The dreaded rain finally arrived. In torrents. The Haitians have been dreading it because so many thousands are sleeping outdoors under makeshift tents of sheets held together by sticks. I read that one teen girl said she doesn't mind sleeping outside except for the snakes that crawl on her at night. I mean, really? Could I handle that? NO, I don't think so.
Tom and I were sleeping in Bill & Susette's house the night the rain came, because they were out of town and needed someone to stay there. We weren't in our tent on the roof, which would've been OK. But instead, we were safely tucked into a comfortable bed, listening to the torrential rain outside. We griped and moaned because their dog howled and barked the whole night, keeping us awake. Oh, poor us, boo-hoo, we couldn't sleep because of a dog.
The next morning we returned to the guest house for breakfast. Our sweet, wonderful cooks, Janette and Monice, arrived with their usual smiles and huge hugs and "bises" (kisses on the cheek, like the French do). We asked how their night went with the rain, and that's when they cried. I didn't know that Janette and her family sleep in the street. I didn't know that Monice and her family sleep outdoors because their house is so cracked and they are afraid to sleep inside until it's inspected and deemed safe.
Both of them related stories of being surrounded by a rising river of filth that swept stench-filled trash and human waste all around them, soaking their sheets on the ground as the rain soaked them. Monice held her baby to her chest, crying out to the Lord. It was horrible, but they weren't seeking pity. I silently repented for my whining about a barking dog that kept me up. Oh, Lord, don't you love to give us perspective?
God took my eyes off myself and my complaining to everyone about how tired I was (I'm even embarrassed to write this), and immediately we all set out to find stuff to help them. We procured tents for them, and you'd think it was a thousand Christmases by the way they responded. They danced and praised God and were exuberant in their gratefulness! I found some boxes of toiletry items, and their exclamations of happiness astounded me. I received more kisses and hugs for toiletry items than for any gift I've ever given. I am humbled, Lord. These precious people never cease to teach me lessons in thankfulness and simple joy and praise to You.
How often have I filled my cart with toiletry items at a huge store like WalMart, all the while having a long face and being impatient while I wait in line? Forgive me, Lord, for my lack of gratefulness for my life of plenty. It is in the having of much that I have forgotten to be thankful. It is in the having of much that I never seem to be satisfied. The more I have, the more dull my heart is towards You.
Haiti...this place of suffering and poverty...this place of unexplainable joy and peace...my heart is conflicted by the paradox of it all. Will I ever be able to sing Mesi, Seigneur, Mesi (thank You, Lord, thank You!)for a box of toiletry items?
Friday, February 19, 2010
Monday, February 15, 2010
A day in my Haitian life
I wake up at 4:30. Not because I want to, but because the cacophony of roosters rouses me. Tom and I are sleeping in a tent on the rooftop now; it's much cooler up here, and it's the only place we can be together. I look at the stars and see a satellite going in circles overhead, probably taking ongoing photos of Haiti. There's nothing to do while it's still dark, so I decide to count rooster crows...44 per minute. Really? Do they have to be so inconsiderate? I chuckle as I notice that each rooster has a different starting note, some high and squeaky and some low and gravelly. My musician friends could probably write music from it.
Oh, Lord, what does this day hold? Prepare my heart. Give me patience, humor, love for others, a servant's heart, an increased faith. Use my hands today to serve. Help me to cope with the heat and sweat and cockroaches and tarantulas. May I please You today with the words I say, the attitudes I have, and the way I spend my time. Forgive me in advance for all the ways I know I'll fail in these things because of my self-centeredness and desire for my own way. Take care of my family and friends at home, and may they hunger and thirst for You.
The morning dawns. Tom and I get our coffee and sit on the rooftop to chat and pray. The sounds around us have become commonplace: squeals of laughter from the girls' orphanage next door, the security guard's radio blasting Creole music, vendors shouting on the streets, our roommates at the guest house hanging up laundry and chatting about the day.
Someone yells to Tom that it's time to go barter for a new generator. I don't see him again until evening, when he arrives home drenched in sweat with a dozen stories of fixing broken pipes and children's hearts, dealing with Haitian businessmen, near-misses on the crazy pot-holed roads, going to Echo Depot (a pitiful counterpart to Home Depot)only to be frustrated at what isn't there, and helping to build shelters at the nearby tent city. I grin as I remember his comment just a few weeks ago: "Do you really think there will be anything for me to do in Haiti? I'm not a medical person or a teacher!"
I decide to check email but internet is down...again. sigh I go to the kitchen to grab some cereal, but the sight of a cockroach crawling all over the clean dishes in the drainer changes my choice to a yogurt and a granola bar instead. I shuffle off to the bathroom but it's occupied, as usual. Twenty people with three bathrooms is my first test of patience today. I throw on some stiff, wrinkled clothes (the laundress doesn't rinse out the detergent too well). Ahh, yes, the luxury of a washer and dryer seems a distant memory. I'm already dripping sweat.
Maybe I could steal away for a few quiet moments with my book??? "Hurry, someone's bleeding!" a voice yells to me. And so my day begins in a frenzy...
I meet the Haitian woman outside our gate. Through an interpreter, I learn that she is having constant nosebleeds and vaginal bleeding and she believes it's related to jumping off a ledge during the earthquake. After assessing her and seeing that she is stable, I advise her to rest until the clinic opens in a few hours.
I'm about to go back inside when a little boy runs up to me and says he's hungry. I give him a granola bar and within 5 minutes, about 25 children arrive at the gate asking for food. I'm shocked, and this is my first lesson in food distribution during Haiti relief---and just in general---in a country like Haiti. It has to be done discreetly, in a certain place (NOT our home), with security around, at certain times only, and for certain people only. The needs are endless and this little orphanage cannot meet them all, nor are we set up to be a food distribution center. Oh, Lord, feeding the hungry isn't so simple!
I'm late for my meeting with the other 2 nurses to write a health ed class for the older kids. I rush to the meeting spot and no one is there. This used to bother me, but I'm no longer surprised by this, because I know that life in Haiti is unpredictable. I hear that they went to the clinic to organize, but were traumatized by a 6-inch tarantula in a box of medical supplies and ran out. None of us wants to go back there.
Sue drives up and says, "Jump in! We have to take someone to the hospital!" I see that it's the lady who came to me earlier, and I feel so incompetent. I'm jostled and tumbled in the car as we fly over potholes, along with the 6 relatives of hers who had to join us. We weave our way through dozens of people fanning themselves in the waiting room of the steamy hospital and are told to bring her into a special room. We take her in and leave her in the care of her family and the nurses. (I found out later that the tests revealed nothing wrong and she was released.)
On the drive back, Sue stops and talks to an amputee who lost his hand in the quake. He smiles and tells her he's doing well. "Do you have a minute to stop at the market?" Sue asks. I nod, knowing full well that a Haitian minute is really an hour.
As we pull up to the house, there is a mob of people outside. Tom had given out a tarp to a woman who needed some shelter, and now there are about 50 people lined up outside hoping for the same. Lesson #2: If you give one, be prepared to give many. The staff cuts dozens of tarps from a roll of plastic and hands them out.
Oh, no, my meeting! Just then I see Ashley and Brooke and they laugh because they, too, have been sidetracked all morning. We walk into the house to start our meeting, and Bill greets me and says, "I need to meet with you about the school, and this is the only time I can do it." I look at the other 2 nurses and they nod in understanding. Health ed will have to wait.
Bill & I sit down to hash out a rough idea of how to get the English school going. During our meeting, seven people interrupt with questions and requests. While I'm creating a form on the computer, the electricity fails. I forgot to click "Save." Fans go off, and the sweating resumes. Patience, Lord, patience. Suddenly I have a fit of itching on my 27 mosquito bites and I run to apply my anti-itch cream. When I return, Bill is gone. another sigh We'll finish this tomorrow, maybe???
Internet is up but it takes 3 minutes to open an email. I try to upload pictures but it fails. Time has run out.
Lunch is served and I cringe as I see the flies swarming all around the tuna and watermelon. I'm hungry, so I will myself to eat it anyway. Keep me healthy, Lord. The guest house residents show up in varying degrees of dirt and sweat. We all share our morning stories. Kids have been taught, shelters built, toilets filled with sewage unplugged & cleaned, ravine people fed, meetings held, security personnel hired and trained, medicines distributed, errands run, pipes fixed, lumber purchased, floors swept, rice & beans cooked, laundry hand-washed, internet worked on, and 25 gallons of water filtered and consumed. And it's only noon.
We walk down the street to the new tent city and meet its residents. One new mom asks me for formula, so I do a little teaching on the benefits of breastfeeding. There is much misinformation, cultural beliefs, and illiteracy to overcome. When these women are given formula, they end up watering it down to make it last, and their babies become malnourished. We talk to the pastor, meet with the police about security, and discuss the needs of this homeless community for food and shelter and medicine. Many of these Haitians lost their homes in the quake.
It's time to open the clinic. At least 25 people are lined up outside the gate. We quickly triage them and seat them inside. The biggest problem is vomiting and diarrhea from unclean water and food. We can treat it, but the vicious circle continues because their environment doesn't change. Exasperation, frustration--- bordering on anger---fill me. This is all so wrong; this would never happen in America.
A patient with an earthquake injury comes in for a dressing change. The medical student and 2 nurses and I all look at each other when the bandage comes off and we see that the skin graft did not take; her Achilles tendon is exposed and she has no feeling in her heel; she will most likely need an amputation. My heart is pierced with this unnecessary sadness. Later I find out that a medical team is going to be able to do surgery on her! Thank You, Lord!
The next 4 hours pass in a blur of French, Creole, sweat, crying babies, looking up diseases in "Where There is No Doctor", filling baggies with meds using a flashlight since there's no electricity, taking vital signs, using antibacterial gel a hundred times (there is no running water), and sending people on their way, hoping we have helped them. They are so patient and grateful. Teach me a little of their patience and gratefulness, Lord. I wouldn't tolerate 1/100th of what they tolerate.
Ashley, Brooke (the 2 RN's), Yvetot & Vladimir (the 2 medical students) and I laugh and chat about the day as we close up the clinic. It's a mess but we're too tired to straighten it up now, and we want to get over to the feeding program before it ends. As we're leaving, a news crew comes through the door, and they want a tour of the facility; Bill & Sue handle that one.
We walk over to the boys' home and see about 100 kids running, laughing, playing, and yelling. They've just been fed...the day's only meal for many of them. The kids at the orphanage have this ministry to the neighborhood kids, in order to teach them to think of others and how to serve their community. Kids jump all over me, giggling and squealing. Tom pretends to be an ogre and chases them, which they love. He organizes races with the goal of tiring them out as they seem to have endless energy (and we've used up today's supply!). What a delight...this bright spot in the day...seeing the joy of innocent children as they play and do not worry about tomorrow. May we become as little children, and have their simple faith.
We hurry home before curfew (dark) and Tom and I steal away to the rooftop to watch the sunset. The beauty of the pinks and oranges reflecting on the ocean hovers in stark contrast over the dusty rubble of the city below us. The irony of a painted sky oblivious to the suffering below it chokes me up. Is this one of the ways, Lord, of showing me that there is hope?
Just then I hear children singing "Allelujah!" These children are Haiti's future, Lord. Build them, shape them, mold them to be Your witnesses to truth and to lead their people to a life of health and hope and joy for Your glory!
Tom and I go take our cold bucket showers; refreshed, we congregate in the dining room for a delicious meal of Haitian rice, beans, and veggies with chicken. Our Haitian cooks spoil us with their handiwork.
We are exhausted, but some things must be discussed and hashed out. It's impossible in this environment of seven very different people living together, doing ministry all day long in this heat, with a constant spiritual battle going on, to NOT have some issues now and then. The day ends with prayer and restored harmony. Your mercies never fail us, Jesus; we will go to sleep tonight knowing that You have been with us today, that you have sifted through Your hands of love everything that happened today, and that we have spent another day seeing Your faithfulness to us. May the work of our hearts and hands be a sweet aroma to You.
Oh, Lord, what does this day hold? Prepare my heart. Give me patience, humor, love for others, a servant's heart, an increased faith. Use my hands today to serve. Help me to cope with the heat and sweat and cockroaches and tarantulas. May I please You today with the words I say, the attitudes I have, and the way I spend my time. Forgive me in advance for all the ways I know I'll fail in these things because of my self-centeredness and desire for my own way. Take care of my family and friends at home, and may they hunger and thirst for You.
The morning dawns. Tom and I get our coffee and sit on the rooftop to chat and pray. The sounds around us have become commonplace: squeals of laughter from the girls' orphanage next door, the security guard's radio blasting Creole music, vendors shouting on the streets, our roommates at the guest house hanging up laundry and chatting about the day.
Someone yells to Tom that it's time to go barter for a new generator. I don't see him again until evening, when he arrives home drenched in sweat with a dozen stories of fixing broken pipes and children's hearts, dealing with Haitian businessmen, near-misses on the crazy pot-holed roads, going to Echo Depot (a pitiful counterpart to Home Depot)only to be frustrated at what isn't there, and helping to build shelters at the nearby tent city. I grin as I remember his comment just a few weeks ago: "Do you really think there will be anything for me to do in Haiti? I'm not a medical person or a teacher!"
I decide to check email but internet is down...again. sigh I go to the kitchen to grab some cereal, but the sight of a cockroach crawling all over the clean dishes in the drainer changes my choice to a yogurt and a granola bar instead. I shuffle off to the bathroom but it's occupied, as usual. Twenty people with three bathrooms is my first test of patience today. I throw on some stiff, wrinkled clothes (the laundress doesn't rinse out the detergent too well). Ahh, yes, the luxury of a washer and dryer seems a distant memory. I'm already dripping sweat.
Maybe I could steal away for a few quiet moments with my book??? "Hurry, someone's bleeding!" a voice yells to me. And so my day begins in a frenzy...
I meet the Haitian woman outside our gate. Through an interpreter, I learn that she is having constant nosebleeds and vaginal bleeding and she believes it's related to jumping off a ledge during the earthquake. After assessing her and seeing that she is stable, I advise her to rest until the clinic opens in a few hours.
I'm about to go back inside when a little boy runs up to me and says he's hungry. I give him a granola bar and within 5 minutes, about 25 children arrive at the gate asking for food. I'm shocked, and this is my first lesson in food distribution during Haiti relief---and just in general---in a country like Haiti. It has to be done discreetly, in a certain place (NOT our home), with security around, at certain times only, and for certain people only. The needs are endless and this little orphanage cannot meet them all, nor are we set up to be a food distribution center. Oh, Lord, feeding the hungry isn't so simple!
I'm late for my meeting with the other 2 nurses to write a health ed class for the older kids. I rush to the meeting spot and no one is there. This used to bother me, but I'm no longer surprised by this, because I know that life in Haiti is unpredictable. I hear that they went to the clinic to organize, but were traumatized by a 6-inch tarantula in a box of medical supplies and ran out. None of us wants to go back there.
Sue drives up and says, "Jump in! We have to take someone to the hospital!" I see that it's the lady who came to me earlier, and I feel so incompetent. I'm jostled and tumbled in the car as we fly over potholes, along with the 6 relatives of hers who had to join us. We weave our way through dozens of people fanning themselves in the waiting room of the steamy hospital and are told to bring her into a special room. We take her in and leave her in the care of her family and the nurses. (I found out later that the tests revealed nothing wrong and she was released.)
On the drive back, Sue stops and talks to an amputee who lost his hand in the quake. He smiles and tells her he's doing well. "Do you have a minute to stop at the market?" Sue asks. I nod, knowing full well that a Haitian minute is really an hour.
As we pull up to the house, there is a mob of people outside. Tom had given out a tarp to a woman who needed some shelter, and now there are about 50 people lined up outside hoping for the same. Lesson #2: If you give one, be prepared to give many. The staff cuts dozens of tarps from a roll of plastic and hands them out.
Oh, no, my meeting! Just then I see Ashley and Brooke and they laugh because they, too, have been sidetracked all morning. We walk into the house to start our meeting, and Bill greets me and says, "I need to meet with you about the school, and this is the only time I can do it." I look at the other 2 nurses and they nod in understanding. Health ed will have to wait.
Bill & I sit down to hash out a rough idea of how to get the English school going. During our meeting, seven people interrupt with questions and requests. While I'm creating a form on the computer, the electricity fails. I forgot to click "Save." Fans go off, and the sweating resumes. Patience, Lord, patience. Suddenly I have a fit of itching on my 27 mosquito bites and I run to apply my anti-itch cream. When I return, Bill is gone. another sigh We'll finish this tomorrow, maybe???
Internet is up but it takes 3 minutes to open an email. I try to upload pictures but it fails. Time has run out.
Lunch is served and I cringe as I see the flies swarming all around the tuna and watermelon. I'm hungry, so I will myself to eat it anyway. Keep me healthy, Lord. The guest house residents show up in varying degrees of dirt and sweat. We all share our morning stories. Kids have been taught, shelters built, toilets filled with sewage unplugged & cleaned, ravine people fed, meetings held, security personnel hired and trained, medicines distributed, errands run, pipes fixed, lumber purchased, floors swept, rice & beans cooked, laundry hand-washed, internet worked on, and 25 gallons of water filtered and consumed. And it's only noon.
We walk down the street to the new tent city and meet its residents. One new mom asks me for formula, so I do a little teaching on the benefits of breastfeeding. There is much misinformation, cultural beliefs, and illiteracy to overcome. When these women are given formula, they end up watering it down to make it last, and their babies become malnourished. We talk to the pastor, meet with the police about security, and discuss the needs of this homeless community for food and shelter and medicine. Many of these Haitians lost their homes in the quake.
It's time to open the clinic. At least 25 people are lined up outside the gate. We quickly triage them and seat them inside. The biggest problem is vomiting and diarrhea from unclean water and food. We can treat it, but the vicious circle continues because their environment doesn't change. Exasperation, frustration--- bordering on anger---fill me. This is all so wrong; this would never happen in America.
A patient with an earthquake injury comes in for a dressing change. The medical student and 2 nurses and I all look at each other when the bandage comes off and we see that the skin graft did not take; her Achilles tendon is exposed and she has no feeling in her heel; she will most likely need an amputation. My heart is pierced with this unnecessary sadness. Later I find out that a medical team is going to be able to do surgery on her! Thank You, Lord!
The next 4 hours pass in a blur of French, Creole, sweat, crying babies, looking up diseases in "Where There is No Doctor", filling baggies with meds using a flashlight since there's no electricity, taking vital signs, using antibacterial gel a hundred times (there is no running water), and sending people on their way, hoping we have helped them. They are so patient and grateful. Teach me a little of their patience and gratefulness, Lord. I wouldn't tolerate 1/100th of what they tolerate.
Ashley, Brooke (the 2 RN's), Yvetot & Vladimir (the 2 medical students) and I laugh and chat about the day as we close up the clinic. It's a mess but we're too tired to straighten it up now, and we want to get over to the feeding program before it ends. As we're leaving, a news crew comes through the door, and they want a tour of the facility; Bill & Sue handle that one.
We walk over to the boys' home and see about 100 kids running, laughing, playing, and yelling. They've just been fed...the day's only meal for many of them. The kids at the orphanage have this ministry to the neighborhood kids, in order to teach them to think of others and how to serve their community. Kids jump all over me, giggling and squealing. Tom pretends to be an ogre and chases them, which they love. He organizes races with the goal of tiring them out as they seem to have endless energy (and we've used up today's supply!). What a delight...this bright spot in the day...seeing the joy of innocent children as they play and do not worry about tomorrow. May we become as little children, and have their simple faith.
We hurry home before curfew (dark) and Tom and I steal away to the rooftop to watch the sunset. The beauty of the pinks and oranges reflecting on the ocean hovers in stark contrast over the dusty rubble of the city below us. The irony of a painted sky oblivious to the suffering below it chokes me up. Is this one of the ways, Lord, of showing me that there is hope?
Just then I hear children singing "Allelujah!" These children are Haiti's future, Lord. Build them, shape them, mold them to be Your witnesses to truth and to lead their people to a life of health and hope and joy for Your glory!
Tom and I go take our cold bucket showers; refreshed, we congregate in the dining room for a delicious meal of Haitian rice, beans, and veggies with chicken. Our Haitian cooks spoil us with their handiwork.
We are exhausted, but some things must be discussed and hashed out. It's impossible in this environment of seven very different people living together, doing ministry all day long in this heat, with a constant spiritual battle going on, to NOT have some issues now and then. The day ends with prayer and restored harmony. Your mercies never fail us, Jesus; we will go to sleep tonight knowing that You have been with us today, that you have sifted through Your hands of love everything that happened today, and that we have spent another day seeing Your faithfulness to us. May the work of our hearts and hands be a sweet aroma to You.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Desperation
Hands raised and reaching. Desperate. In one scene, starving people hoping to be handed a box of rice and beans, or a bottle of water. In the other scene, starving souls reaching to the heavens, hoping for a touch of God to quench their spiritual thirst.
Both are real needs. The first satisfies for a few hours. The second satisfies forever.
This is the air I breathe,
this is the air I breathe...
Your holy presence, living in me.
This is my daily bread,
this is my daily bread.
Your very Word spoken to me.
And I, I'm desperate for You.
And I, I'm lost without You.
(lyrics by MercyMe)
Lord, still my heart. Allow me to recognize my hunger and thirst for You, the Living Water. Don't let my heart be hardened by the pleasures and comforts of life. Less of me, more of You. Don't let me believe the lie that I don't need You. So many distractions in life, so much to tease my senses. Self-sufficiency deeply inbred in my American upbringing. Desperation sounds so negative, but when I look into the depths of my soul, that's what I am. Lost without You. Desperate for You. That's where I want to live, to stay, to remain. I reach up to You. Touch my fingertips, Jesus...just a touch will do.
“What is deprivation to the senses nourishes and strengthens faith. The less there is for the senses, the more there is for the soul.” Jean-Pierre de Caussade
Both are real needs. The first satisfies for a few hours. The second satisfies forever.
This is the air I breathe,
this is the air I breathe...
Your holy presence, living in me.
This is my daily bread,
this is my daily bread.
Your very Word spoken to me.
And I, I'm desperate for You.
And I, I'm lost without You.
(lyrics by MercyMe)
Lord, still my heart. Allow me to recognize my hunger and thirst for You, the Living Water. Don't let my heart be hardened by the pleasures and comforts of life. Less of me, more of You. Don't let me believe the lie that I don't need You. So many distractions in life, so much to tease my senses. Self-sufficiency deeply inbred in my American upbringing. Desperation sounds so negative, but when I look into the depths of my soul, that's what I am. Lost without You. Desperate for You. That's where I want to live, to stay, to remain. I reach up to You. Touch my fingertips, Jesus...just a touch will do.
“What is deprivation to the senses nourishes and strengthens faith. The less there is for the senses, the more there is for the soul.” Jean-Pierre de Caussade
My new theory of whining
I'm a whiner. I didn't know I was until I came to Haiti. I am ashamed that I have ever complained that I'm hot as I switch on my air conditioner, that I'm “starving” as I pull over to Jamba Juice and buy a $5 smoothie, that there's too much traffic as I listen to music in my comfortable Toyota, or that “it hurts” as I pop an Advil or rush to the nearest emergency room. But not so ashamed that when I get home, I won't just start complaining about all those same things again.
My new theory of whining is that we humans complain when we don't get what we have come to expect or feel entitled to get quickly and just the way I want it. I expect to have my every physical need met every day, to rarely suffer, to have plenty of love and friends and laughter and pleasure. I expect the lights to go on with a flip of the switch, the mail to arrive on time, the doctor to cure me, and stores to be open and well-stocked. I would be insensed if the city water made me sick, jails were co-ed, and maternity care was non-existent.
I used to think that only rich or undisciplined children were whiners, or wealthy narcissistic women on their way to the spa, the psychologist, and the plastic surgeon. But I'm guilty, too. I whine constantly. I whine in Haiti because I'm hot and sweaty and thirsty and have no internet access whenever I want it. I am shocked that I whine here, while I'm surrounded by homeless people with amputated limbs, little food, filthy water, and no psychologists to listen to their broken, grieving hearts. Break my heart, Lord, with the things that break Your heart.
I can learn from the hardy, hopeful Haitians. They come to the medical clinic and sit in the stifling heat, patiently waiting for hours. Little children sit quietly at their sides. There is no expectation. No whining. If they can't be seen today, they'll come again the next day. When they are seen, they are sent on their way with some medication to ease their symptoms. There are no lab tests or x-rays or MRI's to confirm a diagnosis. They smile and thank us in Creole. Oh, how I want to be able to do more!
Haitians have so little expectation from life. Or maybe I should say that they expect just about everything I abhor: pain, hunger, filth, illness, poverty, and bare survival. A simple healthy meal brings great joy. Finding a job---for a fraction of the American minimum wage---is a dream come true. Getting an education is only for the rich (a tiny percentage of Haitians) or the Haitian child fortunate enough to be sponsored by a kind American.
Everywhere I look I see Haitians who are going on. They know the government will not help them get back on their feet. Yesterday I met an old man who was cheerfully boxing up our groceries, and I found out he lost all seven of his children in the quake. I can't begin to understand the depth of his grieving and he doesn't even try to burden me with it. Yes, it's true that they are looking to our ministry, the American government, other NGO's, anyone who can lend a hand. I can't blame them.
Yesterday I walked through the tent city just a few houses away from where I sleep and eat---in luxury compared to them, in unpleasant conditions compared to home. They smile, say “bonjou”, greet me with hugs. If I were in their shoes, I'd be whining. Loudly.
My new theory of whining is that we humans complain when we don't get what we have come to expect or feel entitled to get quickly and just the way I want it. I expect to have my every physical need met every day, to rarely suffer, to have plenty of love and friends and laughter and pleasure. I expect the lights to go on with a flip of the switch, the mail to arrive on time, the doctor to cure me, and stores to be open and well-stocked. I would be insensed if the city water made me sick, jails were co-ed, and maternity care was non-existent.
I used to think that only rich or undisciplined children were whiners, or wealthy narcissistic women on their way to the spa, the psychologist, and the plastic surgeon. But I'm guilty, too. I whine constantly. I whine in Haiti because I'm hot and sweaty and thirsty and have no internet access whenever I want it. I am shocked that I whine here, while I'm surrounded by homeless people with amputated limbs, little food, filthy water, and no psychologists to listen to their broken, grieving hearts. Break my heart, Lord, with the things that break Your heart.
I can learn from the hardy, hopeful Haitians. They come to the medical clinic and sit in the stifling heat, patiently waiting for hours. Little children sit quietly at their sides. There is no expectation. No whining. If they can't be seen today, they'll come again the next day. When they are seen, they are sent on their way with some medication to ease their symptoms. There are no lab tests or x-rays or MRI's to confirm a diagnosis. They smile and thank us in Creole. Oh, how I want to be able to do more!
Haitians have so little expectation from life. Or maybe I should say that they expect just about everything I abhor: pain, hunger, filth, illness, poverty, and bare survival. A simple healthy meal brings great joy. Finding a job---for a fraction of the American minimum wage---is a dream come true. Getting an education is only for the rich (a tiny percentage of Haitians) or the Haitian child fortunate enough to be sponsored by a kind American.
Everywhere I look I see Haitians who are going on. They know the government will not help them get back on their feet. Yesterday I met an old man who was cheerfully boxing up our groceries, and I found out he lost all seven of his children in the quake. I can't begin to understand the depth of his grieving and he doesn't even try to burden me with it. Yes, it's true that they are looking to our ministry, the American government, other NGO's, anyone who can lend a hand. I can't blame them.
Yesterday I walked through the tent city just a few houses away from where I sleep and eat---in luxury compared to them, in unpleasant conditions compared to home. They smile, say “bonjou”, greet me with hugs. If I were in their shoes, I'd be whining. Loudly.
The creatures of Haiti
Amidst the dust, turmoil, and rubble of Haiti, animal life goes on, oblivious to the earthquake and its fallout. A huge tarantula was discovered at the medical clinic yesterday; the 3rd grade teacher wants to catch it for her classroom! Goats stand on piles of rubbish, digging for a nugget of food. Bony horses and cows walk aimlessly in the countryside, hoping to find a mound of grass to nibble. Rubbery black worms wiggle out of the compost bin...a species I've never seen before. A red-winged insect buzzes like a tiny airplane around the plants on the rooftop patio. Roosters, chickens, and baby chicks appear on the dusty roads out of nowhere, pecking at any little speck that could be nourishment.
Starving dogs of the Haitian breed roam the streets, abused by people, never knowing the luxury lavished on the average American pet. One such puppy was recently rescued by an American while local Haitians yelled that he must buy her (though she was not owned). Susette the dog-lover picked over 100 fleas and ticks off of her, bathed and fed her, and we named her Bijou (“Jewel” in French). She looks like a tiny deer and is so afraid and docile. I want to bring her home.
I ponder the responsibility that God has given us to care for the animals. In a land where even the humans don't have enough food, it's no wonder that the animals are completely left to fend for themselves. The very idea of a dog-grooming business or a pet store full of toys---TOYS---for dogs and cats is utterly ludicrous in Haiti. Children don't even have toys here...just dirt clods, rocks, and filthy discarded plastic bags. They fashion them into kites and run laughing down the barren streets, so precious in their innocence, so unaware of their American counterpart with a closet overstuffed with toys and games and gadgets. Why, Lord, are the Haitian children laughing and the American children yawning with boredom and screaming for more?
Starving dogs of the Haitian breed roam the streets, abused by people, never knowing the luxury lavished on the average American pet. One such puppy was recently rescued by an American while local Haitians yelled that he must buy her (though she was not owned). Susette the dog-lover picked over 100 fleas and ticks off of her, bathed and fed her, and we named her Bijou (“Jewel” in French). She looks like a tiny deer and is so afraid and docile. I want to bring her home.
I ponder the responsibility that God has given us to care for the animals. In a land where even the humans don't have enough food, it's no wonder that the animals are completely left to fend for themselves. The very idea of a dog-grooming business or a pet store full of toys---TOYS---for dogs and cats is utterly ludicrous in Haiti. Children don't even have toys here...just dirt clods, rocks, and filthy discarded plastic bags. They fashion them into kites and run laughing down the barren streets, so precious in their innocence, so unaware of their American counterpart with a closet overstuffed with toys and games and gadgets. Why, Lord, are the Haitian children laughing and the American children yawning with boredom and screaming for more?
Saturday, January 30, 2010
strength & hope out of the rubble
Leaving the Dominican Republic and driving to Haiti was to leave life as we know it behind us, and drive straight into a life that will be lived minute to minute, not knowing what each day holds; to lean into my faith more than I have ever needed to before because of the unknowns and the risks.
How bizarre to have a police car come up behind us with lights on, and when the driver ignored him and kept driving, we prayed even harder, and when the police car gave up and turned down a side street, we laughed so hard! Only in Haiti would such a thing happen! We just knew people were praying, too.
The border was utter chaos with a zillion vehicles and no organization. Everything is grayish-brown here. You don't realize how much you appreciate color until you don't see any. I remember fingering a beautiful rose in my garden on our day of departure and wondering if I'd see anything so vivid and lovely in Haiti.
Well, I have. It's the faces of the Haitians. They have a fortitude and a perseverance to survive that is so admirable in the midst of their suffering; they smile so magnificently when they greet us...I wouldn't blame them for not smiling right now, but they haven't lost hope. They are thankful to be alive, and they give praise to Jesus, some of them for the first time. Many of them have turned to Him for the first time after seeing churches, Christian orphanages, and the homes of neighboring Christians untouched by the quake surrounded by collapsed homes and buildings, and asking, "Who is the God whom you serve? We want to follow HIM!"
The tent cities are everywhere. Sanitation is critical as people do their business in open areas and bodies decompose and threaten the water system. Medical care is a high priority with infections from wounds, lack of follow-up care from injuries, and diarrhea & vomiting from drinking tainted water. Many thousands of criminals are on the loose from the collapsed prison, wreaking havoc on the streets. The police force lost half its members. The problems seem insurmountable. Oh, Lord, please rebuild this city on your foundation!
Behind the home where I'm staying is a collapsed home with 2 dead bodies in it. What? At home that would be unthinkable. I'm in another world here...my mind shifts to another way of living. A cockroach on the kitchen counter doesn't even affect me. Dust coating everything, including me...intolerable at home. Honking at everyone while driving would earn you a finger or an attack of road rage at home, but here, people are glad that you are letting them know you're closeby. An armed guard around the house doesn't even phase me. Curfew at dark would make me indignant at home, but here, I'm more than happy to oblige.
Life here is raw. No watches, no hurries, no organization. Few comforts, few expectations, few plans. Lots of smiles, lots of hugs, lots of prayers, lots of friendship and doing for one another. Tons of faith. I can't think of a better place to be :)
How bizarre to have a police car come up behind us with lights on, and when the driver ignored him and kept driving, we prayed even harder, and when the police car gave up and turned down a side street, we laughed so hard! Only in Haiti would such a thing happen! We just knew people were praying, too.
The border was utter chaos with a zillion vehicles and no organization. Everything is grayish-brown here. You don't realize how much you appreciate color until you don't see any. I remember fingering a beautiful rose in my garden on our day of departure and wondering if I'd see anything so vivid and lovely in Haiti.
Well, I have. It's the faces of the Haitians. They have a fortitude and a perseverance to survive that is so admirable in the midst of their suffering; they smile so magnificently when they greet us...I wouldn't blame them for not smiling right now, but they haven't lost hope. They are thankful to be alive, and they give praise to Jesus, some of them for the first time. Many of them have turned to Him for the first time after seeing churches, Christian orphanages, and the homes of neighboring Christians untouched by the quake surrounded by collapsed homes and buildings, and asking, "Who is the God whom you serve? We want to follow HIM!"
The tent cities are everywhere. Sanitation is critical as people do their business in open areas and bodies decompose and threaten the water system. Medical care is a high priority with infections from wounds, lack of follow-up care from injuries, and diarrhea & vomiting from drinking tainted water. Many thousands of criminals are on the loose from the collapsed prison, wreaking havoc on the streets. The police force lost half its members. The problems seem insurmountable. Oh, Lord, please rebuild this city on your foundation!
Behind the home where I'm staying is a collapsed home with 2 dead bodies in it. What? At home that would be unthinkable. I'm in another world here...my mind shifts to another way of living. A cockroach on the kitchen counter doesn't even affect me. Dust coating everything, including me...intolerable at home. Honking at everyone while driving would earn you a finger or an attack of road rage at home, but here, people are glad that you are letting them know you're closeby. An armed guard around the house doesn't even phase me. Curfew at dark would make me indignant at home, but here, I'm more than happy to oblige.
Life here is raw. No watches, no hurries, no organization. Few comforts, few expectations, few plans. Lots of smiles, lots of hugs, lots of prayers, lots of friendship and doing for one another. Tons of faith. I can't think of a better place to be :)
Monday, January 18, 2010
Preparing to go to Haiti
Never in a million years did I imagine that the next time I went to Haiti, it would be to a disaster zone.
Never did I imagine that I would ever feel desperate to get there.
Never did I feel so willing to walk away from all that is comfortable here at home, in order to do something purposeful yet uncomfortable. Yes, it will be awful, and dirty, and heart-wrenching. It won't be safe. I might stink and be hungry. Only God can make one's heart long to go to such a place.
When Tom and I prayed on New Year's Eve 2009 that this year would bring a big change, that we would "step it up a notch", i.e. our opportunities to serve, that we could GO somewhere and DO something...little did we know that these prayers would be answered in short order.
The restlessness I've felt for months now to GO and DO is all making sense. God was preparing me for such a time as this. I'm ready, Lord. Send me. My heart and my hands are open and ready to be used in Haiti.
I must go pack now. Jesus, prepare me for what awaits...
Never did I imagine that I would ever feel desperate to get there.
Never did I feel so willing to walk away from all that is comfortable here at home, in order to do something purposeful yet uncomfortable. Yes, it will be awful, and dirty, and heart-wrenching. It won't be safe. I might stink and be hungry. Only God can make one's heart long to go to such a place.
When Tom and I prayed on New Year's Eve 2009 that this year would bring a big change, that we would "step it up a notch", i.e. our opportunities to serve, that we could GO somewhere and DO something...little did we know that these prayers would be answered in short order.
The restlessness I've felt for months now to GO and DO is all making sense. God was preparing me for such a time as this. I'm ready, Lord. Send me. My heart and my hands are open and ready to be used in Haiti.
I must go pack now. Jesus, prepare me for what awaits...
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