The return of “Mwen Regret” (1/18/13)

As I prepared for my return to Haiti, I honestly was mostly focused on packing my bags as full as possible, making sure I had everything done in the states that I needed to be done while I was gone, getting last minute visits in with friends, trying to finish up a few projects that I had taken on at the church while I was home, that I didn’t really have much time to think about actually being back in Haiti.

It really wasn’t until I was on the plane from Miami to Port-au-Prince that I felt my heart drop a little. I had been so missing the life that I had in Haiti, my friends and family and the kids that I hadn’t really gotten my mind prepared for actually being back in Haiti. When I left, I was at the outside of my limits, reeling from loss and literally numb. Would those feelings come rushing back to overwhelm me? When I saw the campus, could I focus on where God was leading me, or would I be stuck in the past? Would I be remembered? Would I still be needed?

As I walked out of the airport, which by the way has been completely re-done and modernized, I was hit by the familiar sights, sounds, and yes, smells of Haiti, and started feeling better. As I saw the familiar faces of the mission staff, and then rejoiced in re-uniting with Chad & Emily Terrell and Ashley Wingate members of my beloved mission family, I was feeling more and more at home. Boarding the small plane to fly from Port-au-Prince to Port-du-Paix, hopping on the mission bus for the hour long trip to St. Louis, and finally pulling through the gate. As I got off the bus, I knew I was home. I and the other missionaries were greeted by a herd of the kids from the orphanage. Amidst a sea of hugs and the repeated calling of my name, I made my way into the Miriam Center, and was embraced on all sides by the amazing staff and kids. My heart was so full with joy, seeing all the kids I had missed so much. Gilbert, Den-Den, Roselore, Joseph, Kem, Carlos, Mackenly, Jean, Issac, Walden. The list goes on and on. And the amazing staff that has abandoned that part of their own culture that says that these kids are curses and should be shunned, yet they love the kids as if they are their own. My heart was overwhelmed when I finally made it through the kids, and saw Stephanie Mosier and Heather Meyer, the amazing ladies who help run the Miriam Center and who have become such a big part of my life, patiently answering all my questions and helping me as my love and passion for the kids has been awakened and grown to levels that I’ll admit scare me at times. I find myself wanting to spend more and more time with the kids, to learn more about them and what makes them unique and beautiful. To be there to comfort them when they’re sick, to play with them and to love them as my own. My heart still, and I’m sure always will, ache for Sandley, but I’ve found that my heart, which I always assumed / feared was a little hard and small, has more room in it than I thought.

The only blemish on this amazing reunion was a few of the family members that either hadn’t arrived yet, or more sadly wouldn’t be coming back. One of the things I always loved about short-term mission trips was the intense love and sense of community that would develop within the group in such a short period of time. For me, this phenomenon has only been more intense here in Haiti. I love my mission family dearly, and while we may not always agree, I love them nonetheless, they are a part of me, and when they leave, I grieve. But, God has a plan and a calling for each of us, and as they leave, or have left, I cherish the time we spent together and I pray for their new paths and ministries.

As I started settling back in, it was amazing how quickly my life seemed to return to normal. As I walked the mission campus, now as familiar to me as my church in the states where I served for 7 years, I started making a list of what needed done, of things that I needed to work on, all the while greeting the familiar faces of our Haitian staff.  Going outside the gate, walking some of the familiar streets of St Louis du Nord, felt as natural to me as walking around home in Indiana. Even my very limited knowledge of Creole, which admittedly I hadn’t used or studied in a couple months, is a little better than I remember in that I am understanding more of what I’m hearing. I still struggle to find the right words to answer, but I’m getting better at stringing enough words together to make myself understood.

As the next couple of days progressed, I found myself falling into familiar rhythms of my life in Haiti, with one exception. The anxiety I had before was gone, to be replaced by peace and a certainty of my calling. The unmistakable knowledge that while I find myself vastly under qualified to be His servant here, I have been called and am here to serve His people and His Kingdom in Haiti, however I can, for as long as He commands.

 

So, I guess before I go, I should explain the title of this blog. As a blanc (white person) in Haiti, it’s automatically assumed that:

·        I am rich

·        that I have access to some secret cache full of tools, water, electricity,  equipment, batteries, etc that I’m just dying to give away, if only I’m asked the correct number of times (or yelled at loud enough)

·        That I can fix any problem

·        That I always know what’s going on

Unfortunately, all of these assumptions are false, but good luck getting most Haitians to believe that. So, one of the first phrases I have learned, is that when asked for something that I just can’t give or don’t have, is “Mwen Regret” or “I’m sorry”. So here’s the funny thing, what started out as me just trying to be polite has taken on a life and humor all its own. So now, as I walk through the campus, I’m met with a chorus of “Mwen Regret” coming from not only our orphans that live here, but from our Haitian staff as well. Even amongst my missionary family, Mwen Regret pops up from time to time.

Now don’t get me wrong, sometimes there are things that I’m asked for, that I really truly wish I could give, but I can’t. Instead, Mwen Regret has become sort of a running joke, shared and hopefully bonding myself, my Haitian brothers and sisters, and my beloved family here in what I consider one of God’s great blessings, laughter.

By the way, I have been working on a short story: “The Legend of Mwen Regret”, possibly coming soon to a blog near you!

There and Back (Part 2)

 

 

So, I returned to the states in early November , worn down, beat up , overwhelmed, sad, but strangely assured of my calling. In fact, I am now surer of my calling to serve in Haiti than I was before I came here. But, I was more than ready for a break.

It was really odd going home. As much as I wanted to see my friends and family, to attend church, to just recover and regain a sense of the normalcy that I felt I had lost in Haiti, I couldn’t find it. I looked around at familiar sights that were now strangely alien to me. Things and people that I had longed for while in Haiti, I know felt very uncomfortable around, as if something had changed, and was just a little off. I wanted nothing more than to be normal, but strangely enough, normal just wouldn’t come. I was torn between wanting to see friends and to spend time with family, and craving the solace of just sitting alone in my house. I’m sure a big part of this was depression over the loss of Sandley. I’ve really been struggling with how to deal with his death, for some reason I can’t seem to grieve. I’ve lost many loved ones, but Sandley is different, and I don’t know why. All I know is that I try and ignore the pain, and I end up breaking down when certain songs come on the radio. I’ve been caught off guard several times as my computer screen saver comes on, and it starts scrolling through all of his pictures that I have on my computer. As I see the pictures of my boy, I’m overwhelmed by loss. I know where he is now, but I wish we had more time together..

I also think part of my problem revolves around the culture shock of life in Haiti versus life in the states. As much as I enjoyed driving my car, Wal-Mart, fast food, hot water and electricity anytime you wanted it, it so contrasted my last 7 months of life that I had a hard time adjusting. It was so different that I found myself missing Haiti all the more. Life here is unbelievably hard, but somehow it makes sense.

Don’t get me wrong, I did have a lot of bright moments though. I was blessed to spend a lot of time with my brother, as we traveled to and from his weekly physical therapy appointments. I had the chance to sing with my church choir, something I have always enjoyed. I was able to reconnect with several good friends, including one that I hadn’t really seen in years. I was able to speak to several groups of children about my work in Haiti. All in all, my time at home was great, but still didn’t feel right. I was constantly thinking about and worried about my family in Haiti. As much as I missed Sandley, I missed his brothers and sisters in the Miriam Center, too. I missed my mission family tremendously; people that in such a short time I had come to love so deeply.

Honestly though, I found myself very depressed, and questioning if I was strong enough to continue on the path that God had put before me. It’s no secret to those who know me that I have little in the way of self-worth, when I look in the mirror, I’ve never liked what I saw, and still don’t. I’m plagued by self-doubt and the constant reminding of past pains and failures. I long for things that, deep down inside, I fear I will never have, that I don’t deserve. I just don’t think much of myself, and I often question how God could have me in this place, serving alongside such amazing people. As much as I struggled with these thoughts, as much self-doubt as I had, I knew deep in my heart that I would come back here. Deep inside, in a place that I didn’t know existed, I have found God’s strength and the certainty that while I may doubt, I am meant to be here, to serve our great God, to do what I can to show Christ to the Father’s lost sheep.

I’m not sure what all God has in store for me as I continue in His service. I know there will be joy and beauty. There will be sadness and pain. There will be conflict and peace, and while I may falter, I will not fall. While I may still suffer from periods of self-doubt, I can never doubt that I am a child of the King, completely guilty and completely forgiven, and that it is His plan and for His purpose that I am here.

There and Back (Part 1)

This past November, I left my home in Haiti to return to the states, marking the end of my 7 month “Missionary Candidate” process with NWHCM. My time in Haiti was harder than I ever could have imagined, on many, many levels. I have seen more poverty, more beauty, felt more amazing joy and happiness, and suffered such gut wrenching loss that I still am struggling to process it all.  Honestly, I was ready for a break by Mid-October, than after the loss of Sandley, I was done. I was so far past my limit that I didn’t know how to function; I just wanted it all to go away, and I didn’t really care how.

But that’s when God began teaching me my hardest lesson. When I was done, when I was at the end of the rope and ready and willing to just give up, I got up. Somehow I managed to continue on, to do what I needed to do, to fulfill my obligations, to continue to serve the people I love. I made it through my last 3 weeks and as I boarded the truck for the airport that last morning, my heart was infinitely heavy, but surprisingly enough it was because I did not want to leave. I did not want to leave my family, the people I love and the people I came to serve. As worn out and used up as I felt, I didn’t want to go, and as I left, I began counting the days till I would be back, thinking of what I needed to get done before my return.

Now, here is the truly amazing thing to me, and my greatest lesson learned. I know myself, and I am nowhere near that strong. I know that it was nothing of me, and all of God’s grace and power that kept me going, that has confirmed in me that I am where He wants me to be, that I am blessed to serve Him and His Kingdom in Haiti, and that with and through Him, I can make it through anything.

I know I will still stumble and fall. I have my own selfish needs and wants , I get angry, I get sad, sometimes I still let the small nagging voices cause me to question my purpose, my future, even my very existence. I am only a mere man (and not a very good example at that) and no matter how much I want to be like Christ, I can never be. But that’s ok. God knew that when He created me, He knows me when I am far away and when I am near to Him, and He still loves me.  He loved me so much, He sent His son to die for me.

With such amazing love and such a terrible sacrifice, all for me, how can I give anything less than everything I am in His service?  I don’t have much, but I’m willing to give my mind, my body, my sweat, my heart and the blood it pumps, even my very life if need be, to help spread His name and love to His lost sheep. I am a missionary, an ambassador of Christ. That’s what I do.