Making Preparations for another Trip

My husband rolled over this morning and told me he'd miss me when I go on my next trip to Haiti on May 1. So sweet. I told him I promised there wouldn't be another natural disaster this time, but he wondered why I thought I had any control over things like that! Of course I don't, but I feel like maybe in some sort of cosmic justice kind of way, I've done my time... :)

Leaving one week from today, I've been spending lots of time gathering donated food, supplies, and medicines from generous friends and strangers. My study has been converted into a mini-warehouse, full of rice and beans, shoes and socks, soap and shampoo, nuts and raisins. I've found Rubbermaid-type foot lockers with wheels on the bottom to use as checked luggage. I figured with no storage rooms, or buildings, Pastor Val and those that give care at the orphanage could use something like this to keep things dry. I had an epiphany the other while shopping for some of these things...

I went to a large warehouse store, and loaded my cart with a 25 pound bag of rice, a 35 pound jug of cooking oil, some powdered milk and some beef boullion cubes. As I was checking out, the gathering storm outside cut loose in a torrential downpour. Now I had to get all of this into my trunk, in the pouring rain. As I loaded it, getting drenched in the process, my heart ached for my friends who have no place to hide from weather like this. There is no house or building to run to for many in Haiti, and even a tent seems of little help in rough weather like that.

With wet clothes and a ruined hairdo, I got in the driver's seat and went to buy a tent. Getting wet like that in 15 seconds, made me re-think all I planned to take. The running shoes I was wearing were soaked and would take hours to dry, so they were no longer a practical choice. I need to think about adding a rain jacket and an umbrella to my packing list. And my tent selection process was suddenly much more complicated, as I deliberated with the nice man at Dick's about the effectiveness of the rain fly, and the tent's sturdiness in a gale force wind. I plan to leave this tent, by the way, for Pastor Val. (He told me he was still sleeping in his truck!)

So I decided on a four person dome tent, one that gives a little head room in case you had to do something besides sleep in it...like live in it. I set it up last night to practice. At first I was determined to do it alone, considering that it might be raining when I have to do it for real. But after some consternation (and in all fairness...tents have become much more user-friendly over the years...), I solicited my chuckling husband's help. I told him not to help me at first, but after watching me struggle, and telling me that the living room was not the best place for this, we moved it outside and put it up together in less than 15 minutes. I feel confident that, especially if it is still light outside, it is not raining, and there are not any chickens trying to move in with me, I can do it! Plus, I'll have Abby with me, who is much more adventurous, and plucky, than I, though maybe slightly less experienced in tent erecting. :) I even managed to get it all back in the tidy little bag it came in.

Ziploc bags are amazing: I plan to divide up all the rice, beans, oatmeal, dry milk, nuts, raisins, and boullion into to family-sized portions, just in case we will be sharing food with the community around the orphanage. Certainly Yrma will be able to use these portions as well for the children, but there are many others now that will need help, too. I'll leave that up to Pastor Val and Yrma.

I'm excited to go, but a little apprehensive about the unknowns...always so many. I told someone this morning, I feel like I am running to keep up with God; He is going so fast. Does He know I feel so inadequate, so unable to make good decisions at a moment's notice? Does He know that I prefer to be taken care of, not lead others on adventures? And yet, I find myself doing this again and again.

Two prayer requests, selfishly: that my heel pain will subside before this trip, and that no tarantulas will move into my tent while I am out for the day!

But seriously, (the heel pain is a serious concern) we would appreciate anyone who would like to pray to ask the Lord for the following:

• a safe and healthy week
• wisdom and guidance as we move forward in trying to best help those God has put in our lives
• divine appointments and contacts
• favor with the officials at border control and customs for goods we must begin to ship to Haiti
  
• rest and refreshment in the Holy Spirit for Pastor Val, Yrma, his sister, and the children and families that live around Val Children's Home Care.
• for every need to be met
• For many to find the Lord in the midst of all the chaos and difficulty.

More to come!

Earthquake - Day One

Many are the plans in a man's heart but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails. Proverbs 19:21.

So true. After a sleepless night, in anticipation of a big missions trip to Haiti with my three friends, Julia, Linda and Lisa, I boarded our American Airlines flight to Port au Prince at 7 am. We enjoyed the comforts of the Admirals Club in the Miami airport and had a delightful salad for lunch. At 3:45 pm on Jan. 12, our pilot came over the loudspeaker in our plane. "Well, we're approaching Port au Prince; and we'll be arriving 15 minutes early, although I really don't know how that happened."

We commented on the new air-conditioned jetway, and the escalators that took us down to the main part of the airport. Someone said they had just been to PAP two months before and none of that was there. It was certainly a pleasant surprise to me; I had just told Julia that we'd have to walk across the tarmac!

We processed through passport control, gathered our bags, navigated through customs, paid a little $3 bribe to overlook our dental supplies and ran the gauntlet of porters anxious for our business. As we stepped outside, the warm air greeted us, and Haiti in all its glory and chaos was before us. Our driver, Pastor Val was late, and we commenced trying to call him. He finally came around 4:50 pm. We loaded our 400 pounds of supplies into his Isuzu Trooper and he parked us under some trees while he ran inside to collect two missing bags from the previous day.

An old, bearded Dutch man approached our vehicle and began chatting with us. As he held on to the door, the vehicle began to rock gently, and we all assumed the porters were back, wanting some more cash. But then the rocking became violent and the trees before us were swaying as if they were being blown by a hurricane-force wind. A suitcase fell from its perch and knocked Julia in the head. We bounced out of our seats. But there was no wind. There were no porters. Sam's face was ashen and he said, "I've been here 30 years and we've never had anything like this!" We looked up into the hills of Port and saw a white dust cloud rising from the city.

It was an earthquake of 7.2 magnitude. The first of its kind in over 200 years in Haiti.

As Sam ran away, Pastor Val miraculously appeared. Shaking and sweating, he began to tell of his terror: blocks were falling from the ceiling, dust was everywhere, people were falling down, he crouched beside a desk. But then he was able to come outside, shaken, but unharmed.

We got back in the truck and started toward our destination. Our plan was to visit a small orphanage near Leogane for a week, delivering supplies, assessing needs, planning for future assistance. But as we approached Carrefour, the epicenter of the earthquake, we were turned away. The roads were blocked, the bridge was out. Pastor Val turned us around and I told him we should head toward Quisqueya Christian School where we could find other Americans and possibly some shelter for the night, as it was fast approaching.

We headed through downtown Port au Prince. The devastation unfolded before us. Cracked and crumbled buildings. People wailing, shouting, praising God, praying and singing. Every citizen untrapped was in the street, as far away from a building as they could get. A naked woman, dashed from the shower, cowered under a small towel. An old woman being carried from a building. Blood. Shock. Power lines. Concrete. Bodies.

We began filming, snapping photos. We opened our suitcases and threw our clothes to naked people. Cars, trucks, buses, motorbikes were driving all over the roads and sidewalks in no particular order. We were just trying to pass. We achieved one mile in an hour. It became evident we would not make it up the Delmas to Quisqueya, 5 or 6 miles away. Pastor Val started thinking of options. He knew of a church not far.

Our mouths gave voice to desperate prayer. They mixed with the noise of the chaos. The Spirit got ahead of the mind and we cried out to God for help, for guidance, for peace.

The Delmas is a road that runs like a spine from the busiest part of the city up the mountain, eventually changing names and crawling up to Fermathe. It is numbered; low numbers at the bottom of the hill in town, Quisqueya is at 75.

As dark settled in, we turned onto Delmas 9. We stopped the vehicle in the middle of the road far from the concrete walls that lined the streets that served as security measures for people's homes and businesses. There was a man lying in the street in front of us. We stayed in the car while Pastor Val got out to see if he could help. One lady was frozen in fear and wanted to stay in the car and lock the doors. She begged us not to begin giving away our supplies, thinking we might be mobbed. We agreed. Due to the shock of the situation, we could think of nothing to sing. I remembered I had my I-pod full of worship music, and pulled it out. I put the earbuds in and just sang to my mates, trying to bring the Lord's peace to the situation. I must have sounded crazy singing acapella to them. But at that point, all sense of propriety was gone; we were desperate for God.

After a while, I got out to see this young man in the street, see if I could help him. He was moving, but it was unclear what his injuries were. I fished one of the 30 blankets we had brought for the orphanage out of the luggage and made a pillow for his head. He seemed incoherent, with a gash on his head and a bad headache. We told him to try and stay awake.

Pastor Val emerged from the church with the news that the church members were walking to a soccer stadium about 30 minutes away. He advised us that we should follow. We were reluctant to leave this seeming secure spot, but eventually agreed to go. In the dark, we gathered a few things for our carryons that we thought we might need for the night: passports, contact case and solution, toiletries, a pair of socks, cameras...what were we thinking? We really needed blankets, food, water, etc. I didn't even grab the $700 in cash I had. We began walking.

We headed back to the Delmas, and were swept up in the darkness and debris. Power poles were knocked down and live wires still zapped. People were camped on the curbing in the center of the street, just sitting on 6-inch wide concrete dividers, babies in arms. Many were praying with arms upraised. There was a peaceful calm, maybe shock, maybe prayer. Some cried. Not many moaned. Cars and buses were all catty-wampas around the roads. Buildings and concrete and blocks littered every square inch. The road was barely visible under the rubble, but we managed to keep each other in view and find our way to Delmas 33. We turned left onto this major road and continued on.

The walk was not 30 minutes, but at least 90. We finally arrived at at driveway, and behind a building a beautiful starlit sports complex greeted us. I felt we walked into Heaven, because there was a beautiful chorus of voices singing and praising God. Loud prayers were going up from another group. Clusters of families and friends sat in groups of 10, 20, 30 and comforted one another. A pregnant mother asked for help, as she was not feeling well. I felt her belly and asked her where she hurt. She was not in labor, but very uncomfortable. Her husband laid with her and spoke to her gently, keeping her warm.

It was the most peaceful night of my life.

Love Hopes All Things

I'm going to confirm this next month when I'm actually in Haiti and can ask around...but I suspect there are lots of pastors caring for groups of children not their own. And not just in Haiti, but in other poor pockets of the world. It is a natural outgrowth of the life of Christ in a person, to take care of the fatherless and widowed.

We just happened upon this one. Although Pastor Val is an extraordinary man in our eyes, we have not met all the others.

I think this because I heard a Haitian friend tell me that yes, he's heard of a lot of pastors who do just what Pastor Val does. They seem to have the capacity to care for many.

Could I?
Could you?

And I heard about a large orphanage in Uganda, where a lady took in her grandchildren as one by one, her adult children died of AIDS. What started as a large family of Granny and the grandkids, turned into over 500 children 20 years later.

So here's a challenge: when we hear about a child or a teen that needs some extra help or care, do we ever think we should take them into our home? Do we even have opportunity to meet people in need like that, or do we live in comfortable suburbs with little or no interaction with the poor and needy? Actually, they may be in our backyard. I've heard many stories of teens who's parents have 'kicked them out' for one reason or another. More than likely, the teen was driving the parents to the brink, but would we be willing to put ourselves out there and take them in for a while? It could save a life.

But the risk is often a broken heart. In the movie, "The Blind Side," optimist Leigh Ann Tuohy takes in a young homeless athlete. The story has a happy ending; Michael finds love and acceptance in their home and goes on to succeed, choosing not to go back to the bad neighborhood. We didn't see Michael choosing the dysfunction, the gangs, the drugs, the crime, the dead-end track. We all probably had a warm fuzzy leaving the theater thinking, "I could do that!" "Surely a child from the hood would want to live in a nice house with all the trimmings."

But many times, the teen from a broken and dysfunctional background can't adapt to a somewhat normal lifestyle and doesn't make it. That is heartbreaking. You can lead a horse to water... It is so frustrating to want something so badly for a child, and have them come so close to achieving it, only to go back to the pattern that is familiar, though unhealthy.

So Christian, be on the lookout for those in need. Be willing to lay your heart on the line to be the one to save a life. Occasionally one will make it out, and make it in life. But we can't stop trying because we calculated the risk, and it doesn't look promising.

Love hopes all things.