Name the blog: "My trip to Port du Paix" or "Bad decisions, Luck and Mud"

So, had a few simple plans for the day. Take the Cub Cadet (one of our smaller vehicles here at the mission) to Port du Paix to buy it a new battery, and then pick up some soap and other stuff for our depot. No big deal, 3 hours, tops.

So, got all my morning stuff done, borrowed a battery to get the Cub Cadet going. It was running pretty rough, and the brakes weren't working. Not too uncommon for the CC, usually once it warms up it gets better. So I headed to PdP, sloshing through the mud and puddles (did I mention that it poured rain last night? First time in a couple weeks).

Unfortunately it really never started running better, and still didn’t have brakes, but as I had already passed the halfway point, I figured might as well go on. Now, I know what you’re thinking, running bad and no brakes should be an indication to turn around and call the adventure off, but in my defense, it was running rough enough that as soon as you let off the gas, it pretty much stopped without brakes.

So, got to PdP, and as I pulled up to meet Nahum, my friend from the mission who was going to help me find the stuff I needed (and not have to pay the “Blan” price, which is usually a lot higher than the Haitian price), a tire blew. So, went ahead and picked up a battery, then drove slowly down the road a piece to get the tire fixed. Had to buy a new inner tube for the tire, then back on the road. 

Spent the next couple hours trying to find and buy the supplies we both needed, me for our big campus depot, and Nahum for the Miriam Center. Couldn’t find everything I wanted to, but did score a good deal on some black beans (saved about $40 Haitian a bag), and even found some Pineapple and Avocados for my friend Autmun. 

So now fully loaded and about 4 hours into the adventure, I headed back to the mission. By this point, the cadet was running really rough, moving slow on level ground, and struggling to make it up slight inclines. On the few decent hills, I was getting passed by people walking.

But, with no options (we don’t have tow-trucks in our neck of the woods) I kept pushing on, determined to make it back to the mission. Stopped to buy a gallon of gas, and continued on, slow but sure.  Just passed LaPointe (roughly halfway home), I started up a fairly long hill, and the Cadet choked and died.

Now, for those of you following along at home; let me do the math:

Hill + No brakes +no motor to keep the wheels turning = A fun, barely controlled trip down the hill.

Backwards.

Luckily, there was no traffic, and other than a few people walking up the hill who enjoyed the show, I coasted to the bottom of the hill and came to a stop right in front of a group of guys working on a moto. As they stared, I got out, walked around the Cadet to make sure I didn’t lose anything off the back, made a little small talk with the guys, then jumped back in, started it up, put it in low gear, and crawled back up the hill.

I finally made it back to the mission a little after 1 pm  unloaded our supplies and parked the Cadet. As I was walking back from the depot, I noticed a couple of our employees standing, looking at the Cadet. I walked up, prepared to tell them about my adventure, when they looked at me, shook their heads and one of them said:

“It’s dirty. You should clean it” and they walked away.

Soapbox

“I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth.” ~ Revelation 3:15-16 NIV 

Hi all, I have a need to vent a little about a most disturbing phenomena that I have been witness to during my time in Haiti. I have tried to understand it, but the more I see it occur, the harder it is to comprehend, so if you will please bear with me and permit me, I’d like to crawl up on my soapbox for a few minutes.

As I began and continue my service to the Kingdom in Haiti, I have been surprised and saddened by the way I have seen the Haitian people treated by some missions and missionaries, both short term and long term alike. Now, it’s not what you think, I’m not talking about racism, about people being looked down upon due to the color of their skin or their economic status. It’s actually more of the opposite.

There seems to be a pervasive thought here that Haitian people are incapable or simply do not need to be held accountable to the same standards that we are all called to adhere to as sons and daughters of the Father. I simply cannot tell you how many times I have heard comments condoning, or at least accepting, theft, infidelity in marriage, lying, abuse of all forms, and a myriad of other sins, under the statement that its ok, because they’re Haitian.

I simply cannot understand this thought process. Now I don’t claim to be any sort of great biblical scholar, but I have read through the Bible, and I have never seen a listing as to what commandments we have to follow, based off of where we live or our nationality. We are all children of God, all created in His image, and we have all been given the Word to know right from wrong, and we are all part of the same family and must be willing to hold each other accountable.

Now, before you start yelling at your computer screen, I do want to clarify a couple of points. I’m not talking about judging another person. I know that I have no business or right in judging another person, and quite frankly I wouldn’t do that because I don’t want to be judged either. There is only one fit to judge each and every one of us, and trust me, I know I ain’t HimJ. I’m also not talking about not having Grace. Again, I know all to well the kind of person I am, the life I’ve led and the sins I’ve committed, and I know that it is only through God’s grace and love that I have been forgiven, that my past does not need to predict my future. It is by Grace that I am talking to you now, because if there was ever a person who probably shouldn’t, based on his past, be serving the Kingdom, it would be me, but here I am.

What I am talking about is the seemingly unwillingness of many Christians to stand up and say that something is wrong, and the vilifying of those with the courage to stand. I am a firm believer in the adage of love the sinner, hate the sin. While I cannot judge a person for their actions, I can stand and say that what they’re doing is wrong, that their actions will hold consequences, and not be willing to accept or allow it to continue in my presence or on our campus.

I have never known what its like to be starving. I cannot imagine what I might do when looking into the faces of my children, knowing that I cannot legally provide the food or medicine that they may need. I can’t say would I would do, and therefore I cannot judge what others in similar situations would do. I cannot judge, but I am obligated to say that what they choose to do is wrong, is illegal and is against God’s law. I know that this is not a popular position these days. Trust me I know. I have been chastised several times for daring to speak these beliefs, called everything from judgmental to a bad Christian, and I’ve been told that I hate the Haitian people. I’ve been called a lot of things in my day, but honestly that last comment hurt. I love the people of Haiti, and want nothing more than for an end to the darkness here, and for all people to know the love, peace and freedom that comes through faith and obedience to Jesus Christ. I do struggle with anger when I see sin, ignorance, laziness, immoral behavior, lies and thievery tolerated, under the guise that its ok because we’re in Haiti, or because the people are poor, are hungry, are orphans, or whatever other excuse can be thought of.

Above all other things, we need to be honest. Sin is sin, no matter what the reasoning behind it, it’s still sin, and we need to be willing to speak that truth in love. How can we claim to be making disciples, how can we truly share Christ’s love and His sacrifice for all of us, without explaining the change that is an integral part of the transformation that must take place in our lives? I think we are short-changing God, and harming those we are all called to serve and reach if we are not willing to stand for the full truth of the Gospel, but only for those parts deemed socially acceptable.

And, the more I have thought about it, the more I began to realize that it is not something that is only a problem on the mission field, or only in Haiti, but is a battle raging throughout our churches around the world and in our daily lives. Each and every day, God’s truth is watered down, is changed to become more socially acceptable. Instead of standing up for what we know is right, we allow sin to occur and sit silently by, afraid to be called intolerant, judgmental or racist.

I believe that I am called here to not only serve the people of Haiti, but to try and be an example of God’s redeeming grace, and how He can use such a poor excuse of a man for His purpose. I am not worthy of this honor, and a lot of days I fail miserably at this calling, but I’m still here standing for the Truth. All of it. To simply pick and choose some parts of the Gospel to teach and hold up and some parts to ignore is beyond my understanding. And I hope that it always is.

As Christians we are all called to stand for what is right, for the Truth. We are called to stand against the darkness, to be a beacon of light for those that are lost. To feed the hungry, clothe the naked, heal the sick, and love the unlovable. Nowhere are we called to allow sin, to look the other way.

Or maybe I’m wrong.

Please, I would love your opinions; either respond here or you can email me at justin.clark@nwhcm.org. I’d love to hear from you.

Stevenson

One of my proudest accomplishments so far in my new role in the Kitchen is to hire this great young man, Stevenson as a helper for the new kitchen. Stevenson is a fantastic young man who lives down in the Miriam Center, whom I have come to know and love over the past year. Stevenson has an amazing spirit and love for the Lord, and he absolutely loves to work! He is always looking for odd jobs around campus in order to earn a little money, sometimes in order to buy a little food from outside the street, but more often than not he is saving for new shoes or clothes for church. I’ve even spoken to him a couple times on Sunday mornings, when he has been very sad because he couldn’t go to church. When asked why he couldn’t go, he hung his head and said he didn’t have enough money for offering. Talk about tearing your heart out!

I’ve helped him out a little with odd jobs when I could, but I’ve been wanting to find something a little more permanent, and when the central kitchen came along, I knew I wanted Stevenson involved. Even after I talked to the mission and they said there just wasn’t money in the budget, I still felt led to help provide a job for Stevenson, so I decided to hire him myself. I talked it over with Stephanie and Nahum, the leaders of the Miriam Center, and they agreed and helped me come up with a fair pay for his work. When I asked him if he wanted to work for me, Stevenson’s response was an enthusiastic “YES!” and a thumbs up.

Stevenson is now an official member of the kitchen staff, hauling trash, cleaning, washing pots and pans, carrying charcoal , whatever he can do to help, and he couldn’t be happier. (and neither could I, he is a super hard worker) Last month I was able to give him his first pay envelope with $600 Haitian (about $75 US), he smiled a huge smile, asked Nahum to hold his money for him until he needed it, then went back to work!

I consider it a true blessing to not only know and work beside this young man, but to be able to help provide for him and call him friend as well. I am truly blessed!

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!