I started this blog over the summer as we were preparing to travel to Haiti. My journal articles from the October trip are posted, along with current updates following the 1/12 earthquake.
Before going to bed last night, I attempted to log onto Google video chat with my brother and my 2-year old daughter, Marley. I was dying to see her and talk to her. I was just positive that she must be so confused and anxious when she woke up each day and Mommy and Daddy still hadn’t come home. Luck was on my side and we were able to establish a choppy connection for a minute or two. I could not get the sound to work on my end, and there was a pretty bad delay, but I got to see my daughter’s face when she recognized me on the screen. That was priceless. Her smile made me cry. And although no sound was coming through on my end, she could hear me. So I told her I loved her and that I’d be home in a few days. Before I was able to say anything more, the internet connection was lost… it was 4 days before it reconnected and allowed me to send off so much as a short email again.
I didn’t sleep very well last night. I woke up at about 4:30 smelling sulfur. I was worried it was somehow coming from the sporadically-working air-conditioning/ventilation unit in our room. The odor was too strong and I couldn’t doze back off. I am learning to value the sleep we are able to get here, so I took one look at my soundly snoozing husband and decided not to wake him. I got dressed and walked down into the lobby. My already-sweaty legs stuck to the leather sofa in the lobby as I sat there looking at the pictures in a French magazine and waiting for everyone else to wake up.
Today was Sunday. After breakfast, we dressed in our nicest (least sweaty) clothes and loaded up into a TapTap to head to the church. Pastor Chad was guest-speaking this morning and I could tell he was nervous about it. He was thinking about what to say and how to deliver the message in a way that would impact a congregation full of people who don’t speak our language, don’t dress like us, and can’t relate to the way we live. Sean was worried about passing out from the heat. I was internally whining about the metal ridge of the seat that was digging into the back of my hamstrings and, at the same time, feeling sorry for myself because I missed my little girl so much and only got to see her on the computer for a few short seconds last night. Everyone had a lot on their minds. We watched dozens of people walking in the road, each headed to go worship in their very best clothing. One older woman, in particular, wore a clean white dress and walked over the rocks and mud puddles towards her church. Her arms were folded in a cross over her chest, clutching a bible like it was her last possession on earth. (Maybe it was?) Our TapTap hit a bump and sent dirty water and chunks of wet dirt flying out from under the tires. When we looked back, the woman was desperately wiping away at a newly forming stain on her white dress. She was dressed in her very best for the Lord, passionately gripping His word in her arms, and walking miles over broken cement, trash, and glass so that she can lift her arms and praise God… and we just splashed mud on her. The sight was enough to make us feel guilty for worrying so much about our petty “burdens”.
We arrived at the church as the music was kicking off. Two rows of chairs had been set up on the stage for us, the guests, to sit in. At first, I felt self-conscious sitting behind the alter in front of all those people. But after a few minutes of observing, I quickly realized the benefit of the placement… I was able to look out at the people, and up to the second floor, and off to both sides of the church. I would be able to take it all in for the next couple of hours.
We sang… and sang, and sang, and sang. These people love to lift their voices to God! I recognized the tune of a few of the songs. There were songs I’ve heard on Klove, contemporary Christian music. It was pretty cool to hear them sung in the beautiful language of Creole. We sat and listened to the beautiful voices of the children’s choir. We prayed. And then it was time for Chad to give his message. I felt so much admiration for the confidence he showed. I would have been scared to death to try and deliver a message to people who didn’t understand a word I was saying! One of the Church’s pastors was translating for Chad. As if the situation wasn’t intimidating enough, this guy must have been 7 feet tall, he towered over Chad! Sean and I have been attending Red Rocks Church for nearly 6 years. I have always had a lot of respect for Chad’s speaking and presentation skills. But more than anything, I admire his ability to convey passion in his messages. He’s a strong, loud, inspiring speaker who’s voice never cracks. But today, after hundreds of times hearing him speak, he broke. As he talked about our visit to the childrens’ medical facility the day before, I heard tears in Chad’s voice for the first time ever. His heart fired up as he explained God’s love for the people of Haiti, even amidst the poverty and unfair circumstance. I have heard Chad deliver a lot of messages, but this was one that will forever remain at the top of my list. It was amazing to watch as God gave him the words and the emotion to connect with these people, despite the language and culture barriers.
After the service, we were asked to line up outside the church doors. Every person wanted to shake our hand or kiss us on the cheek. I remember feeling like the tables should be turned and I should have been shaking their hands and thanking them for showing me what it meant to have faith in all circumstances. Their praise and worship, even in such a desolate environment, was teaching me a lot about myself and what kind of a Christ-follower I wanted to be. We were escorted to Pastor Ronald’s office at the rear of the church where we were fed lunch. Before we left, we had the opportunity to hand out care packages to a group of widows. I am beginning to feel a whole new respect for the peace, grace, and satisfaction I feel from giving.
This will be the most difficult day to write about. There aren't really words (or at least I'm not very good at putting my thoughts into them accurately) to describe our experience at a children's medical facility this morning. I woke up at 6:30 feeling emotional already, so I knew it was going to be one of those days. Walking down to breakfast, there were already tears burning the back of my eyelids. After a day and a half in Haiti, the magnitude of what we were seeing was beginning to sink in. I knew that our first stop today was a children's medical facility. I knew that I was going to have a hard time seeing what we would see. And I knew God was going to spend today working on my heart. I was nervous, and some of the anxious tears spilled over before we even got on the bus to leave.
Today was not quite as hot as yesterday. The stale humidity and stinky air was still there, but the sun was behind some clouds so at least we had escape from that for a few hours. The bus ride through town got us to the medical facility a little more quickly than I was prepared for. I said a quick prayer for God to help me through this and got off the bus. Sitting outside the front doors, there was a handful of mothers holding sick-looking (some very sick-looking) babies. Before entering, we were asked not to take pictures inside the facility walls. (Which is unfortunate... I wish I had some visual documentation to share with you on this experience. But we understood and respected their request.) A harsh reality hit me about 3 feet into the building as I saw a ledger book sitting on a table. One page of the open book was labeled "DISCHARGES" at the top. The opposite side said "DEATHS". There were a lot of names on the "DEATHS" page. There were 204 children at this facility, all under the age of 5. The majority of them were babies. Five women (nuns, I believe) work here and take care of all those children. They always accept help when volunteers arrive, so we were there to offer our hands and hearts for a couple of hours. The first patient room we walked through contained about 15-20 cribs, each with an unclothed baby in it. Some of the babies whimpered, but most of them were just laying in their cribs. Most of them were so skinny that you could see their bone structure just under the skin. Their legs and arms looked extra long because they didn't have much baby fat. Some of our team kept moving into other rooms of the building. A few of us hung back in this room. I stopped at the crib of a baby girl who's right side of her head was partially shaved. She had some sort of an IV running into her head... I wasn't allowed to pick her up because of the tubing. I'm guessing this girl was about 4 months old. Her gaze begged me to pick her up. She reached her arms towards me and stretched her fingers out, looking for some physical contact. I looked in her eyes and saw my daughter. My heart broke. And I couldn't even pick her up and hold her. All I could do was offer her my finger to grip onto and rub her back and touch her face. The whimpers that she let out were harder to handle than a cry because I knew they meant she was too weak to cry like a healthy baby. I've never experienced the feeling of helplessness like I did at this moment. It is impossible not to pick up a baby who is obviously in pain. When Marley does something as insignificant as stubbing her toe, I wrap her up in my arms and hold her tight until the tears stop. I hated not being able to do that for this baby girl.
The one word question pounded inside my head, "Why"? How is it any part of God's plan that these babies were born in this country? They could have just as easily been born into a safe and civilized country. How could He let this happen? All I could do was lean on Proverbs 3:5 at that moment, "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding". Its a good thing that verse exists because I was at a loss for anything else.
After some time, she started getting sleepy so I unlatched her hand from around my fingers. She watched me walk away.
I passed the other cribs and saw one with a little boy who didn't even have the energy to turn his head when I passed. He just laid there and let his eyes follow me.
I walked into the next room and had to walk right back out. Dale was holding a baby a few feet away from the door and tears were dropping from his eyes. There is something so powerfully painful about seeing a grown man cry. I didn't want to make a huge scene or upset the children, so I walked back out into the hall and started sobbing. I leaned up against the wall, slid down into a squat, wrapped my arms around my knees, and let the wave of emotion hit me. I figured I could probably regain composer if I could just get this out of my system a little bit. I'm not sure how long I sat there, but I did find that the release was helping. I finally stood back up and walked back into the room. I purposefully steered my eyes away from Dale and looked to the right side of the room where I found Sean playing with a little boy. The child was standing up on the side of his crib. I wish I had a photo of his face, he had the greatest smile. He was probably about a year and a half old. Sean was making him laugh. This boy and Marley would be really funny playing together. His laughter was such a distinctly bright difference from the rest of the scene. God's timing was perfect, I needed that. I moved to the back corner of this room and picked up a baby girl who was probably about a year old. I noticed a sitting puddle of urine on the plastic cover of her crib pad. Her cloth diaper was dry, so I could only assume one of the workers had changed her but then gotten pulled away by another duty before they noticed the wet bed. I tried to clean it with a nearby rag, but found no sanitation materials anywhere.
This little girl latched on to me. Her legs pressed against my ribs like she was afraid I might try to put her down. I stood there whispering to her for a long time. She was so content. I couldn't offer these babies much. But if I could give one of them 30 minutes of comfort and safety, I'd stand here and do it. I wish we could have stayed longer... I wish we could have come on more days. But this is all I had, so I held her and sang her "You Are My Sunshine" (Marley's favorite song).
Pastor Chad was standing next to the crib beside us. The baby he held was so tiny! She had wrapped her itty bitty arms around his throat and snuggled her head into his neck. She looked like she never wanted to be anywhere else. I watched him stand with her, rubbing her back, for a long time. I knew Chad was thinking of his new baby girl, Jane, at home in the States. It was going to be hard for him to put this baby down and leave her here. This image, of big strong confident Chad looking broken by holding this tiny baby baby girl, will forever be in my mind. I will never forget it.
It was nearly time to leave, so I needed to put her down. I dreaded laying her back in this crib, not knowing when one of the nuns would have a free moment to get back to her to change her diaper, if needed, or to take a minute to pick her up. I wondered if they even had time to spend giving affection... or were they so swamped caring for the 200+ children that they could only offer the basic medical needs? The little girl cried and stretched her arms for me each time I put her down. Of course, I kept picking her back up again, not able to stand the sound of her sad cries. But we finally had to go and I had no choice but to walk away. That sucked. I wondered what happened at night when everything was dark. The babies don't even have blankets! I wondered if the children ever got scared. Marley wakes up nearly ever single night... just once in the middle of the night. Sean and I hear her little whimpers and try to make it to her room before they turn into big cries. We whisper to her and comfort her... sometimes picking her up to rock her if she's really upset, perhaps from a bad dream. She always falls right back to sleep knowing she's safe. There's no way these 5 women could attend to 200 babies in the middle of the night. When do they sleep? If they sleep at night, who takes care of the scared babies? Who changes their loose cloth diapers and cleans up the mess in their beds when they go to the bathroom in the middle of the night? Are they left to lay in it, to sleep in it? How many of these babies would live through this week?... Not all of them, I was sure of that. The unanswered questions were tormenting me and causing me to have an especially hard time leaving. I didn't make it to the rest of the rooms to see the dozens of other children. We left, got on the bus, and started driving. Sean sat down next to me. I couldn't speak for a long time. I felt so broken and helpless and frustrated and mad at God. I just sat and looked out the window, not seeing anything but the eyes of the babies I had held.
Eventually, we stopped at a gas station to fill up the bus. We were told we could get out and buy soda's if we wanted to. I'm pretty sure if I have access to a gas station, I'm going to buy a heck of a lot more than sodas! I want Dorritos, Starbursts, Snickers, pretzels, Skittles, a rope licorice, and Corn Nuts. Hell, I might even brave one of those nasty plastic-packaged sandwiches with the transparent rainbow turkey and wilted lettuce! It all sounded like a Vegas buffet at this point. My hopes of gorging myself with "normal" food was trashed when I walked in the door. The shelves where I expected to see hundreds of junk food items were completely bare. There were a few quarts of oil, some funky looking crackers, and a handful of paper goods. ...I guess I'll have a soda (a warm one, because the glassed-in refridgerators weren't refridgerated. Near the register, I did find a package of stale Starbursts. Whatever... I'll take it!
... Thankfully, our next stop was a much more happy place! We drove out to the new "My Father's House" orphanage. This is where the 26 children from Pastor Ronald's orphanage (where we spent yesterday afternoon), will soon be moving. We drove through the tall gated walls and I thought of the safety this would bring the children.
We pulled the bus up to the new structure and parked. This place was so awesome!!! I jumped off, entered the building, and took myself on a little self-guided tour. The rooms were large and wide open. This place was huge! There were rooms for sleeping, learning, playing, and eating. The coolest thing there... running water and a toilet! I'm so happy for those children. I can't wait 'till they get to move here in November! They are going to have so much safe, enclosed land to run around in and play. They'll be away from the sounds and dangers of the city. And they'll have all this space! I still felt mad at God because of what I saw this morning. But, at the same time, I was so thankful to Him for this place. "My Father's House" was appropriately named.
We spent some time unloading, carrying, and sawing down some wood panels that we will later work on building into long benches.
We jumped back on the bus and headed off on a mini-road trip to our final location for the day. We drove through and back out of the city, up the mountain, to a semi-tourist(ish) area. There was an amazing view that overlooked Port Au Prince and all the surrounding cities. We could see the ocean and the mountains on the other side. From this high up, the country looked crowded, but you almost couldn't tell how trashed it was. We spent some time enjoying the beautiful view.
About a half-dozen locals were standing by biting at the chomp to sell us their goods. An entire huge long wall was covered with beautiful paintings. Tents were set up with carvings, statues, clothing, more paintings, hand-painted dishes, and other souveniers. The men were assertive and fought for our attention (and our money). We bargained with them as they competed against each other for our business. Sean and I walked away with an awesome hand-carved walking stick that says "HAITI" and a hand-carved and painted wooden globe. Sean also found a beautiful hand-stitched button-down shirt. The locals loved Tony because he was buying tons of stuff. They were practically tackling each other to get to him... even through the window after he got back on the bus. He got some really cool stuff to take back to the States! I felt guilty for the small amount of money that I gave them for these items. These people had spent their sweat, time, and energy creating these pieces. It seemed unfair that I got to buy them for five, ten or fifteen dollars.
This was a good afternoon. We enjoyed the view, the beautiful flowers, the art, the local culture, and a lot of laughs. For these few hours, I forgot about my broken heart from this morning's experience. I smiled and laughed with my friends and was thankful for the way we got to spend this afternoon. I was tired as we drove back down to our compound for the night. And I'm tired now, especially emotionally, as I rewrite my thoughts and feelings from today. I think I'll probably sleep good tonight.
It felt so good to get some sleep last night. I barely remember my head hitting the pillow. We woke up this morning and met with our team for breakfast at 7:30am. It was already 90+ degrees outside. I was so excited to see bananas on the breakfast table! We also had hard-boiled eggs and bread with peanut butter (which someone on our team was genius enough to pack and bring with them). This would be our last meal until dinner, so I said a quick prayer that it would be enough to give me energy for the day. After breakfast, the 15 people on our team piled into the school bus and headed to the Light and Peach Church and school.
The children saw us coming as we walked along the side of the church, approaching the classrooms behind the building. Their faces lit up with excitement. A little group of children followed me to the side of the school yard and began talking to me. I was instantly kicking myself for not studying more Creole before we came to Haiti. I’ve never been so frustrated with a language barrier as I was at that moment. I wanted, so badly, to know what they were saying and asking. They laughed at me when I asked (in very rocky Creole) what their names were. They laughed even harder when I tried to pronounce their names. The kids were watching every move I made and listening to every silly thing I said. Now I know what it feels like to be the minority in a very unfamiliar setting! Just before our group organized to enter the first classroom, I caught a glimpse of a giant trash pile in the corner of the school yard. My heart stung again at the realization that its not abnormal for these kids to be playing amidst the garbage.
We visited each classroom, beginning with the youngest children, and distributed school supplies. We left boxes and bags of coloring books, math worksheets, crayons, pencils, rulers, glue, stickers, and posters. The pre-school aged kiddos smiled so big. Some of them hid their faces in their arms, smothering their giggles. They sang us songs. We had prepared a couple of bible-school songs that we could sing in both English and Creole. The kids thought our Creole singing was pretty funny. As we worked our way up through the classrooms with the older kids, a few groups challenged us to a sing-off. They always won. Here's a video of our lovely singing (notice, I'm hiding in the corner... Sara singing + Sara singing in Creole = a reason to hide in the corner).
I couldn’t get over how small the classrooms were… the size of my kitchen at home. These children must get used to the heat… As we stood there, dripping in sweat and rationing the oxygen (in fear that it might run out before we got out into the open air again), the kids sat, unphased and unsweaty, at their desks.
We handed out candy to each classroom and hung a world map on each wall. We showed the kids where Denver, Colorado was and drew a line from our home to theirs, in Haiti. We gave each of the teachers a toiletries bag with bathroom supplies as a gift.
After visiting each classroom, we moved outside (open air, finally!) Ashley and I sat down, for a few minutes, with our Haitian security escorts while we watched Tony and Sean played soccer with the boys. I further embarrassed myself among the children as I attempted to speak their language. One of the little girls pointed at my bracelet; a leather band with “Marley Jean” engraved into it. I tried to explain to her that “Marley” is the name of my daughter. A crowd quickly gathered when I pulled out a few wallet-size photos of Marley that I kept on me every day during the trip. It felt good to talk about Marley, but hurt a little when I put the photos away and thought about the 7 remaining days before I’d get to hold her again.
We got some good pictures at the school. I figured out enough Creole words to ask a group of giggling girls to make silly faces for me. I love this photo...
One little girl ran up to me, pressed something into my hands, then ran off again. I didn’t even see her face. But her name is Luina. It was written all over the envelope she had just given me. There were colorful hearts and flowers drawn all over the envelope. Inside were 9 pieces of notebook paper. Each page had a different flower or animal drawn on them. (Actually, one looked like a homework assignment… hopefully she didn’t need that!) My favorite page had 4 birds drawn across the top and a big potted flower in the center of the page. It says, “Cloc! Cloc! C-est la poule et ses poussine” below the birds, and “Regara le joli jardin” at the bottom. The closest translation I can figure is, “Cluck! Cluck! These are the little chickens” and “Look at my beautiful garden”. I will hang the envelope and this, my favorite drawing, on my desk at work when I return to the States.
After the recess, it was time for us to go. The little boys wanted to help carry our supply bags to our bus. About 8 of them picked up the back of the bag that Chad was carrying. As we left the school yard, we spoke briefly with a man who had been hit by a car that morning. He was sitting against the school yard wall with a bone protruding from his leg. He seemed very calm. I suppose there’s not really an emergency room to rush off to. Some people were helping him to get it bandaged.
Once again, we loaded the humid bus and started off to Pastor Guerry’s school. Pastor Guerry is Pastor Ronald’s brother. The children were playing when we arrived. We got a handful of great pictures as we watched them. For a few minutes, it didn’t feel like I was in a third-world country. These were just normal students playing at recess as normal children.
We corralled them onto the side of the building where we created a “zoo” for them. As we pulled each different animal out of the giant bag of donated stuffed dolls, the kids shrieked with excitement. Tony and Chad acted out each animal, complete with sound effects.
We distributed more school supplies to the teachers and gifts to the kids. I couldn’t help but notice how competitive the children were… they each wanted everything else that other children held in their hands. Its hard to ask them to share when they will likely be fighting to hang onto everything they can as long as they live in this barren country. I helped a little girl put on a multi-colored bracelet. From the expression on her face, you would have thought I had just given her diamonds.
The kids got a really big kick out of hearing Chad and Tony beat-box. I have to admit, it is pretty impressive.
We walked through an alley to get back to our school bus. Kung Fu Panda awesomeness took over Pastor Chad when he passed a goat standing along the wall.
We had one more scheduled stop before the end of the day. The bus pulled up to the Light and Peace orphanage, where children hung out over the balcony awaiting our arrival.
We didn’t even get through the door before the kids were reaching for our hands, one and a time, and kissing our cheeks. It was the sweetest greeting I’ve ever received. It reminded me a lot of my favorite part at the end of each day in America, when I walk into Marley’s classroom to pick her up and she runs into my arms, so excited to see me. These were not my children, but they still acted equally as happy to see us.
One little girl named Ongea (pronounced kind of like Angie, but with an O-sound at the beginning and the accent on the 2nd syllable), latched on to me quickly. We bonded over her Tinkerbell t-shirt… she shares the love of the character with Marley. For the next 15 minutes, she wouldn’t let go of my hands. I felt her urgent need for affection. She had never met me before, but she acted as if I were her mother. The desperation for physical connection broke my heart.
During the next couple of hours, we played games and instruments with the kids. We distributed the remainder of our school supplies and toys to them. I met, and held, a little girl who refused to smile… unless you tickled her feet. She had such a quiet, sweet demeanor. I would have guessed, based on her size and weight, that she was about 4. I later found out she was 6 and her name was Gina. When she was 2, living in a remote mountain village, her parents died. Her brother, who was 5 years old at the time, had heard of Pastor Ronald. He took his baby sister and walked down the mountain and into the city looking for Pastor Ronald. The two children somehow found him and have been at the orphanage ever since (over 4 years now).
The most touching part of this day came when the children performed some songs and dances for us. The shyness went away and their stage-presence came to life. The boys danced to hip hop music… these kids actually had some moves! (What I wouldn’t give to bring them back to an American dance studio!) The tears broke loose again when the children sang “Worthy Is The Lamb”, a song by American Christian band, Third Day. They sang it first in English, then in Creole. Here is the video…
When it was time to return to the compound for the night, we walked back to the bus. I noticed an outhouse that I hadn’t seen before. It was the one bathroom shared by the 26 children at the orphanage. There was a raised cement block with a hole in it, surrounded by 3 walls. I can’t even describe how filthy it was… the small room had flies swarming in and out of it and the slimy sludge was running down the side of the “toilet” onto the ground everywhere. Then I remembered, they are fortunate to even have this… many Haitians don’t have a place to go to the bathroom. They, instead, use sidewalks and creeks out in public. I couldn’t take much more of this heartache. I wondered if the week could possibly get any more mentally difficult. I obviously had no idea what I had gotten myself into.
I sat with Tony, Chad, and Sean at dinner. It almost felt “normal” and for a short while, I was able to pretend I wasn’t thousands of miles away from my bed, my daughter, my shower, my air conditioning. But when dinner was over, I took a shower in the weak cold leak dripping from a spout in our room. I rinsed off after finally feeling like I had scrubbed the dirt and stink from my hair and skin. As I reached to turn off the faucet, I looked down and saw a cockroach the size of a small mouse crawl up out of the drain and sprint across my toes. I was too startled, or too exhausted, to scream. So I quickly jumped away and dried off with Marley’s beach towel that I had brought with me. Before I crawled into bed for the night, I remember having a brand new understanding for the words uttered by a small-town Kansas girl, “There’s no place like home”.
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Rejoice in confident hope. Be patient in trouble. AND KEEP ON PRAYING!!! -Romans 12:12
