Kwinzinè Blan (The white cook)

It’s just before five am in the northwest zone of Haiti, and for the most part the campus of northwest Haiti Christian mission is dark and quiet. For the most part. As you walk down the hill towards the back of campus, you can start hearing voices raised in praise and worship, praying to God for their family and friends. The voices you are hearing belong to the amazing group of ladies that work all day preparing food for all of the people in our programs. Each and every day, these six ladies work tirelessly to produce three meals for all of the children and adults across all of our programs. Six amazing ladies cooking around 1300 meals a day. Six Haitian  ladies and one blan working to feeding the masses. And that blan would be me.

 

Several weeks ago, the mission started a new plan to produce food for all of our programs. In the past we have had multiple kitchens running at one time, one kitchen for each program, which creates a nightmare as far as keeping all the different kitchens staffed and supplied. The new idea has been to create one central kitchen.  One place to staff and supply, and one place to cook food for all the programs that we provide for every day. This has been a massive undertaking, not only creating a new kitchen space from what was once an empty storage area, but working to get six independent cooks to work together towards one common goal. We’ve had a lot of ups and downs over the last few weeks, many things have gone wrong, but I have also stood amazed at how the group has pulled together and has gotten food out, making sure no one goes hungry. Below is just a brief idea of what our “average” day looks like:

Each and every morning the ladies and I gather in the new central kitchen to cook meals for all of our programs that we feed every day. Every weekday morning, we have 2 hours to produce food for about 700 people, including the kids in our orphanage, our Gran Moun, my kids in the Miriam Center and the over 400 kids who attend our school across the street. Working in the utter darkness of pre-dawn Haiti, using cellphone light and candles, these amazing ladies perform an intricate ballet, cleaning pots and pans, gathering food for the morning and preparing to cook.

Soon the crackle of fire can be heard as they light the many charcoal fires for all the pots they need, the fires do add some light, but also add a ton of extra heat (have I mentioned that its already been in the 80’s here?) but the ladies persevere. Soon heavy pots are put on to boil, and amidst the clattering of pots and pans and the other sounds of cooking there is interspersed prayers, singing and laughing. But at all times they know the clock is ticking. There are kids who need breakfast before school, kids who need to eat so they can take morning medicine. Whatever challenges or problems occur, we adapt and overcome and continue on. We have hungry people that we need to feed, and they don’t care much for excuses. As the cooking continues, I do what I can to help. Cleaning pots and pans, stoking fires, lifting pots in and out of the fire, whatever I can do to help.

 

 

As seven o’clock nears, the finishing touches are put on the food, then when it meets with the approval of the cooks, one of the yard workers and myself grab the heavy (did I mention these huge, hand forged pots weigh around 20 pounds empty?), piping hot pots and start transporting them throughout the campus, to all of the different programs. Back and forth, up and down the hill, we care until all of the pots are to their homes, and as the hungry people start eating, we head back to the kitchen, where the ladies are taking a couple minutes break in order to eat breakfast, then right back to work cleaning and starting to cook lunch. About this time I start the small generator which provides power to our two steam kettles (a new addition to the mission) so we can start cooking the rice and beans which are pretty standard for lunch here. The new 60 gallon kettles are really nice, allowing us to cook in huge portions enough food for all the programs for lunch. (The ladies are a little skeptical of the new pots and what they can do, but they are starting to come around. One of my plans for the near future is to work with the pots, and hopefully show the ladies some new ideas of things we can use them for, hopefully to make their life a little easier.)

Lunch is a little easier; we only have to serve around 400 meals by noon. As noon approaches, I’m once more transporting mass quantities of food, either by pot or 5 gallon bucket (depending on what’s for lunch) throughout the campus. As the last of the food goes out, the ladies return to cleaning, and then usually have an hour or two to rest before starting to cook for supper at 6. I have to admit, once lunch is served to all of the programs, I usually sneak off and eat lunch with my missionary friends upstairs.

As the afternoon wears on, we’re once more cooking, making the last push to get supper out to the 200 permanent residents. As the last bucket is delivered, the ladies clean up the kitchen, gather their belongings and start walking home. Of course the really sad part is that all of these ladies have families, so I’m sure they have to start cooking again once they get home.

My time in the kitchen has been very rewarding; I am learning a lot of secrets to Haitian cooking. I now feel fairly confident about my ability to make Haitian Spaghetti (Imagine spaghetti noodles tossed in a thin sauce of tomato paste, cooked with garlic, dried fish and shredded hot dogs, and topped with onions). I have mixed and shaped dough to make dumplings, have boiled a heap of bean and made Pate (deep fried dough, filled with shredded fish or chicken and vegetables. Think of it like a Haitian “Hot Pocket”).  I am quite the oddity down in the kitchen, not only because I am the lone blan, but as a man it’s pretty unheard of to be cooking. Then again, I’ve never been one for following traditions J

 

As the central kitchen matures, I am already planning for ways to make the kitchen run smoother, and make my cooks lives a little easier. I’m already looking to hire two new cooks, to allow us to give each of the ladies some days off during the week. I’m working on upgrading the supplies and cooking tools they have, even little things like hot pads to use when moving hot pots, instead of using folded cardboard, can make a world of difference.  I’m already looking into improving our nutrition across the board, to make sure all of our residents are eating well and getting all the nutrition that they need.

One of the things that I’m very excited about is the possibility of adding some supplements, such as the Moringa leaf (a super, vitamin packed leaf that grows here in Haiti, and when dried and added to food provides an amazing amount of vitamins and minerals) to the meals. Anything we can do to make pour food the most nutritious it can be, while keeping in mind the bottom line. It’s very unfortunate, but a fact of life that we have a lot of people in our programs, and very limited funding to feed them. However, I am convicted by Jesus’ commandment to Peter in John 21:17:

The third time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, “do you love me?” He said “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my sheep.”

Now, I don’t want you to think I have missed the point of this passage, I know Jesus wasn’t just talking about providing food, it’s more about loving and tending to all of God’s children, providing for their needs, and being an living example of Christ’s love to all. But, the children downstairs in the Miriam Center are my kids, the Gran Moun are my grandparents, and despite how much I may not want to admit it, I even care for the kids in the orphanage (most of them, anyway). These people are my family, and I will do whatever I can, whatever it takes to make sure they are taken care of.

Would you do any less for your family?

 

Warrior

I've come across this drawing at multiple places on the internet, but haven’t been able to find its origin, so I hope the artist won’t mind me sharing it with you, and I think it really fits with the rest of my blog.

Bear with me….

           ~ Battle Scene ~ 

Darkness, a poorly lit hallway in what looks like a castle. Sounds of unearthly wailing along with the sound of clashing swords. Travel through the hallway and come upon a single armor clad warrior, fending off countless spitting, snarling, wailing demons (black, wraith-like creatures of varying sizes, somewhat indistinct but for glowing eyes of red and yellow).

The warrior, though obviously beaten and bloodied, is wildly fighting numerous demons, receiving countless blows and slowly being pushed back. With a loud clang, the warrior is sent tumbling backward by a particularly large and nasty looking demon. As he rolls across the floor, he loses his helmet and sword, and then comes to a stop laying face down, bleeding and gasping for breath. The horde stops advancing, and slowly quiets to a low snarling as the warrior struggles to his knees.

With a gesture of its sword, the large demon splits the horde in two, “benevolently” creating a means of escape for the warrior. Close up on the face of the warrior, bruised, unshaven, exhausted and bloody, gasping for air. The warrior slowly, agonizingly pulls himself to his feet. Swaying, he slowly turns and looks behind him at what he had been protecting from the horde (we’re watching his face, not seeing what he sees).

The warrior turns with tears in his eyes, hangs his head and takes a staggering step towards his escape through the horde. As he takes another step, the horde slowly begins to laugh in glee. At his next step, the warrior staggers and falls again to his knees and the horde breaks out into gales of laughter. As the horde laughs, a new quiet sound is heard, and the horde slowly stops laughing and resumes snarling.

The warrior is on his knees, praying.

As the prayer finishes, the hoard is once again snarling and wailing. The warrior reaches out and picks up his sword and helmet, which are conveniently close to where he fell. As he stands, the horde becomes even angrier, spiting and gnashing their teeth. With one last look behind him, the warrior turns to the horde, smiles and puts his helmet back on. Then with a triumphant battle cry, he rushes into the horde, striking demons on every side.

As the battle continues, we pull out and slowly turn towards what the warrior is protecting. As we turn from the battle scene, the sounds of battle slowly fade; until we hear it no more as we turn completely around to see what the warrior is protecting.

As we zoom in, we see a figure standing in a long, white tunic (imagine what a Knight would wear to court) holding a small infant in his hands. As we get closer, we see a large crowd of people, all ages, male and female from every nation behind the lone figure in white. As we close on the lone figure, he looks up from the infant he is holding, and we see his face for the first time. Although younger, and less weary and battle-scarred, the face is unmistakably that of the warrior who is fighting the demons. The warrior, so valiantly fighting the host of demons, is doing so to not only protect the people of the world, but his own self as well.

OK, so if you've stuck with me so far, you’re probably wondering just what exactly I’m talking about and what the above scene is all about. Truthfully, it all started a while back in a dream that I had, wherein the above transpired. The dream was very vivid and has stuck with me for the past several weeks, and I keep finding myself coming back to it again and again throughout my days. It’s been on my mind so much, that it has caused me to really think about myself and how I am serving here in Haiti.

Honestly, I would love to relate to this scene. I would love to be the faithful warrior, fighting the darkness with every ounce of strength in my body, battling the darkness to protect the innocent and the lost. Being such a powerful and faithful servant of Christ that the darkness would shrink before me. I would love to see myself as that great warrior, pushing back the darkness for the glory of God. Strong. Faithful. Confident. Determined. Loved.

I would love to see myself that way.

But I can’t.

The truth is, when I look in the mirror, I don’t like what I see at all. I see in myself the very worst that I am. I see my every flaw and failing. I see a wretch of a man, prone to fits of anger and sadness, wanting desperately to be something that I can never be. Wanting things that I am not worthy of having. When I see myself, the words that echo through my head are words dredged from my past. Words of pain and anguish. Fat. Ugly. Stupid. Unloved. Alone. Lazy. No good. Worthless. In the way. Not needed. Not wanted. Weak. Failure.These are the words that have haunted me throughout most of my life, shaping me to what I am today.

Every day I serve alongside some of the most Godly, amazing, spectacular people that I have ever met. I am constantly in awe of them, and have no idea why I have been called to serve with them. I am nowhere in their league, and all I can do is to try my best to help them with whatever I can in order to make their lives a little easier, to allow them to better serve their own calling. I fail at this goal too, on a fairly routine basis, and whenever I let them down, my soul grieves. I love my family here dearly, and I hate letting them down.my continual, daily prayer is for God to guide and shape me into the man and servant He wants me to be.  I have no idea why God chose me to serve here or why He chose me to serve the Kingdom at all.

But He did.

I will never be this great warrior for the Kingdom that I would love to be. I will never be as fearless and powerful as I would like to be, never be worthy of serving in this place with these people. I will stumble, fail, question, worry, and doubt myself. All of the things that the darkness has used for years to destroy me, I will still struggle with. I’ll get knocked down.

But, I’ll get back up.

That’s probably the one positive thing I will allow me to say about myself. I don’t know if it’s a lack of intelligence on my part, maybe I’m bull-headed and won’t quit, or maybe it’s a hidden strength and resolve that I just can’t see, but I won’t stay down. As much as I doubt, as much as I hurt, as sad as I am, I know I was called here, and I will not quit. Even when my body fails me and my spirit is weak, I can’t give up. I won’t give up.  I owe it to my God, my Savior, my friends and family, and the Kingdom to continue to fight until I can no longer fight. To offer all that I have in service to the King, to give my very life if needed as a shield between the darkness and the ones I love and serve.

I can never be the mighty warrior that I wish I was, but I can still fight as long and as hard as I can, and maybe that’s enough. Maybe it’s not as much about how we stand, but how we get back up after we get knocked down.

I’ll continue to pray for God to guide and shape me into a better man and servant (and maybe even for me to see myself through His eyes instead of my own). I will continue to pray for the desire of my heart, for God to answer my most heartfelt prayer. I’ll pray for God’s peace, courage and strength.

“But even if He does not…” (Daniel 3:18a) I will continue to fight however I can, for His glory, for the Kingdom and for the lost.

Know Fear (3/3/13)

I’ve been thinking a lot about fear recently, and thought I’d share some of my thoughts with you, for what they’re worth. Fear is a very interesting emotion. It can be good and bad, can help save your life or it can keep you from living. Fear can cause you to question whether or not it’s a good idea to climb up the rickety wooden ladder, or if you should go get a better one. Should you eat the questionable food, or are you better off to avoid it? But fear can also cripple you, and is a favorite tool of the devil to cause us to falter, to question our worth and our purpose.

For the past couple of weeks I’ve been getting up early in the morning and walking for a couple miles through St. Louis, and I’ve really enjoyed walking the streets before the traffic gets crazy. My walk has become a nice way to spend some quality time with God, it’s a great stress reliever and sometimes I go out later in the day as well, using it to just get away from the mission when I’ve having a hard day.

The strange thing to me is that I’ve had a lot of our Haitian staff ask me if I’m afraid, walking alone through the city. Then they seem shocked when I answer no. I have never felt fear while walking around St. Louis, other than the occasional fear that I’ll fall going down the somewhat sketchy “Goat Hill” as I call it, and I’ll break my ankle. I really don’t know why, but I have no fear whatsoever for my own well-being. In my time here, I’ve had my life threatened a couple of times, I’ve climbed up on some ladders and out on some ledges that I probably shouldn’t have. I’ve been on the forks of a forklift, way up in the air, trimming trees and working on air conditioners. I’ve bare-handed cleaned out some pipes and drains that I probably shouldn’t have. I’ve rewired electric outlets and light fixtures while the power is on, all without any thought or fear about myself.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I don’t have fear in my life. Like any sane person I don’t like heights and definitely don’t like snakes, but I also have one deep, dark fear that is rooted in the very core of my being. This fear has kept me up many a night, has taken me to the brink and back, has shaped a huge portion of my life and continues to be the favorite way for the devil to torment me. Even now, as I write this blog, I am once again struggling with this fear, this pain. This one, perhaps small fear provides a lot of opportunity for self-doubt and self- loathing and allows the devil to sink his claws into me again and again, to drag me down roads and to places I don’t want to be. Places I have fought my way out of time and again. The truly saddest part to me  is that even when I can see what is going on, when I can feel that I’m under fire, that I’m sliding, I still fall for the trap again and again. I don’t know why I am so tormented by this fear, I truly wish I did. I don’t know why my strength is so weak, that I cannot just accept and learn to live with this pain, and go on. So many times I am pushed to the very edge, that the only thing I can do is cry out to the Father for help, for comfort, for peace from the pain.

And maybe that’s the point, the point that for some reason I have a hard time remembering.

My life is not my own. It never was and never will be. All that I am is what God wants me to be. He knows my life from the beginning to the end, all my fears and failures, all my dreams and desires. He knows, but He also has plans for me, plans that I cannot see due to my limited vision, and probably couldn’t understand even if I could see them all. How dare something as insignificant as I question the great I am, the Beginning and the End, the Alpha and Omega, the Creator?

But I do, all the time. In the deep, dark hours of night I question the fear, question the pain, question His plan for my life, question my very existence. In the darkest hours, the weight can almost break me.

But then comes the dawn.

I may question in the dark, but in the light I know that I am loved by the Father, that He has not forsaken me, that I matter in His plan, and that all I am and do I do for His glory, not for my own. I may not understand why I can’t have certain things that I want so dearly, why my fears exist in me, but I have the faith to know He is in control, and my hope and future is in Him. As long as I am doing all for His glory, following as He leads, then what else do I need or deserve?

I would love to say that I won’t fall again into the pit of fear, that I won’t let myself be overcome again by the pain, but I know better. I am only a man, and not necessarily the best example of that, either. The important thing is, no matter how I fall or fail, He is there. Through His strength and grace, I will pull myself up again, and stand for Him, stand for those I love, stand for those I have been called to serve, and stand for myself.

I will stand, face my fears and strive to overcome them, knowing that with Him, all things are possible. So I will step out on the scary ledge, walk the streets of the town I now call home, climb the rickety ladder, deal with whatever needs doing. I will stand and face the devil unafraid, knowing that though he may get his shots in, may cause me pain, he is nothing. I stand with my God and Savior, will follow as He leads, and will rely on His strength when mine fails.

With God, what is there to fear?

 

“The Lord is my light and my salvation: whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” ~ Psalm 27:1

 

“Be strong and of good courage, do not fear or be afraid of them; for the Lord your God, He is the One who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.” ~ Deuteronomy 31:6

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.

Gason mwen Sandley (My son Sandley)

Hello, my friends. I would like to take some time to talk to you about my relationship with my son, Sandley. First off, a little background, for those who don’t know me well or haven’t heard this before. I have always had a strange, irrational fear of small children. Now please don’t get me wrong, its not that I don’t like or love them, but small kids have always just caused me to panic. I’m not really sure what or why I have this reaction; I have a theory that’s it has something to do with the fact that I have always been really overweight, and I was always afraid that I would accidentally step on and hurt a little one. Not sure if this is the reason or not, but it’s the only thing that I can think of to explain my reaction to small children.

Upon answering God’s call for my life to serve in Haiti at NWHCM, I knew my life would be changed in ways that I could only imagine. But I have to be honest, I wasn’t prepared for Sandley.

My first Sunday in Haiti, I sat outside of Church with Stephanie Mosier and Heather Meyer, the 2 amazing ladies that run the Miriam Center, the special needs orphanage here. I tried to explain my calling to Haiti to them; that I was here to help fix what they needed so they could focus more on their ministry, and not worry about the small stuff. I told them how much I admired what they were doing and that I would help out however I could, but I did warn them about my fear of children.

A few days later, we were all hanging out in our staff lounge at the end of the day, when Stephanie came in carrying the smallest, most awkward little child I had ever seen. His little back was arched into a painful backwards C shape. His were so thin you could see every bone through his skin. He had bulging arm muscles, and his fists were clenched as if he was ready for a fight. Huge brown eyes filled his tiny, mostly bald head, and he had a perpetually grumpy look on his face, which only got worse when he cried. As we sat talking, Stephanie said she forgot something downstairs, laid Sandley in my lap, and headed for the door. As I fumbled with the little guy, not really knowing how to hold him, he looked at me and started to wail (honestly, I felt like doing the same thing.) But as we sat there, we both calmed down and Sandley slowly started clutching my arm as I held him. That was all it took. Stephanie came back and took Sandley back, but it was too late, he had his hooks in me.

Throughout the next week or so I made excuses to visit Sandley down in the Miriam Center, and to ask the ladies about his story. Sandley came to the Miriam Center with Heather, when she moved from the orphanage she worked with close to the Dominican Republic (For more of Sandley’s back story, check out Heather’s blog at: www.heathermmeyer.blogspot.com) about 2 weeks before I moved to Haiti. I don’t know why, but that seemed to cement our bond even more, we were both in a strange new place alone. As I began to spend more time with Sandley, both Stephanie and Heather were very patient with my constant asking of questions, as far as how to hold and care for him. They were very kind to help me learn how to provide the support he needed, to feed and burp him, and eventually to even change his diapers!



Sandley & Kem



Sandley very much became my lifeline here in Haiti. No matter how hard a day I had, no matter how frustrated, how hot, how tired, how down I was, a little time with Sandley made things better. He helped me to get my focus back on the things in life that matter. One of my biggest struggles in my time here has been with not really knowing my place here, not really knowing what I was called here for. As I struggled with feelings of inadequacy and just not fitting in, the one thing that was constant was my son, Sandley. Many were the nights when, not able to sleep, I would hear him crying downstairs and I would go and get him and just sit and hold him until the sun came up.



Sandley's 2nd Birthday



When I left for a week in June, I struggled with having to leave Sandley here, and I was really trying not to think about how I would leave for 2 months in November. I knew he would be in very good hands, but still, how could I leave my son? I know adoption here is pretty much not an option, especially for a divorced, 39 year old man. So the next best thing I could think of was to start working on getting a medical visa for Sandley, so that not only could he travel home with me, but I could also seek medical testing and treatment for him while in the states.

On October 25^th, Sandley left his earthly home and went to be with our Father in heaven. He had been a little sick the previous couple days, nothing too serious, just diarrhea. He had been doing better, getting Pedialyte every couple hours, but then passed sometime quietly early that morning. I was upstairs at our morning devotions when my friend Ashley came to get me and said they needed me downstairs. As I walked into the Miriam Center to the small group of people huddled around Sandley’s bed, I can never forget the sight of Stephanie holding him, with tears in her eyes as she told me he had passed. She handed his tiny body to me, which I clutched to my chest as the tears flowed down my face. I’ve lost many loved ones in my life, but this was different. I simply shut down, just standing there holding the body of my son, praying that somehow it was a mistake, that I would feel him take a breath, that I would once again hear his distinctive wail. Ashley and Stephanie invited me into their room, where we could mourn privately, away from the normal hustle and bustle of morning in the Miriam Center. As we sat in the quiet and I slowly stroked Sandley’s head, I tried to regain my composure, to be strong, to push my feelings of pain and loss down, so I wouldn’t have to deal with them. (I know, not very healthy, but it’s what I do.) I tried to focus on what needed to be done; only really allowing myself to cry whenever everyone left the room. (Again, not very healthy.) Luckily for me, as we started talking about plans, contacting Sandley’s mom etc., life here at the mission pulled me away as my phone rang, and I went to fix a couple of things for the surgical team that was here. As I walked around the mission, numbly going from one task to another, I kept hoping that I would wake up, that it was a nightmare, that Sandley wasn’t gone. I would periodically check back in to see what needed to be done for Sandley’s funeral. We wanted to respect his mother’s wishes as best we could as well as honor any Haitian customs.

We had a small funeral service for Sandley that afternoon at the mission. I was able to kiss his little head one last time as I placed him in the tiny coffin, then stood off to the side as the funeral began. There was much prayer and singing, and a short sermon by Pastor John Barnes, a former missionary here at NWHCM and a good friend of mine. Following the service, I was engulfed by hugs and kisses from the Miriam Center staff, as well as many of the other staff from the mission. About 15 of us loaded up into a tap-tap to head to the cemetery, where Sandley was laid to rest in a crypt owned by the mission.

The next few days were very hard. I found myself going down to feed Sandley, forgetting that he’s not there. I would stand upstairs, staring down into the Miriam Center where his bed used to hang. I tried to avoid the Miriam Center and the other children that I have come to know and love, just because it was too hard to hide my pain from them. I tried to stay busy, to keep my mind occupied, but spent a lot of time by myself, hiding, trying to figure out how to go on.

In my mind, I know Sandley is in heaven, happy and healthy. My heart is heavy and broken, though, and I’m not sure how to go on. As much as I am hurting, I have to acknowledge the great gifts and changes in my life that Sandley has inspired. Through my time with Sandley, I have spent a lot of time with the rest of the kids in the Miriam Center, and have come to love all of them. I have grown from being afraid and nervous around them, to caring and loving them more than I could have believed possible.

I have always felt a secret, deep sadness I would never be a father; would never know the joy of being a dad. God has granted me my greatest wish, although not in the way I would have thought. That’s kind of the way He works, though. Sandley was my son, always will be, and even though are time together in this world was short; I know that we’ll be together for eternity.  

Since Sandley’s passing, I have been flooded by thoughts and prayers from people who met Sandley during a trip here to NWHCM. For such a little man, he touched many, many lives, and I have been blessed by the stories and pictures that they have shared with me.

I have struggled a lot with Sandley’s death. I feel hollow and broken inside, barely able to talk about Sandley or look at pictures of him, yet finding myself breaking down at odd times, crying for my lost son. My hope in writing this is that I’ll be able to start healing. Letting the story which, is too hard to speak out loud, come out in writing.

As I prepare for my return to Haiti, I am excited and ready to get back to my missionary family, the kids, and the work that the Lord has prepared me for, but part of me is still saddened about being back in Haiti without Sandley. I praise and thank God daily for the way He has broken me, only to raise me back up and grow me into the type of servant and man He wants me to be. I know my future is in Haiti, and I know that God will continue to use me there, to serve the Kingdom and people of Haiti.