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!
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