinary but unknown place. Standing long in one place allows the roots to deepen. The shade grows and a life gives. It is Jesus of Nazareth who walks with you.”
Zack Eswine
I have felt these words deeply through the years, but never more than I feel them right now.
As we look toward the future we believe the promise of Isaiah 64:4, waiting with hopeful expectation:
"Since ancient times no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who acts on behalf of those who wait for him."
Yes, these are difficult days for Haiti, but we have Hope because we have seen the faithfulness of God in our past, and we believe He will be faithful in our future.
Glwa pou Bondye.
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
This morning - July 17, 2023. We could never have imagined a moment like this when we met in 2013.
It’s like Haiti came to me
It’s been over three months since I have been in Haiti - the longest break I’ve taken since COVID put a nix on travel in 2020.
I miss so many things about being in Haiti (the people, the food, the sounds, the atmosphere), but this weekend I feel like a part of Haiti came to me when Rugbi Ayiti visited Wilmington to play in the Cape Fear Rugby 7’s tournament.
Several players stayed here in our home, and I had the opportunity to go to a practice, watch several matches, and have individual conversations which I enjoyed immensely. We even all went out to dinner at Oceanic, thanks to Rick’s generosity.
A weekend of hearing Haitian Creole, having deep conversations about the current realities in Haiti, and supporting the dreams of a future national team was good for my soul.
Thanks for including me in your adventures, Rugbi Ayiti!
Faith like a child
I have many people on my team, but these two might be my MVPs.
They're not in school uniform today because Caleb and Lorie insisted on wearing these shirts to school. I'm so thankful to know they are truly praying for me with the innocence and faith only a child possesses.
"At that time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, 'Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?'
And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them and said, 'Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.'"
Matthew 18:1-4
You’re gonna miss this
Six years have passed, yet I remember this morning so clearly. I remember thinking, "They won't be this little again. Hold on to the memory." I'm so glad I took photos and made videos because, no, Handy and Davensky aren't so little any more.
Trace Adkins sings,
"You're gonna miss this, you're gonna want this back
You're gonna wish these days, hadn't gone by so fast
These are some good times, so take a good look around
You may not know it now, but you're gonna miss this."
And oh, how I do! So much has changed in Haiti since 2017. We didn't know on that bright summer morning all that we had - and all that we would eventually lose.
Ayiti Cheri.
It’s not as easy as it looks
Recently my daughter-in-law, Hannah, snapped a few photos of me and Steeve as we were having coffee at Zola, a local coffee shop.
I love all the photos friends have taken of me and Steeve through the years - often when we had no idea a photo was being taken - because there are so many good memories associated with those photos.
However, despite all the smiles and the laughs and good times, I think it’s important to note:
Cross cultural ministry, cross cultural partnership . . .these are not as easy as it might sometimes look on social media.
Through the years Steeve and I have had to work hard to build trust and maintain our friendship which is the basis of our work relationship.
Particularly in the early years, there were a lot of tears from me and a lot of crossed arms and “the face” from Steeve.
I remember a few years ago during an exceptionally difficult time, I decided: “I’m going to believe the best about Steeve even when I am tempted to think the worst.” That was a huge turning point for me. I was making a conscious choice about where my thoughts would go in the midst of conflict.
I asked Steeve to tell me why he thinks we work together so well despite all of our differences. Here’s what he said:
Yes, sometimes we both cry, we feel frustrated or depressed, and we want to give up.
Sometimes we think we get it, but we really don’t. Sometimes we think that we understand each other very well, but later we realize we didn’t understand each other at all.
Sometimes we have good intentions, but that doesn’t change the fact that we feel deeply hurt.
You (Becky) are more open to express your feelings when you’re hurt, but I am more quiet and hurt inside.
Sometimes we hurt each other by one word (Creole or English) when words just don’t have the same meaning in our different cultures.
Sometimes we get mad to each other for weeks and sometimes all we need to reconcile is a coffee, and that is funny because one of the first fights we had after starting Haiti Awake was about coffee.
Sometimes we get upset because of coffee, but sometimes coffee help us reconcile. Now we have at Haiti Awake have a joke about “reconciliation coffee,” but no one really understands that joke but me and you.
Above all, without any doubt, we love each other and want to walk by each other’s side. And that’s why we keep walking together.
But it seems our friendship doesn’t make any sense when we try to explain it to others.
I agree. It’s hard to explains something to others that we ourselves don’t really understand, but we know that it’s true. We were meant to work together, we both love Haiti, and we are truly friends.
The Peas and Carrots Podcast
I’m a fan of the Peas and Carrots Podcast, and maybe one day you will be, too!
Today’s episode is about Haiti and Haiti Awake. I hope you’ll give it a listen!
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.
