In Haiti, around 6 AM, the compound is everything but silent. The kids are up doing chores such as mopping or getting things ready for breakfast, and if they're not doing chores they're playing and giggling and well.. screaming. The rooster is loud too, but the rooster is also loud all of the time so that's not really new. I could hear the sound of shoes on gravel from my room as I would awake from a nice slumber and rub my eyes in annoyance because I could probably sleep some more.
But now it's Saturday morning, and my dorm room is really quiet. I wish it were noisy again.
The streets of Haiti, especially in Puert Au Prince, are bursting with energy at all times of the day as well. People everywhere are always up to something whether that is sweeping their porch, selling clothing or food or who knows what else, walking to work or school, or even just sitting there watching traffic.
A man on the street with a bucket of what looks like peanuts on his head catches my attention as he walks with a blank stare. Our eyes meet, and I offer a half hearted grin, but his face is hard just like many of those around him. I wonder what kind of things he has experienced and what he has seen. Does he know?
An hour later two little girls shout and jump up and down to try to get our team's attention, and once they succeed at that they wave. I wave in return and smile at the joy upon their faces. I feel like a celebrity for a brief moment. Do they know?
A couple days go by and after I walk down to the school I see three children - two boys and a girl. Later I would find out that their names are Alecson, Genson, and Joanna. Alecson likes soccer and Genson likes to start tickle fights and Joanna is content with just having someone to sit by. It wasn't long before our team and these three became friends, and I can't help but wonder what their lives are like at home. Do they know?
On our hike up the mountain Monday I see a surplus of individuals carrying water and a variety of things on their heads. I watch somewhat amazed at their posture and their balance as they steadily make their way up steep inclines and gently walk back down. When we reach our destination, eight children watch as the guys put bunk beds together for them in their tiny, hot house entirely composed of sticks. I know that these people have been through a lot in the past few days with the unexpected passing of their mother and moving from a cave into this small shelter. Do they know?
Do they know that they are loved not only by me or by our team but by the One who made them? Do they know that they are lavished with grace that covers every sin they've ever committed and that they are bound by nothing but themselves and maybe even their own guilt? Do they know that if they choose to die to themselves and be washed in the water and in the blood that they then can be part of not an earthly but a heavenly kingdom where we can all dwell with God together for eternity? Do they know that they do not have to live up to the world's standards because we serve a God that tells us that we are enough because we are His? Do they know that our Father in Heaven sent us His own Son to be beaten and scarred and bruised and rejected so that we may not live in sin but rather so that we have a job to do? Do they know that there is so much joy to be found in taking on each day with the Lord because then we have a purpose? Do they know that they can find peace and rest in laying all of our burdens down at the foot of the cross? Do they know Jesus?
I can tell John Baptiste loves being in the pulpit by his excitement and passion as he speaks in a language I do not understand. I'm sure it's something we all need to hear, and I watch as he paces and proceeds to tell people of the God we serve. He's a kind man with a lot of ambition. He knows.
Tears surprise my eyes and I choke them back as each child at the orphanage come up to give me a hug after singing me happy birthday. I then turn to give Marieshelle a hug because after all this was all her doing, and as I thank her, I can't help but think of how much I want to be like her. She gave up a possible life in the States to be here, to make a difference. She knows.
Natacha clasps my hand as I turn away from saying goodbye to the kids, and I offer her a smile. She returns the gesture, but I can tell by the look on her face that she knows my emotions are bigger than my expression at the moment. She tells me goodbye and that she'll miss me, and I get off the bus. She takes care of the children at the orphanage, and I pray to be as well grounded as she is. She knows.
I look on as Chase narrates the story of the Good Samaritan while Johnny Lane translates it. I see the way that the kids look up to him, and I wonder where Hope For Haiti's Children would be without him. He's respectably sarcastic and always fun to be around. He knows.
Nassan, our body guard, wakes me up from shock by giving me a high five after I blocked a goal, and he waits patiently for me to throw him the ball. He has the ability to make ridiculously funny faces, and he is also always so helpful. He knows.
Jamie and David and I sit on the steps listening to the children practice singing for a program they have the next day, and I can't help but be grateful for the new found friendship between the three of us. Though he knows some English, we mainly communicate through broken fragments of it, and that is enough. He insists that we learn Creole though, so he teaches us four or five more words before we have to go to bed. Saying goodbye the next morning was a little more than hard. He knows.
While I wonder if some strangers know the Gospel in Haiti, I also know that these friends of mine are working day and night to make sure that they do. God places people everywhere to stand up for His Word, to be a light, to proclaim His name, and this week, as I saw people that were poor and weak, I also saw people that were poor and still spiritually rich. And to me, that is so encouraging and so uplifting.
---
It has been a week since I worked on this post mainly because I can't really convey my thoughts on my trip into words that would be enough. It's 3 in the morning now, and I'm still not getting much sleep since I've been back. I miss my friends. They live 1,637 miles away. They speak a different language. They were brought up in a totally different culture in all aspects. And yet, because the crucifixion of Jesus binds us together - against all odds - these people are my friends.
In reality, we all have so much more in common than we do distinctions. There's so much more that binds us together than what tears us apart.
On our last night in Haiti, we sat on the rooftop just like we did every night, and we had a quick devotional. We sang and we reminisced and we laughed and we cried. Our perspectives were changed, and our hearts were a little broken. We talked of how we would fight for these people with spiritual warfare and of how short the trip seemed and of how God was at work there, just like He is here.
I listened intently as my Grandfather told the same story he does every year - of how he did not want to come to Haiti before the first time he came and of the plot he had to take students to Costa Rica after he got the Haiti trip out of the way. He would tell you today that he couldn't imagine not going back, and I feel the same each and every time I go. This time he added a twist to it by telling of how he once went to Guinea and intended to go back but never did. "I planned to go back, and I never did.. but that's okay because we'll all be reunited in Heaven one day," he said. And he's right. I think of the song we sang a few moments earlier.
When we all get to Heaven
What a day of rejoicing that will be
When we all see Jesus
We'll sing and shout the victory
I can't get over what a beautiful thought that is. Worshiping our Lord on earth, with other believers in another country is wonderful as it is - but the fact that we all get to be together in His presence one day is simply something that I can't even fathom. I'm excited for that day.
---
The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor,
and the day of vengeance of our God;
to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
that they may be called oaks of righteousness,
Hope for Haiti's Children
Jamie and David and I - thankful for our friendship!
the trek up the mountain to deliver bunk beds
finally done painting!
sweet Melinda
Nassan, J, David and I grew close throughout the week.
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