Because of dignity
I was recently having a discussion with Vorb in which he said some profound things. Vorb is a deep thinker, and he often challenges my thinking on issues by bringing a perspective to the table I had not yet considered.
On this particular day we were discussing the tremendous difficulties our organization continues to face day-by-day as we struggle to do what needs to be done in the community we know we have been called to serve.
Vorb reminded me once again that he makes certain decisions in his life “because of dignity.” I can’t get that phrase out of my head.
Because of dignity, certain stories are mine to carry, but not mine to tell.
Dignity. Perhaps it matters more today than ever.
Has it been worth it?
I’ve kept this image as the lockscreen on my phone for many years now. I remember this morning so well, the tears, the pain, the “what ifs”, the agony of waiting for a day we weren’t even sure would ever come.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, has been easy about these 11 years of knowing and loving 13 children whose lives were marked by suffering and pain and loss long before they even knew there was a life other than the one they were living.
Many of the children have grown up and are on their own now, and every now and then I hear from one of them. Their lives have taken them in different directions. I often ask myself, “Was all of the time worth it? Was all of the pain worth it?”
On a morning like this, a simple text exchange reminds me that, yes, it was - and it still is.
Today is Hudson’s birthday
Depi tèt pa ko koupe, li espere met chapo.
Two years ago we were gathered together to celebrate Hudson’s 3oth birthday. Earlier in the day we had heard that there were problems in the street, which was unusual, given it was a Sunday.
Although we enjoyed our time together very much, the celebration was cut short, as everyone had to head home to Tabarre 14. And that was the beginning of a long, hard week, what was to be the hardest week to that point for Tabarre 14.
As I looked back through photos today, trying to find a few of Hudson to share in a Happy Birthday greeting on Facebook, I was reminded of all that has been lost in the last 6 years, how the early days of Haiti Awake now seem like the glory days of Haiti, how a city went from being a place to explore to being a prison that is holding its inhabitants captive.
Haitians often say, “Depi tèt pa ko koupe, li espere met chapo” which essentially means that as long there is life, there is hope.
And so today, as I celebrate Hudson across the miles, I will continue to hope for better days for Haiti and for those there whom I hold so dear.
Proximity
Being in proximity to physical suffering when you yourself are not physically suffering is an emotional suffering that defies words or explanation.
The highlight of my day is seeing these faces. The hardest part of my day is seeing these faces.
How thankful I am for technology that allows us to stay connected even though the miles between us seem to grow further with each passing day.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to be
We had our weekly senior leadership meeting Monday morning.
Before we wrapped up, I asked Vorb and Steeve if there was anything either of them would like to say.
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” Vorb said.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Those words have run through my thoughts all day.
"We’re waiting on what’s coming, but we don’t know what’s coming,” he continued.
“I have my hope on God. He’s a good father. He has a plan.”
Once again, I am humbled to even have the privilege to have a conversation with my friends in Haiti.
I have so much to learn from them.
People. Not Statistics.
“Statistics are one thing, but friends are another. Numbers may challenge your mind, but faces will soften your heart. And names will stick with you over time.”
It’s been my habit for years to search out news on Haiti on a daily basis. These days, however, there’s no need to search, as Haiti is a leading story with most mainstream American media outlets.
These news stories give many statistics. Here are just a few I’ve read recently.
“Whoever has been able to grab power has been able to control what happens to Haiti’s 11.7 million people.”
”Violence has displaced more than 300,000 people.”
“Nearly 4,000 inmates fled Haiti's main prison.”
“About 1.4 million Haitians are on the verge of famine, and more than 4 million require food aid, sometimes eating only once a day or nothing at all.”
“The U.S. Agency for International Development said that around 5.5 million people in Haiti — nearly half the population — need humanitarian aid.”
“80 percent of Port-au-Prince is currently controlled by gangs, according to UN estimates.”
I am reminded of a quote from More or Less: Choosing a Lifestyle of Excessive Generosity by Jeff Shinabarger:
“Statistics are one thing, but friends are another. Numbers may challenge your mind, but faces will soften your heart. And names will stick with you over time.”
These are the hands of some of the young men at CERMICOL we know and love. They are not statistics.
This is my friend, Anora, who has lived more than 80 years. He has seen many things in his lifetime, and he is a gentle, wise soul.
He is not a statistic.
This is my friend, Soiris. He works in the street and has the best smile. He has taught me a great deal about human dignity and the way a community can transform someone’s life.
Soiris is not a statistic.
This is Hudson. There aren’t many photos of Hudson because he’s always taking photos of the rest of us. Hudson is a phenomenal photographer, and he’s been a faithful friends for many years.
Hudson is not a statistic.
Judely and Jerry are best friends and always full of joy. They are sponsored by two of my family members, so I always try to take a photo with them when I am in Haiti.
They are not statistics.
This is Yvenson. When I get a hug from Yvenson, I know I have been hugged. His hugs are the best.
Yvenson is not a statistic.
This is my friend, Billy J. It always makes me happy to see him at the airport.
Billy J is not a statistic.
This is Handy. He is the one who brought us all together after we met in July 2013.
Handy is not a statistic.
This is Esther Joy, and she is pure joy. Her mom is one of my favorite Haitians.
Esther Joy is not a statistic.
This is JV. He is an inmate at CERMICOL, and he is precious to me.
JV is not a statistic.
And our circle at Haiti Awake includes
many, many more.
People. Not statistics.
We never thought it would come to this
I was talking to Steeve as we do nearly every evening. The heaviness of the day was so real. There was so much to say. There was absolutely nothing to say.
And so I asked the rhetorical question, “We never thought it would come to this, did we?” And, of course, the answer is no. We could never have imagined in days past that we would be having the discussions which are necessary today, discussions that tear at my heart, but discussions we must have, nonetheless.
Ten years ago God made it abundantly clear to both Steeve and me that He wanted us to invest heavily in one little neighborhood in Haiti. And since its beginning in 2014, that’s what Haiti Awake has done. We’ve poured our hearts into our community.
As we face an incredibly uncertain future, we continue to trust that the God who led us in the past will continue to lead us in the future.
12 years
Today marks 12 years of knowing and loving Haiti.
I'm in Florida this week, surrounded by people whose job is to keep Americans safe abroad, to figure out the logistics of getting Americans out of tough situations, to analyze the data and make observations about what the future may bring.
And while I am thankful for the wealth of information my colleagues bring to the discussion, my thoughts and prayers are with the 11.5 million Haitians who have no options, who have no choice, who won't be "getting out." I remember, as I often do, that holding a US passport gives one access and privilege the majority of the world's population will never see or know or even fully understand.
Haiti, you have completely wrecked my life. You have caused me to grieve like none other, and yet I have no regrets about knowing you intimately. The lessons I have learned because of you exceed any I could have learned in the country of my birth.
The joy and the sorrow through the years. I am not the same person I was before we met. How thankful I am for it all.
Bondye konnen.
We know their faces. We know their names.
My greatest joy in the last two years hasn’t been at Kay Timoun or CCS. My great joy has been behind the walls of CERMICOL.
I've watched the video “Working for the Gangs” over and over again.
While the world talks about prison breaks in Haiti, my prayers this week have been with those incarcerated at CERMICOL, those whose names we know, those whose faces I hold dear.
This young man's story is the story of so many.
This teenager was 11 years old when he started working for a gang. He was homeless and hungry, he told CNN, and the gang offered him food.
Now, when other members of the gang kill people, they make him burn the bodies, says the teen, who is now 14.
He would like to get out – but he doesn’t know how. His mother lives outside of Port-au-Prince; he’s not sure how to reach her and couldn’t afford such a trip anyway.
“I wish she could come get me,” he told CNN. “I’d like her to take me out of this place.”
Haiti isn't 11.5 million people. Haiti is individual people with individual stories.
From the comfort of our US existence, it's impossible to comprehend living in conditions where one truly does not see a way out, one does not believe there are choices, one is only looking to survive.
Even so, come, Lord Jesus.
Where is the hope?
Haiti is real to me.
Not in theory.
No as analysis.
But as the deepst part of my heart.
A week ago today I woke up after spending the night in Miami, wrestling through whether I should continue my trip to Haiti or head back to Wilmington. As I reached out to trusted friends to get their advice, one sent me the following text:
In the moment, I remembered a quote from Chuck Colson I heard over 30 years ago and quickly answered, as I headed out the door to the airport:
But I have continued to ponder these questions all week. Where is the hope? What gives me hope?
When we founded Haiti Awake, we chose three words for our logo:
Relationships. We believe we earn the right to share the Gospel through relationships. We also believe that discipleship happens in relationship.
Hope. The only Hope any of us have for this life or the next is found in the finished work of Christ. The Gospel gives us Hope.
Gospel. That’s in the center, between relationships and hope, because the Gospel is what binds it all together. The Gospel should always remain at the center of all we do at Haiti Awake.
How many times have I repeated the above when asked who we are and what we do at Haiti Awake?
What gives me hope is what has given me hope through the years. We can say “all my hope is in Jesus” but until we’re put to the test, we don’t know if that’s really true.
A faith that hasn’t been tested isn’t a sure faith.
I keep meditating these verses:
Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man, and He will dwell with them. They will be His people, and God Himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the former things have passed away.
He who testifies to these things says, “Yes, I am coming soon.” Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.
(Revelation 21:3 - 4 and 22:20)
This is our hope. He is coming. And we pray it will be soon.
The struggles of this life are His way of loosening our hold on this world, giving us a longing for the life that is to come, reminding us that this world is not our home, that we were made for more.
48 hours in Haiti
I had intended to be in Haiti Thursday through Monday, but from the time I got on the plane in Wilmington Thursday morning, it seemed nothing was going right.
The flight out of Wilmington was delayed. Then there was a problem with the jet bridge in Charlotte. Combining those two things, I missed my connection to Miami, which meant I would miss my connection to Port-au-Prince. American Airlines automatically rebooked me for Friday.
However, once I got to Miami, I found that the PAP flight was delayed, and I was offered a seat on the flight - even though boarding was complete.
As I was processing this information, I looked at my phone and saw two photos - photos showing a bullet hole in a window at the regional airport in PAP and a bullet hole in a seat in the waiting area. I looked at the gate agent and said, “This flight is going to be canceled.” And it was. I never boarded AA 819 on Thursday.
However, on Friday, AA 819 proceeded to PAP on a normal schedule. I got up Friday morning, contacted several people whose opinions I value, and with Steeve’s permission, I went to Haiti.
There was a definite tension in the air at the airport and outside as we departed. Though not empty, the streets weren’t as busy as usual. Though we had been warned about possible threats in proximity to the airport, we did not encounter anything of concern.
When I arrived at the house, it was time for music class, and we spent the rest of the evening unpacking and enjoying time together.
Saturday morning all CCS activities were cancelled due to the condition of the streets. The main road by the community center has been blocked for a week or so. However, one of the English teachers, Job, came to our place and taught the boys. He ended up staying for a good portion of the day, and we enjoyed having his presence as a distraction - in addition to working on (and completing!) a 1000 piece puzzle.
Hudson and I always worked on a few things for Mission Made in the afternoon.
We said goodnight as usual and reminded each other “We will see what tomorrow will bring.”
Sunday morning we woke up to news of a large prison break and increasingly violent, threatening gang activity. Because of the attack on the airport on Thursday, many were speculating (and still are) that a full scale attack on the airport could be imminent. As I talked through it all with a few trusted friends, I came to the realization that if I waited until my flight on Monday, I might not be leaving. For many reasons (including not having enough medication with me), not leaving wasn’t a great option.
I called American Airlines to see about changing my flight from Monday to Sunday, but I was told there were no seats available. (Later that same flight was canceled.) Chatting via Whatsapp with a friend, she told me that she had just found three seats on Spirit for the early afternoon, and those seats weren’t crazy expensive. I thought it was a good idea to book one for myself as “insurance” 1) in case they sold out and 2) in case indicators increased that AA would not fly on Monday.
I called Rick and asked him to help me book it because 1) Steeve and I were wanting to have a prayer time with the boys and 2) the Spirit website wasn’t cooperating with me. By the time we had finished our prayer time, Rick had booked the ticket.
I reached out to a few people whose discernment I trust. Stay? Wait until tomorrow? But the truth is, I knew what I needed to do. It was time to go - as much as I hated to do that, as much as I wanted just a little more time.
I hurriedly packed a few items in my carry-on, then showered while Handy and Davensky played Duolingo on my tablet. Dieusait brought me food. And then it was time to go. It happened so quickly.
I said goodbye to the boys and Dieusait. I didn’t have the opportunity to say goodbye to anyone else - including Vorb.
The streets were eerily quiet and empty. We were stopped just once at a police checkpoint. The trip to the airport was quick and easy.
There I said goodbye to Steeve and Hudson.
Obviously there’s a great deal more to tell, but that will come in time. Thank you to those have reached out in concern. I apologize for not having the emotional bandwidth to be able to answer you each personally. Please do not be offended when I send a link to this blog in response to your kind messages.
The following song has been on repeat since I left Haiti.
The contrasts
Five weeks ago today the property was abuzz with activity as we prepared for the 4th anniversary celebration of EEGC.
Today all activities are cancelled, and we listen to the sound of gunfire around us as we wonder what the day will bring.
Joy and sorrow.
When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul. Psalm 94:19
The Gospel changed me
I was the one who needed to hear the Gospel.
I came here in 2012 mistakenly believing that I was taking Christ to the nations. What I found was that Jesus was already here in Haiti … and I was the one who needed to broaden my understanding of the truth of the Gospel.
How thankful I am for the kindness of the Lord that patiently led me to a fuller understanding of His amazing goodness and the depths of His mercy and grace.
Glwa pou Bondye.
“My task was simply to bear witness to the Christ who was already there. We all do this when we listen for the feelings behind the words, sit with others, offer a touch of the hand or a hug, and love them as Christ loves them.”
The kindness of the Lord
This morning as we prepare to celebrate the 4th anniversary of EEGC, my thoughts are turned toward this quote from Frederick W. Faber:
”Kindness has converted more sinners than zeal, eloquence, or learning.”
My heart is greatly encouraged by this group of believers who have come together to create something beautiful, who truly love God and love people, and who desire to “connect people to people and people to God.”
“Don’t you see how wonderfully kind, tolerant, and patient God is with you? Does this mean nothing to you? Can’t you see that his kindness is intended to turn you from your sin?”
Knowledge is sorrow
I’ve been putting off giving this update because I just don’t know what to say. There’s a lot to say, actually, but much of it is deep and private and feels so intimate, so sacred.
I like to write from a place of authenticity and openness, but trying to express what transpired over the weekend just feels too vulnerable.
It was so, so good.
It was so, so heavy.
To a certain degree, that’s the way it always is in Haiti - balancing the joy and the sorrow. But this time it was even more so as we were dealing with heartbreaking individual situations while celebrating the joy of the season with so many.
Lord Byron once said, “Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest.” And I feel that. The knowledge that Haiti has brought me is often soul-crushing, and yet it is that same knowledge that has freed me to love others well and hope for the best in the midst of overwhelming circumstances.
There is joy, as evidenced by these photos.
I ran into Michael Anello at the airport about an hour before leaving Port-au-Prince. I had never met him face-to-face before, but we talked. I mean, really talked, about the things that matter. In Michael I found a kindred spirit and someone who helped me process some of the thoughts that were swirling in my head.
It was good for my soul to have time to process some things verbally before leaving the country.
The Scriptures say, “Share each other’s burdens, and in this way obey the law of Christ.” That’s what Michael did for me. He helped carry a little of the load.
And that’s what I really need most days. People who understand as few can, people who recognize the responsibility that comes with knowledge, and people who know that often we can’t fix a situation, but we can listen with empathy.
Papi
If you know Haiti, you know. A papi is a papi.
I boarded my flight to Haiti expecting to sit next to a business traveler as I had been upgraded to seat 1E. Instead, sitting in seat 1F was a man I immediately addressed as Papi because, well, he’s a papi, and if you know Haiti, you know. A papi is a papi.
He wore a dress shirt that was worn around the collar. In his front pocket were his papers, his passport, his glasses, a mask. He wore dress pants that were a bit too big but held securely by a belt around his waist. On his feet were polished, black loafers with tassels.
Papi told me, “Mwen pa pale angle.” But that proved to not be entirely true as Papi does speak some English, enough English, but he’s not confident in it.
Papi asked me to fill out his customs and immigration forms for him, and that’s when I learned that Papi has a US passort. He then told me he’s been in Washington, DC for years, working at a hotel, doing anything and everything he’s asked to do from collecting trash to cleaning to cooking in the kitchen. He works hard all year long, so that each December he can return to Haiti, the land of his birth.
Papi and I had no idea, but we would spend the next 24 hours together - not simply the next 2 hours. Our flight had multiple problems and was delayed until the next day. A group of us passed the time together - a wealthy man with multiple businesses; a young Haitian immigrant; a philanthropist interested in development; and a man whose family name is well-known in Haiti.
And then there was me and Papi.
When we finally arrived in Haiti, we all exchanged numbers, took selfies, and said goodbye, as we embraced and wished each other the best.
As I left the airport, I saw Papi one more time. He was wearing his hat and sunglasses, and he was sitting in a wheelchair.
”Papi, ou konnen ou ka mache!” I said, laughing. (“Papi, you know you can walk!”) He laughed, too. Yes, Papi can walk just fine, but if you know Haiti, you know that rolling out in that wheelchair as a Papi is about the finest thing you can do.
And that’s what he did. Because Papi is home, gras a Dye.
It's the small things that sometimes matter most
Years ago I learned that many Haitians have never known the joy of a birthday celebration, the happiness of that moment before you cut the cake after your family and friends stand around and sing, acknowledging your importance to the world.
How many birthday cakes have we purchased through the years at Haiti Awake? How often have we sang to someone we know and love? These are always special occasions, but yesterday may have been the most special to me - even though I couldn’t be there.
Yesterday we honored Soiris, a man I first wrote about a little over a year ago, a man whose life has taught me so much.
A Haitian friend told me, “This is a day he will never forget in his life.” And it’s the same for me. I will never forget this day because it’s another example of God’s faithfulness.
Kyle Idleman wrote: “When I’ve thought about people who have met a need of mine, I’ve realized they probably don’t even remember doing it because it didn’t seem like a big deal to them - but it was to me.”
Happy Birthday, Soiris. You are important in this world. You’ve taught me about joy in the midst of difficult circumstances, and you have met a need in my heart. I’m so glad to know you!
It’s all grace
This week has been full of hard conversations on Haiti.
People are struggling in ways that are impossible to articulate. I’ve been asked questions I couldn’t have imagined being asked in another lifetime. But desperation leads people to ask questions they themselves never thought they’d ask. Desperation leads people down roads they never thought they would travel. I’ve learned that I can not fully understand another’s perspective because I can not walk in his shoes, and I have also learned that perhaps, at times, all people need is someone to listen and remind them they are not alone.
My heart hurts. My heart hurts for the brokenness of this world, not just Haiti, but the world at large.
But each morning as I walk, time and time again, I am reminded of the grace of God that somehow carries people through their darkest times.
Simone Weil once wrote, “Grace fills empty spaces, but it can only enter where there is a void to receive it, and it is grace itself which makes this void.”
That’s what I am thinking on this morning. The grace that fills empty spaces, and the blessing of the voids - even if comprehending it all is beyond my mortal understanding.
But as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives, and he will stand upon the earth at last.
And after my body has decayed, yet in my body I will see God! I will see him for myself.
Yes, I will see him with my own eyes. I am overwhelmed at the thought!
Job 19:25-27
Knowing what I know
"Why do we care? Because we see ourselves in relationship, 'obligated by the very fact of our existence.' And now knowing what we know, we are responsible, for love’s sake, for the people and places that are ours—if we have eyes that see."
Steven Garber
Sometimes that responsibility feels so heavy. And sometimes that responsibility brings great joy.
But always I know that responsibility is there. I can not forget what I know. I can not walk away from living, breathing people who are more than statistics to me.
Individual faces and stories
There are roughly 12 million people in Haiti, and many of them have significant needs.
Idleman writes, “There are so many people God loves out there. They have a lot of needs. You’re not responsible to meet all of them, but you are responsible for some. Every now and then, God’s answer to a need is you.”
Sometimes it’s good to remind myself that not every need is my responsibility. Some needs are. Many are not. As we’ve grown and better defined our ministry at Haiti Awake through the years, we’ve come to realize that the people and places that are our responsibility are easy to identify most of the time - if we’re quietly listening for the Spirit’s voice to point us in the right direction.
Hudson took some great photos last week of individuals - faces - to whom we have responsibility. Responsibility towards so many used to frighten me, overwhelm me. But now I can say with confidence that being responsible for people and places is a privilege, an honor. And knowing their individual stories feels like something sacred.
