From 2013 to today

Today I came across these photos from the first week of June 2013. I remember how happy I was to be in Haiti. I remember crying at the airport on the day of departure, not sure if I could force myself to leave, being one of the last to board the plane. I remember the sense of hope we all had that week, the belief we had that the days ahead would be good ones and that we could make a difference.

We had no idea that within a year, all that we thought we knew would change. That we would no longer be part of the organization where we thought we were rooted. That we would embark on a grand adventure. That God would call us into deep waters that often felt too dark and tumultuous to navigate.

During that precious week, we were not thinking about dark nights, unexpected betrayals, hard decisions, and sad goodbyes. No. We believed the possibilities were endless. And I personally thought love was enough. I was so naive.

I now know that life is not as simple as I once believed it to be. I now know that love often requires more than I feel I can give. I now know that sometimes silence is the only way to hold one’s dignity. I now know that no matter how hard a day might be, tomorrow will come. I now know to do my best with the knowledge I have at a given time and pray that grace covers the rest. I now know there are so many things I thought that I deserved that don’t even matter when laid on the altar.

And I now know - without any doubt in my mind - that I am rooted and grounded to a place that has completely broken my heart and yet perfectly healed my soul.

And so tonight I am listening to this song on repeat, grateful to the Father for allowing me to learn and grow beyond the girl I used to be.

“Dear Me
This is a letter to the girl I used to be
You’ll see, you’re gonna take the long way
And there is nothing you could do or say to separate you
From the love of God who made you just exactly as He meant to
And you cannot imagine all the places you’ll see Jesus
But you’ll find Him everywhere you thought He wasn’t supposed to go.”

— Nichole Nordeman

You are more than able

Steeve and the boys went out for lunch together after church today and sent me photos and a video. My eyes are a bit teary as I continue to look at these photos of some of the people who mean so much to me, and my mind is playing the lyrics of two songs we sang at The Bridge today.

When did I start to forget
All of the great things You did?
When did I throw away faith for the impossible?
How did I start to believe
You weren't sufficient for me?
Why do I talk myself out of seeing miracles?

You are more than able
You are more than able
You are more than able,
(We've seen it) You are more than able
Who am I to deny what the Lord can do?
It's easy for You

You turn mourning to dancing
You give beauty for ashes
You turn shame into glory
You're the only one who can

You turn graves into gardens
You turn bones into armies
You turn seas into highways
You're the only one who can

The road ahead is filled with so much uncertainty, but each time a moment like this transpires, my faith is renewed and it’s easy to believe that the Lord Who has carried us all since that first meeting in 2013 will continue to provide all that is needed in the days ahead.

You can’t go home again

Thomas Wolfe famously noted: "You can't go home again."

I, however, disagree.

Yesterday for a few short hours, they were home. And it was glorious.

He had learned that he could not eat his cake and have it, too. - Thomas Wolfe

He had learned some of the things that every man must find out for himself, and he had found out about them as one has to find out--through error and through trial. Thomas Wolfe

Each thing he learned was so simple and obvious, once he grasped it, that he wondered why he had not always known it. Thomas Wolfe

He had learned that he could not devour the earth, that he must know and accept his limitations. Thomas Wolfe

He realized that much of his torment of the years past had been self-inflicted, and an inevitable part of growing up. Thomas Wolfe

And after yesterday, they each had assurance that they could always come back home again because no matter what might happen on the road ahead, each would always be deeply loved and accepted.

These precious days

As long as there is a path, my feet will find their way back to this place which feels like home.

Arriving in Port-au-Prince was a multi-step process that included the need to utilize our backup plan once our primary plan fell through. Nothing is easy these days, but we continue to see God provide what we need to keep moving the ministry forward.

Why travel to Haiti just two weeks after sending out a request like this?

Because of love. Because of these boys to whom I’ve made so many promises. Because my heart won’t allow me to walk away.

What if . . . ?

What if, instead of building ever-increasing church campuses (read “bigger barns”), we began making investments in the church that exists in underserved, under-resourced areas?

What if we helped them, came alongside them, and built their capacity, so they were given what they need to be change agents in their neighborhood?

What if we did all these things without taking over?

What if we did it out of love?

What if we believed that those who already have a primary stake in their community were more effective agents of change than outsiders coming in?

What if we believed that God was not calling us to do easy things, but difficult things that required His help?

What if we quit empire building and started Kingdom building?

What if we got a vision of little barns?

---Keith Stewart

Connections of the heart

Nearly 12 years ago, God, in His providence, allowed my path to cross with a group of children who were living in an incredibly difficult situation. In the months and years that followed, we saw our Father do immeasurably more than we could have asked or imagined. We prayed for miracles, and we saw them come to pass time and time again. I can’t say we asked in faith “nothing wavering” because I know my faith wavered again and again. Yet God was always faithful.

This week it was as if everything had come full circle because for a few precious hours, I was able to spend time with Idelmy and Lorvens. The miles between us have been great for such a long time, but during that sacred time we shared, time and miles vanished. It was as if we had never been apart.

Sitting together on a borrowed porch in Cap Haitien, speaking as adults, hearing their stories, I was reminded of this verse:

“I could have no greater joy than to hear that my children are following the truth.”

— 3 John 1:4

They both have matured significantly in recent months, and I am so proud of the men they are becoming.

Haiti can be discouraging. Recent years have been difficult beyond words. There have been days I have regretted ever giving my heart to a place that has brought so much sorrow into my life. I can’t “unknow” what I know.

But God . . .

Tuesday reminded me why I have given my heart to this place that many have forsaken. It is these times that remind me that investing in one life is worth all the pain. It is these times when the joy I find in this place far outweighs the regret.

Many thanks to those of you who invested in the children’s lives for so many years. Although I have had the privilege of being in close physical proximity, without so many of you, this story would never have come to pass.

The story of Kay Timoun was particularly impacted by one man who met the children in 2015 and asked, “Why are they living like this?” and went home determined to make a difference. And that’s what he has done. He and his family have been making a difference these last 10 years - not just for Idelmy and Lorvens, but for all the children who have called Kay Timoun home.

Glwa pou Bondye.

Until we meet again!

What does this mean for the future of Haiti Awake?

I have to admit. I felt this was coming. But now that the announcement has been officially made, it does feel so final, so real, so heavy.

As I sat in Haiti at our 10th anniversary celebration in October, I felt as if I was holding a holy moment in time, a moment I would look back on with great nostalgia and longing. Little did we know that October trip would be my last trip to Haiti for the foreseeable future.

When Pastor Steeve came to the US for the month of June, little did we know that would be his last trip to the United States for the foreseeable future.

But God knew. In His infinite knowledge, He knew. Nothing catches God by surprise.

“Standing here
Not knowing how we’ll get through this test
But holding onto faith, You know best
Nothing can catch You by surprise
You got this figured out and You’re watching us now”

— Travis Greene

What does the absence of commercial air travel mean for the future of Haiti Awake? Very simply, it means we will need to adapt - again. We are adept at adapting as that has been the only way to keep the ministry moving forward in the chaos of the last 6.5 years.

All these years we have been saying, “These are hard days in Haiti.” And we so long for a better day, a day we cannot yet see. Though I have known the following verse most of my life, it now carries a completely different meaning.

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.”

— Proverbs 13:12

Please continue to pray for the communities we serve in Haiti. While my heart is grieving from afar, this chaos and dysfunction is daily life for those I have come to love as family. It is hard to explain the great suffering that is taking place in close proximity to both of our facilities and the incredibly difficult issues the Haiti Awake staff faces on a personal level day-by-day.

I cannot emphasize enough how much a Google Meet would mean to staff and children. If you would give 30 minutes, it would be so encouraging.

“But to a friend, time is an investment of the heart, not just the hand. Friends spend time.”

— Sara Hagerty

With all of my heart I desire to return to Haiti as soon as the possibility presents itself. I long to give hugs, to have face-to-face conversations, to share a meal, to laugh together. Perhaps that day will come sooner than we expect. But until that day, we will continue to remember to remember - just like we did as we sat together for our anniversary celebration less than two months ago.

“Remember the way He led us up to the top of the highest mountain
Remember the way He carried us through the deepest dark
Remember His promises for every step on the road ahead
Look where we’ve been and where we’re going
And remember to remember.”

— Steven Curtis Chapman

I choose responsibility

It is hard to believe that Steeve Derard wrote this five years ago and Haiti is no closer to resolution today than it was then. And yet, we have seen our Father do "exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think" in these difficult years (Ephesians 3:20).

Though it once again feels as if the country is standing on the edge of the precipice, "We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure" (Hebrews 6:19).

How thankful I am for these years of knowing and loving Haiti. Haiti Awake remains committed to our communities, and I personally remain committed to the people I've been walking with for all of these years.

In his book, Visions of Vocation, Steven Garber asks: "Why is it, in the face of situations that seem too complex, too broken, that human beings sometimes still choose to enter in - knowing that they will suffer, knowing that it will cost them - that for love’s sake they still choose responsibility?"

On days when it all feels like it's too much, when I don't believe I can bear to hear one more story, when I just want to go back to living a normal American life, oblivious to the great suffering just miles off our shores, this quote plays on repeat in my head:

"You may choose to look the other way, but you can never say again that you did not know." William Wilberforce

Today I still choose responsibility.

October 20, 2024 - our last photo together.  We had every belief that we would be together again on November 15.

But today we are heartbroken

This is Kelly.

He used to be an inmate at CERMICOL. When he was released about 2 years ago, he started coming to church faithfully. The church came around him, loved him, helped him start a small business.

He was even part of the podcast with WORLD last year.

Then about 3 months ago, he didn't come to church. Weeks passed. No one could find him. No one heard from him.

Yesterday we received word that he was executed about 3 months ago. Why? Because of his past life. Because people were suspicious of him because of who he had been, not because of who he had become.

But by all accounts, he had left that old life behind. He was a new creation in Christ.

Kelly’s story was one of the “wins” we had seen in Haiti. We had shared so much joy being part of his journey.

But today we are heartbroken. 💔

He Won’t Fail

I walked into morning worship a few minutes late because I had been talking with a friend downstairs. As I waited my turn to enter, the moment captured my heart as I heard believers who’ve walked through fire sing from their hearts. And despite the fears that still surround the country, the gate stood open - just as it does every week - a testament to their belief that Christ is the firm foundation.

A new friend

The tender mercies of our Father.

Boarding a flight from Dayton to Charlotte, the man in front of me was asked the standard exit row question about assisting in an emergency. He looked confused, and I knew. He doesn't speak English, and he's Haitian. So I jumped in to translate for both him and the gate agent. After boarding, I went to him and told him I was sorry for the way some people are talking about Haitians right now. I told him that I love Haitians. I told him Haitians are some of the best people I know. And he smiled. Broadly.

After we landed in CLT, I waited for him, inviting him to join me in the lounge for a bite to eat. There we talked, and he freely shared his story. And I felt honored that he was willing to tell me of his journey.

I just left him at his gate - C10 - and I walked on to mine - C17.

And right now my heart is praising the Lord for giving me a few minutes with a fellow traveler named Eliden.

Haitians have my heart.

Because of dignity

I was recently having a discussion with Vorb in which he said some profound things. Vorb is a deep thinker, and he often challenges my thinking on issues by bringing a perspective to the table I had not yet considered.

On this particular day we were discussing the tremendous difficulties our organization continues to face day-by-day as we struggle to do what needs to be done in the community we know we have been called to serve.

Vorb reminded me once again that he makes certain decisions in his life “because of dignity.” I can’t get that phrase out of my head.

Because of dignity, certain stories are mine to carry, but not mine to tell.

Dignity. Perhaps it matters more today than ever.

Has it been worth it?

I’ve kept this image as the lockscreen on my phone for many years now. I remember this morning so well, the tears, the pain, the “what ifs”, the agony of waiting for a day we weren’t even sure would ever come.

Nothing, and I mean nothing, has been easy about these 11 years of knowing and loving 13 children whose lives were marked by suffering and pain and loss long before they even knew there was a life other than the one they were living.

Many of the children have grown up and are on their own now, and every now and then I hear from one of them. Their lives have taken them in different directions. I often ask myself, “Was all of the time worth it? Was all of the pain worth it?”

On a morning like this, a simple text exchange reminds me that, yes, it was - and it still is.

Today is Hudson’s birthday

Two years ago we were gathered together to celebrate Hudson’s 3oth birthday. Earlier in the day we had heard that there were problems in the street, which was unusual, given it was a Sunday.

Although we enjoyed our time together very much, the celebration was cut short, as everyone had to head home to Tabarre 14. And that was the beginning of a long, hard week, what was to be the hardest week to that point for Tabarre 14.

As I looked back through photos today, trying to find a few of Hudson to share in a Happy Birthday greeting on Facebook, I was reminded of all that has been lost in the last 6 years, how the early days of Haiti Awake now seem like the glory days of Haiti, how a city went from being a place to explore to being a prison that is holding its inhabitants captive.

Haitians often say, “Depi tèt pa ko koupe, li espere met chapo” which essentially means that as long there is life, there is hope.

And so today, as I celebrate Hudson across the miles, I will continue to hope for better days for Haiti and for those there whom I hold so dear.

Proximity

Being in proximity to physical suffering when you yourself are not physically suffering is an emotional suffering that defies words or explanation.

The highlight of my day is seeing these faces. The hardest part of my day is seeing these faces.

How thankful I am for technology that allows us to stay connected even though the miles between us seem to grow further with each passing day.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be

We had our weekly senior leadership meeting Monday morning.

Before we wrapped up, I asked Vorb and Steeve if there was anything either of them would like to say.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” Vorb said.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Those words have run through my thoughts all day.

"We’re waiting on what’s coming, but we don’t know what’s coming,” he continued.

“I have my hope on God. He’s a good father. He has a plan.”

Once again, I am humbled to even have the privilege to have a conversation with my friends in Haiti.

I have so much to learn from them.

People. Not Statistics.

It’s been my habit for years to search out news on Haiti on a daily basis. These days, however, there’s no need to search, as Haiti is a leading story with most mainstream American media outlets.

These news stories give many statistics. Here are just a few I’ve read recently.

“Whoever has been able to grab power has been able to control what happens to Haiti’s 11.7 million people.”

”Violence has displaced more than 300,000 people.”

“Nearly 4,000 inmates fled Haiti's main prison.”

“About 1.4 million Haitians are on the verge of famine, and more than 4 million require food aid, sometimes eating only once a day or nothing at all.”

“The U.S. Agency for International Development said that around 5.5 million people in Haiti — nearly half the population — need humanitarian aid.”

“80 percent of Port-au-Prince is currently controlled by gangs, according to UN estimates.”

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I am reminded of a quote from More or Less: Choosing a Lifestyle of Excessive Generosity by Jeff Shinabarger:

“Statistics are one thing, but friends are another. Numbers may challenge your mind, but faces will soften your heart. And names will stick with you over time.”

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These are the hands of some of the young men at CERMICOL we know and love. They are not statistics.

This is my friend, Anora, who has lived more than 80 years. He has seen many things in his lifetime, and he is a gentle, wise soul.
He is not a statistic.

This is my friend, Soiris. He works in the street and has the best smile. He has taught me a great deal about human dignity and the way a community can transform someone’s life.
Soiris is not a statistic.

This is Hudson. There aren’t many photos of Hudson because he’s always taking photos of the rest of us. Hudson is a phenomenal photographer, and he’s been a faithful friends for many years.
Hudson is not a statistic.

Judely and Jerry are best friends and always full of joy. They are sponsored by two of my family members, so I always try to take a photo with them when I am in Haiti.
They are not statistics.

This is Yvenson. When I get a hug from Yvenson, I know I have been hugged. His hugs are the best.
Yvenson is not a statistic.

This is my friend, Billy J. It always makes me happy to see him at the airport.
Billy J is not a statistic.

This is Handy. He is the one who brought us all together after we met in July 2013.
Handy is not a statistic.

This is Esther Joy, and she is pure joy. Her mom is one of my favorite Haitians.
Esther Joy is not a statistic.

This is JV. He is an inmate at CERMICOL, and he is precious to me.
JV is not a statistic.

And our circle at Haiti Awake includes

many, many more.

People. Not statistics.

We never thought it would come to this

I was talking to Steeve as we do nearly every evening. The heaviness of the day was so real. There was so much to say. There was absolutely nothing to say.

And so I asked the rhetorical question, “We never thought it would come to this, did we?” And, of course, the answer is no. We could never have imagined in days past that we would be having the discussions which are necessary today, discussions that tear at my heart, but discussions we must have, nonetheless.

Ten years ago God made it abundantly clear to both Steeve and me that He wanted us to invest heavily in one little neighborhood in Haiti. And since its beginning in 2014, that’s what Haiti Awake has done. We’ve poured our hearts into our community.

As we face an incredibly uncertain future, we continue to trust that the God who led us in the past will continue to lead us in the future.

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12 years

Today marks 12 years of knowing and loving Haiti.

I'm in Florida this week, surrounded by people whose job is to keep Americans safe abroad, to figure out the logistics of getting Americans out of tough situations, to analyze the data and make observations about what the future may bring.

And while I am thankful for the wealth of information my colleagues bring to the discussion, my thoughts and prayers are with the 11.5 million Haitians who have no options, who have no choice, who won't be "getting out." I remember, as I often do, that holding a US passport gives one access and privilege the majority of the world's population will never see or know or even fully understand.

Haiti, you have completely wrecked my life. You have caused me to grieve like none other, and yet I have no regrets about knowing you intimately. The lessons I have learned because of you exceed any I could have learned in the country of my birth.

The joy and the sorrow through the years. I am not the same person I was before we met. How thankful I am for it all.

Bondye konnen.

We know their faces. We know their names.

I've watched the video “Working for the Gangs” over and over again.

While the world talks about prison breaks in Haiti, my prayers this week have been with those incarcerated at CERMICOL, those whose names we know, those whose faces I hold dear.

This young man's story is the story of so many.

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This teenager was 11 years old when he started working for a gang. He was homeless and hungry, he told CNN, and the gang offered him food.

Now, when other members of the gang kill people, they make him burn the bodies, says the teen, who is now 14.

He would like to get out – but he doesn’t know how. His mother lives outside of Port-au-Prince; he’s not sure how to reach her and couldn’t afford such a trip anyway.

“I wish she could come get me,” he told CNN. “I’d like her to take me out of this place.”

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Haiti isn't 11.5 million people. Haiti is individual people with individual stories.

From the comfort of our US existence, it's impossible to comprehend living in conditions where one truly does not see a way out, one does not believe there are choices, one is only looking to survive.

Even so, come, Lord Jesus.