Haiti.

Sigh.

There is so much to say and today I feel the weight of how insufficient words can be, especially when not spoken face to face.

To report on my last week seems a daunting task, to say the least. I use “report” quite intentionally, because it seems it is all I am able to do. It seems silly to even try to relate my time in Haiti and all that God has done and is continuing to do in my tiny, tender heart. Laughable is the thought that I could do it justice here on a little-known blog in type. And that makes my heart a little sad, if I’m honest. I have so many stories and just a few pictures, and, I suppose, those are things I can share with you.

But really…

I want to feed you some beans and rice and teach you how to make Haitian coffee in a gregg. I want you to shake hands with Biken, my long time little Haitian boyfriend (I have to stop saying that, he’s sixteen now) and I want you to kiss his mama, Madam Gerrison, on the cheek. I want to sit quietly with you as we listen to the choir sing and wonder what the beauty could mean. I want you to hear the roosters crow at 4 am and wake you again just in time to see a Haitian sunrise. I want you to smell the tent villages that house thousands of Haitians still. I want you to take a shower in a bucket and pee with the tarantulas.

But I just can’t. And that’s the reality that makes this task disheartening. So I’ll do what I can. I’ll give it words. I’ll tell the stories. In time, I’ll post the pictures. I just want to say, I do it a little hesitantly and a little bitterly. Hesitant because I don’t want to make light of the experience the way too many words and stories with happy endings can. Bitterly because, well, I want to be having coffee with you instead.

So here it goes.

When our flight landed in Port-au-Prince I felt the first charge of anticipation. The long to-do list that led up to that moments robbed me of the excitement I should have, would have otherwise felt. But as the landing gear lowered and the wheels hit the runway, I couldn’t wait to practice my Creole or smell the burning sugar cane. We got through customs without a single issue – God is so good! We brought suitcase after suitcase of medical supplies, knowing if they were found they’d be confiscated. They weren’t even unzipped. Only our God, friends. Only our God. After the four hour Haitian taxi to HAFF (Haitian American Friendship Foundation, the missions agency we work with) on the northern plateau, we ate some yummy beans and rice and slept hard.

The morning came early, as it always does in Haiti. The sun gets up, we get up. The trick I’ve found is to get up just before the sunrise (around 5am) to catch the sky in her waking beauty. I can’t tell you how many moments I’ve spent on the edge of HAFF property talking with Jesus as the sun sneaks onto the horizon. Those are some sweet times, my friends. Then I’d tiptoe back to the dorm and wake my sissies for the day. One of my favorite things about this trip was teaching my younger sibs the little things – like how to purify the water every morning and the best way to scare away the tarantulas and cockroaches out of the outhouse and to get excited about beans and rice twice a day.

Once the day was going, we’d head to the school, teach some all-school devotions then assist with some English classes (“Assist” is a loose word. We sat in and let them make fun of us in English, chalking it up to good practice for them. So fun.) and other odd jobs around the campus. All this is pretty typical short-term stuff and I think they’re good things

But.

The greatest part was that several times while the team was doing this, I got to steal away to visit old friends. Magatie, my old Creole tutor, was in the hospital. Oh, sweet lil thing. She has both Denge and Malaria and from the fever lost her first baby. Oh, how my heart hurts for her and with her. so I took a morning to go sit with her in the hospital and held her hand and prayed over her and sang with her and introduced her to my sisters. I hugged her mama, who was my Madame (sort of like a “second mother” or “nanny” while I was there five years ago). I told them how I missed them and care for them and even for all my words, I couldn’t change a single thing. I don’t think I spent much of than day with dry eyes.

Monday was the milk program. Mama’s bring their babes to be weighed and checked for worms and malnourishment and receive a weeks worth of milk and a chiah plant (this is a miracle plant, really. You can cut a stalk and stick in the ground and it multiplies like bunnies – gross comparison, huh? But seriously, it’s full of fiber and other vitamins and really filling. The babies can chew on it and suck on it and if they’re too little it can be cooked down into a mush. God is a crazy cool creator.) we set up stations – two to weigh, one to record, one to measure out the milk, and one to hand out baby blankets (holla, Grace Community Church! Thanks so much for giving more than we could have hoped for!) and chiah plants. We actually had one too many people for the stations. And so I set up my own. Before each woman and baby left, I got to lay hands on them, pray for them, read Scripture to them, and kiss their pretty little cheeks. What an honor.

On Tuesday was the Bon Famn Tout Bon meeting. All day, this “godly women” class studied the word of God and made projects to sell at the market. (The goal of this group is equip women with the Word and to give them a skill to provide for their families. Many walk for hours to come.) Every time I’ve visited I’ve had the privilege of joining them and preaching the main sessions each week. This time, I preached on Genesis 16, the main idea being that when we run ahead of God, and to our ruin, El Roi can restore us. I hope they were blessed and built. I know every time I’m with them, I am.

Wednesday I co-taught the Jenn Lide Yo Pou Bondie (young leaders for God). This was really a special thing because the topic of their discussion was on mentoring and I had the privilege to teach it with my daddy. How appropriate, right? I love my daddy. The rest of the day was spent doing odd jobs and visiting the sick in the local church, praying with them and sharing Scripture and singing with them. We’re totally the Church, you know? I can’t get over that. We’re united in an intimate and mysterious way even though we had never met before and probably won’t meet again till Home. There is so much to celebrate there.

Thursday I preached at the church in Hinche (a neighboring town) at a women’s conference of sorts. I think there were maybe 50 women there? This time, I preached on the woman at the well from John four. Man, our God has been good to us, hasn’t He? I mean, though we repeatedly fill ourselves from our own stagnant sources, He offers us the living water of Himself. For the spiritually thirsty, Jesus offers Himself. To the woman who wonders, he says, “It’s Me, it’s Me. You want to worship? Worship Me. You want a temple? Come Me. You want water? Drink of me. This water source I speak of isn’t something abstract, but as real to you as the Man sitting before you. It’s not far away and it does not necessitate a long journey, but is as near to you as I have stayed despite social constructs. It does not require a water pot or a bucket, but only that you leave the shallow springs of familiarity and drink of receive Living Water and I who am speaking to you am He. I offer you the Living Water of myself.” Do you sense the stunning nature of this statement? Jesus Christ, the God-Man, offers Himself in salvation to this woman. Do you sense the radical nature of this interaction? Think of all the cities full of moral men Jesus may have passed on the way to Samaria. Did He choose to reveal Himself to them? No. Did He show His deity to the learned leaders of the synagogues? No. But to this woman who has exposed herself to many and has been exposed to much ridicule, He exposes His divinity. This is the way of the Gospel, my friends! Oh, friends, this is my story. Your story. This is our God’s way with people like us.

Friday was a quiet day. A day of beginning to say goodbye again to those brothers and sisters I’ve grown to love. We finished some odd projects, built some chalk boards for local schools, painted the old tap tap (a Haitian taxi type, like a truck where you stand in the bed and hold onto some bars). and we prepared to leave. Saturday was a long day of travel. Really long. The kind that makes me feel like puking. But finally, at last, I was home.

Here are some things I’m taking away from the trip. Big things.

Preaching is a huge part of who I am. As I push to the finish of this semester, preaching in Haiti has reminded me that isn’t not just about getting the work done. There is so much purpose in this studying. Preaching reminded me a bit of who I am and where I fit in creation. Being just another student in the library has caused me to forget, I think, that I have a specific calling. Preaching is, in a big way, all the best pieces of who I am. And I think I needed to do it again.

Secondly, the Church is alive and really, really big. Wow, that sounds so trite, but I mean it with everything I am. We, the Church, are a mysterious creature with unknown limits. United in a profound way and moving, growing, living in the grand way of the Gospel.

I was also reminded that God is good. So so good. I was reminded that we don’t wait on God. We are like a toddler with a bottle of glue and a jar of glitter. We cannot help but make a mess of ourselves. If only soap and water could deal with our mess. And we wonder, why do we make such a mess of things? Because we don’t believe. Why do we stop eating and manipulate our bodies? Because we don’t really believe God loves us. Why do we spread rumors and divide the church? Because we don’t really believe God made us one body. Why do we work so hard for the church to the despair of our own spirits? Because we don’t really believe God has united us with His Son. Why do we keep secrets and tell lies? Because we don’t believe God has removed our shame. Why do we stay awake in the middle of the night, worry gripping our minds? Because we don’t really believe God is for us and not against us. Why do we over eat, over sleep, over spend, and over indulge? Because we don’t really believe God is our Daily Bread. Why do we live in spiritual apathy and physical abundance? Because we don’t really believe God is coming back.
We don’t believe. We say we do. We speak in lots of words that sound similar to faith. I would even say many of us want to believe, try to believe, hope to believe. But so much of faith is waiting. And we have never been a patient people.

So.

That’s what I have to say. It doesn’t do the trip justice. It doesn’t cover it all. But I’m sure over the next few weeks stories will eek out. I certainly don’t expect many people to read this whole post. Heck, I’m not even going to proof it it’s so long. But, if you’ve read this far, you have my thanks and a little glimpse into the corridors of my heart these days. And it’s my hope that in doing so you remember that these stories are your stories because you’re a part of the Church. You’re with me in this task, and since we’re one Body this is now a part of our history.

And I’m grateful we’re in this together.