Where To Begin

"I want to warn you all, Haiti will mess you up. In the most beautiful way possible."


This was one of the first things Tim told us upon our arrival in Haiti. And it's true. But it hurts. And it's confusing. 


It's only Monday, but I already feel a little frantic to make sure the faces, the experiences, the realness of what we saw stays fresh. Because those experiences are stories that need to be told over and over and over again. Adam and I spent a lot of time yesterday looking at the hundreds of pictures that have already been posted to facebook by other members of our team. And though we love looking at them, those pictures will never add up to our experience. And we know this. And we knew that going into it, but there's an urgency to remember what we saw. To remember their names. To remember what we felt. To tell their stories. Because their stories matter. 


So, over the next few posts, I'll be telling stories, or trying to. Because a lot happened, and I'm a slow processor. 


Once we arrived in Port Au Prince, we loaded a bus that belongs to the organization we were there with and headed on an hour long ride to get to the village we would be staying in for the next week. We were so tired, but I was forcing myself to look out the window and see this country. This poverty stricken land that is dry and desolate. Where four posts and a tarp draped over it is considered a house for some people. Where people walk around on very rocky terrain barefoot because they don't have shoes. And where one meal a day is enough. 


I've seen extreme poverty before in El Salvador, but Haiti is different. Because the whole country suffers from it. In El Salvador, there's stores and city and restaurants. But not in Haiti. There is no "middle class." There is nothing but the wealthy 5-10% (that I saw no traces of) and then poor and extremely poor. 


We stopped at the mass gravesite for 196,000 people who were buried after the earthquake. They were literally buried into this hill, and we stood on a plateau nearby. It was a surreal moment, and I wanted to weep for this country. Such a devastating loss for these people. 


We drove through the market where people were desperately needing to sell their goods- whatever it was- to be able to feed their families. It was chaos. 


And we drove up on a woman wailing on the side of the road, on the ground, clutching her abdomen. I thought she was miscarrying a baby the way she was holding herself. We had to slow down because the road is really tight and people were coming to a stop. We drove slowly by, and then we saw it. A truck had driven into a ditch, and right beside the truck was a little girl's body covered by a towel. She was probably 9 years old. 


And I grasped Adam's hand tighter and wanted to get out of the bus. 


We have no way of knowing what happened, but we later found out that things like this happen in Haiti all the time. Roads are dangerous. Medical help is non existent. Taking her to a hospital was not an option. Children already have malnourished, weak bodies, so recovering from trauma is practically impossible. And this took my breath away. 


I know car accidents happen all over the world. But the pain in that mother's cry was too much for me to handle. In what appears to be a hopeless land, what do you say to a woman who just had her daughter die due to probably reckless driving? Who's coming along side of her to hold her? Who dares to tell her everything will be okay?


And this was our introduction to Haiti.


Our trip was filled with a lot of laughter, a lot of sweat, and a lot of hard work. But it had it's fair share of heartache, too. Because no one should live like the people in Haiti do. And it's literally painful to see kids be hungry and stare at you longingly as you drink water. Because I never saw a kid drinking water unless we gave it to them. 


The whole time I was there, and even now, I wrestle with what the hope is for Haiti. They lack so much. They have no clean water source. There's not good vegetation. They lack education. They don't have the resources to bring about significant change, and generation after generation is living the same way. Sounds hopeful, right? No.


For a couple of days while we were there, we went to a neighboring village to lay a concrete floor in a recently built church. This meant, mixing rocks, sand, water, and cement mix and carrying bucket after bucket into the church, dumping it on the ground, and someone smoothing it out. For hours. With very little progress. We literally did this for 3-4 hours straight on Monday morning, and we finished about a sixth of the floor. You do the math. The whole village came out to watch these white people do this. The organization (SMI Haiti) is building this church when there's currently no church body in this village. No group of people asked for this church. It's kind of a, "If you build it, they will come," type of thing. 


We made significant progress Monday after lunch as we introduced an assembly line. So, we returned Tuesday morning to lay more floor in this church that we're not even sure the people of Nawash even want. But Adam and I fell in love with the kids here, and we were pumped to be going back. 


Within minutes of our arrival in Nawash, easily 25 kids were scampering around us. The men were mixing the concrete, and so we had to wait to start the physical labor. But the kids were elated we were back. Someone brought their ipod speakers, and the first song playing was the song All To Us by Chris Tomlin. Which, if you don't know that song, look it up on youtube. But the words seemed so right as we were literally laying the foundation for this church. With kids helping and playing eagerly around us, I felt like I had a brief glimpse of God's heart for these kids. 


The hope is Jesus. The hope is that this church is passionate about God's glory. That these kids would measure their lives by the saving love of Christ. And God's righteousness would be a burning holy flame in Haiti. But it starts in these kids in this one village. 


And each time people who love Jesus interact with them, they get glimpses of hope- Christ within us. We deposit hope into their lives, and we desperately pray they know the love of Jesus. And for that reason alone, Adam and I want to go back. To see the kids of Nawash and Guitton (where we stayed) experience Jesus and know the hope of Christ. 


Our hearts were impacted deeply by the people of Haiti. And I have plenty of stories to tell. And I will tell them. And I pray that Adam and I are forever changed by the people we encountered. By the kids who captured our hearts. By the need for Jesus. And by the glimpses of hope for these people. 


Haiti is messing us up in a beautiful way.