Haitians Humanity

I want to write so much and still I don't. I want you to know everything ...but only the good stuff. I want you to love Haiti like I do and I want you to forget all those horrid things the rest of the world tells you. So tonight, I'll just write the truth and let you find your own way out of the weeds. It was food distribution day today, and that always tears at my heart. This year I couldn't keep my gaze from returning over and over to the feet of the dear people of Phaeton. Go ahead, look down at your own and mentally calculate how much your shoes cost. Take a visual tour of your closet and count up the shoes that make up your wardrobe. And know that you are blessed. Now transport yourself to the outskirts of northern Haiti to Phaeton, a 45 minute drive down roads that would quickly disappear with the slightest hint of rain. A town that once was busy producing and exporting sisal with roads and a generator until the market dried up and they picked up and left, taking their electricity, jobs and promise of any future with them. All that is left are the eldery and their families, hungry, impoverished and jobless... Stuck. As we prepared the food, an elderly woman was moving just inside the gate trying to find a seat over some rocks and as she moved she began to fall. I went to help her and once she was upright I looked down at her fett - swollen, barefoot, covered in callouses and dirt and at least 3-4 open sores oozing with puss. Pere Bruno called me back. I then couldn't take my eyes off the feet of these dear people. Our feet carry us everywhere. We spoil them with spa treatments and fancy running socks. We spend thousands of dollars on shoes and orthotic inserts so they won't hurt, ache or blister. And these people have nothing. They walk in dirt filled with hook worms and unknown funguses. Those feet carry them through rivers of mud and fields of manure... And they have nothing. So we were there handing out bags of fish, noodles, rice and beans. The basics of the basics and it seemed as if we were offering so little and yet everyone seemed so grateful. It's ok, we made a dent and for that I'm thankful. But next we went to Paulette. An extremely poor town further out into the boondox of Haiti. I've been there countless times before and I was never able to put my finger on it until now... But Paulette is not the Haiti I know and love. They are hungry and today we were the hands and feet of Christ, of that there is no doubt. But the question remains, how do you serve when those your serve seem so thankless? We gave food the the elderly first, as it should be. They were grateful and beautiful people and if I could I would sit and bake them a buffet to end all buffets. But there are those that came Expecting. And when I say Expecting , you know of whom I'm talking. Those people that Expect others to give to them, without cost, without question, just because. This is not the Haiti I want you to know and it certainly isn't the Haiti I want to remember, but it is reality and as much as it hurts, it is real. Near the end of our supply some young men came in, they were wearing soccer uniforms and they laughed at my dad when he moved the 65 pound bags of food from one place to another. They didn't offer to help. They laughed. And yet they had no problem walking up and taking food out of the very same hands. So how do we balance that? It's as real here as it is in the States, You can't convince me otherwise. It's humanity and it's ugly, but it is. One mother begged me to take photos of her child and then yelled at me when I couldn't give her food in exchange. "Pushy" is what Berry said, and the word fits. As we were getting ready to leave Elmer pulled out a packet of Mary Jane candy and I followed suit...bad move. The kids came running, the hands started tugging and quickly Elmer lost his bag and I was on my own, pinned against the car and using my best mother voice I could muster. I looked into the back seat and saw the look of "I told you so" on my fathers face and as I looked at Elmer he was laughing so hard I thought he'd bust. Mom came to the rescue, unlocked the door and I squeezed my way back in. Lesson learned ? Humanity is what it is and we aren't called to judge, question or even correct it at times, we are called to serve, and that we did.

Morning Runs and Mother Hen

First you must understand... I am not a morning person ! I can count on one hand how many times I've seen the sunrise and my alarm clock at home rarely sees an hour before 7 am. But alas, that is not the case in Haiti. They rise with the sun and sleep when it sets. The cool hours of the day are used for gathering water at the well, scrubbing the kids in a bucket for a full day of school, setting out items for market and beginning the long trek to put them to sale. The air hangs with a heavy charcoal smell and diesel fumes of tap taps taking those that have jobs to work. The business of the day was well underway as we walked to the edge of town to begin our run. However, it didn't go quite as expected. Jesse and Elmer were to ride bikes alongside as I ran a slow four miles to and fro from Pere Bruno's farm. We walked to the edge of town as we continually asked Davis " deux bicycles?" While playing charades with our hands. His answer was always the same " oui, est la..." Well "la" was never to be. As we got to the edge of town Davis looks at me and begins the countdown :" un, deux..." And we stopped him there and asked again using a bit more frantic charades this item " deux bicycles..." And his answer was once again "oui, est la." Again he looks at me and counts down..."un, deux..." And as I look at Elmer and Jesse they all of the sudden realize that they too, are about to run. This time we let him count to three and we were off. It wasn't like any run I've taken before (even discounting the early hour.) As we passed donkeys carrying women and mounds of charcoal they'd nod and wave. Many times I would puff out a " bonjour" to get a snicker and a " bonjour" in return. It went on and on like this as more people laughed at our wonderful Davis running with the crazy Blancos. I heard one woman point and say a phrase in creole and I mentally repeated it over and over again so I could ask Dominique to translate it. Children passed by cleaned and dressed for school, some four and five to a bicycle... And at this point Elmer and Jesse would have gladly jumped on. Men carried machetes to the fields passed and looked on in wonder as these crazy Americans huffed and puffed on by. Davis was quite the mother hen... Or cup bearer as JoEllen so poignantly said. As the road would narrow he'd direct me to the side and position himself between me and the oncoming tap taps or motorcycles speeding down the road. And when two vehicles came from opposite directions he would run in the middle of the road to assure me that they would not pass as I ran on by. Kind of like a tractor trailer holding off those cheating cars that sneak up the side of the road closures on I66, he'd stop them in their tracks. The road was all dirt and gravel and of course a significant coverage of animal droppings. When we stopped to turn around my legs felt the difference in the run, but once again, the perfect gentleman, Davis would hunt out the flattest path and direct me to follow along. Yet the road wasn't the biggest challenge. Unless you've been here and breathed the air I'm not sure you can comprehend the intense smell of charcoal that fills your lungs with every breath. Add in a run with that smoke and diesel mixture, I guarantee this is a run you'll never forget. As we made our way back to the school we saw kids pumping water and a small boy about age 6 walking barefoot wearing only a t shirt balancing a large block of filthy ice on his head. The various school uniforms from our St. Barts and the various other schools began to file out of the homes into the dirt street to make their way for a chance at a future. Through the back streets Davis quickly pulled me aside for what seemed to be no reason at all except to avoid tripping over a broom... Which I learned was a voo doo practice, all sorts of "heebie jeebies" happen to those who step over the broom. So.. A good start to a beautiful day here in Terrier Rouge. And I told Pere Bruno that he should add "running concierge" to the amenities at Hotel Bruno, I give Davis a five star rating. And if you are wondering what that phrase meant that I heard along the way... So am I! I think one of two things has happened, either I heard it wrong and it doesn't translate OR Dominique and Pere Bruno are too kind to tell me it means "look at the crazy fat blanco running down the road...." And for Jesse and Elmer...a little ibuprofen will go a long way today, they are pretty good sports and I gotta say, they held their own, Elmer even crossed the finish line first!

Sunday Musings

Ok, I must confess... We may have taken God's command for Sabbath rest a bit too seriously today. We went to the beach. I'd love to say it was a serious evangelism mission, one where we strolled the sandy beach evangelizing the natives and spreading the Good News, but alas we didn't. After church we loaded up in the old Daihatsu truck and headed up and over the mountain to the bluest ocean and the clearest water I've ever seen. We toasted our toes in the sun and wet our feet in the cool waters of the Caribbean. Now that I'm typing I feel a bit guilty, we are here to work after all. We have five rooms to paint, shelves to build, food to distribute, a race to run and a movie to share. We have English to teach and patients to see, but even Christ took a Sabbath rest. I'm not used to rest, maybe that's why it felt so odd. I'm used to doing laundry and cleaning floors, cooking meals and writing sermons. I, probably like you, am entirely too busy and despite what scripture commands of me, Sabbath rest is not at the top of my list. I think this can be categorized under "first world problems in a third world country." I'll be the first to admit that I've been a bit too preoccupied with my technology, partially to write the blog and partially to email my Isabelle, at times I'm still that American with her text fingers tapping away. But there's a lesson to learn here. Sunday is a busy day here. The streets were full of markets, the homes had their laundry flung all over any flat surface that would dry a shirt and the kids ran naked to the side of the street to yell and wave at the crazy "Blancos" driving by. But even as they scrubbed and bathed, as they combed nits out of their hair and put bags of charcoal on the road for trade early Monday morning, they were in communion with one another. They laughed and we even saw a few little tiffs between couples. They held hands and called their children by name when they wandered too close to the road. What I thought was a busy barber shop day by the lines outside the stalls, was actually a soccer game that the young men were gathered to watch. Have you and I lost this communion? Have we forgotten what it is to simply tell stories and share a small loaf of bread? From looking around, it seemed busy in every corner of Cap Haitien, but the busyness did not squeeze out that communion that people share. What will it take in our busy "first world lives" to find each other again? I'm afraid that we have so many things to make our lives easier that we've lost ourselves in the process. In a way it makes me want to go down to the river to scrub my laundry, it makes me crave a congregation that sings to the tune of its' heart instead of an organ and a friend to comb out the nits in my hair. But do you know what? I have that here, so for now I'm gonna say good night, grab a sprite ( cuz I don't like the Prestige beer) and join in communion with some pretty phenomenal people I found right here in Terrier Rouge, Haiti. And if you know me at all you'll be shocked by what I say next... I'm waking up at 6:30 tomorrow morning without Howser pulling me outta bed to a start line to go out and put in some miles. Wish me luck... I'm planning on some communion with my Elmer, Joan and Davies along the way.

God is Good

I preached on the book of Job this morning, wow what a book. But it isn't always what you think... As I stood there talking of the good God that creates for us a place where the oceans' waves can only come so far or a place where even the moon and the stars obey His command I found myself in that preaching hole, one that you have to dig out of using only scripture to guide the way. Three years ago it seemed as if God had let loose the evils of hell on this country and who was I to stand and preach about a good God to these people? Me, who has hot water, a pantry full of food and healthcare at my fingertips? What does one say? How does one speak of such a good God in the midst of suffering? Ultimately that is the message of Job... And these people here have not only lived that life but they know that God. And as much as people would like to think that I preached this morning... It was and always has been the other way around down here. As the Eucharist was served this morning I had the blessing of holding the wine as Pere Bruno put the Bread on the children's tongues. There are some things that a camera can never catch, and the beautiful big white eyes of those dear children looking into Pere Bruno's soft, tender face gave such a feeling of faith and trust. They did not fear him nor did they run towards him, they came slowly knowing that this man would supply their every need. As we left worship, the two youngest sat with the crumbs of their Communion still on their lips. How beautiful an image - to live as people fresh from the celebration of the Lord's Supper still fresh on our lips and ready to share with th world. How would we be different? Who would we serve? How would we live? Someday I hope to find those answers, and I'm pretty sure that's what God is doing to my heart down here. As I search the landscape from the back of that Daihatsu truck I see life... Kids with strings and torn plastic bags made into a kite flying in the center of dirt and the filth of Cap Haitien. I see the hardened faces of the elderly, mouths too tired to smile and eyes with more of life's wisdom than any one person should know. I see young men sorting rusty, old and abandoned auto parts in hopes that they'll sell. I see children bathing in buckets in the street and women doling out food praying it will be enough. I smell the charcoal burning in the air and feel the oppression of a life that has been and will always be lived under the intense pressure of poverty that you and I will never know. And I remember that our God is so good and I wonder why I was born in Virginia and why Davise was born in Terrier Rouge, Haiti and I once again try to dig myself out of a theological hole that leaves me wanting... For what, I'm not sure. I know there are answers, and for me scripture is all I need but I will forever question who I would be if my children lived, slept and ate in the dirt, if my Isabelle had worms and Jacob worked the fields day in and day out at age 13. If I had to choose who ate lunch and who got to wear shoes and who went to school and who stayed home. You see, I can say God is so good, because let's face it, life is good. The question of Job will forever haunt me with the answers I don't really ever want to know. Those Answers that many here have found and in the midst of this life they have also found that God is so good... All the time.

Sabbath rest

I thought to myself on the way here that next year I'll take a break from this trip. It is scriptural right... A Sabbath days rest on the seventh day of the week, even the land gets a rest from its' labor in the seventh year, so too might Haiti need a rest from me. Because we all know I certainly don't need a rest from this place. It keeps me grounded and makes me look again at what is truly important. I've been without my suitcase for a bit and no clue when it might pop up. I may smell bad and my clothes are on their third day, but that isn't important. Do you know what is? Pere Bruno and his farming where he's growing okra and mangoes and cashews and carrots, spinach, potatoes and other things I didn't recognize, all of this so the kids at St. Bart's can eat. This is real. Watching children, half naked, pump water from a well with water that contains everything from cholera, typhoid and animal waste to carry home for dinner. Seeing men standing on the side of the road, willing and able to work but with no job to be had. This is hard. But also seeing a university built by the Dominicans as a present to the Haitians now enrolling students that will change the face of this nation in the years to come. And the electricity poles ( without wires yet, but baby steps) lining the road from Cap to Terrier Rouge. This is progress. Things you and I see everyday in the landscapes of our world are becoming real here - trash cans in Terrier Rouge! a cyber cafe! And a high school here at St Bart's! These are good things in the midst of what the rest of the world sees as a cess pool and a waste of land... I see possibility and real promise. Join me... Come and see, because unless they chase me outta here with sticks and machetes, I'll be back next year, not even IBC can keep me away. Also join me in prayer. Three years ago today an earthquake brought this nation to its' knees. We still remember as do they. They also still live in the reality that those things that don't shake our world can easily destroy theirs. There is much to do. There are many many prayers to be said. Much love to you all from Terrier Rouge, Haiti ...

we are here

well...we re here. and i'm going to ask you to be patient with me as our Internet has been sketchy at best. Yesterday was a long day. From all the excitement of planning and packing and getting ready to leave I somehow neglected to remember that we were to spend the entire night NOT sleeping at the Ft Lauderdale airport. But nonetheless we were on or way. And IBC ( which I know now stands for "Internal Breakfast Coming up..." Was our adventure for the day. To start they planted calm, cool and collected under pressure Carrie next to the emergency exit, no worries, right? Planes never crash! But when the engines roared so did the vibration from the exit as the frame was not attached to the plane. That's a comforting thought on a plane that had to weigh its passengers to determine who could and could not make this trip. But when the 12 year old pilot ( ok, maybe 14) came back to check he offered me duct tape and said it should quiet down once the pressure increases in flight. Well, that's definitely comforting. So, we fist bumped it out ( after he declined my offer to drive) and we were on our way to the Bahamas. Yup... The Bahamas baby, for a fuel stop whee we learned that we had to line up carefully throughout the plane for the restroom, lest we tip the plane. And on to Haiti... With more turbulence and shaking than I want to remember, even my mom said that wAs the hardest she had ever prayed... And she raised me! By landing time I was done. I held the vomit bag in one hand and my head in the other as Elmer just watched and swallowed his jokes and smart remarks. I was ready for some fresh air, but that too was not gonna happen. As I hobbled down the ladder to what can only be described as a strip of asphalt in the midst of sugarcane fields and Haitian huts I breathed in the deep and heavy charcoal filled air of my beloved Haiti. I was home. So the plane ride was a little more adventure than we planned for and the ride to Terrier Rouge gave the Haitians a laugh as I painted the side of the road with what was left of breakfast. Even with a nauseous stomach and headache from lack of Dr Pepper I was glad to see my friends and to be remembered. What a place this is and what a blessing these people are!

Just a few more days and we'll head out again to the red earth of Terrier Rouge, Haiti.  I'm getting really excited as well as nervous.  I can't wait to see the faces of the kids, hear the noises from the school and even smell the charcoal filled air that reminds me of my second home.  I'm nervous because there is so much possibility ahead - oh not scary stuff, but opportunities to serve and witness and most of all for me to grow.

Each year is so different and brings so many surprises and this year proves to do the same.  I have the wonderful treat of going with both my mother and father - as dad will work in the clinic and mom and her friend JoEllen will teach English at St. Bart's.  My time honored traveler and dear friend Joan Bundy will return for her fourth trip since the earthquake in 2010 and I once again look forward to serving alongside her, she has more spunk and energy than most people I know.  Elmer and his handy toolbelt and his multiple gifts will be joining us again as will Jesse, the quiet, unassuming man that surprises everyone with his humor and spirit.  I have to admit, I'm most exctied that Isabelle is going this year, not my Isabelle, but pretty close.  Isabelle is a college student that has a heart for mission and Christ.  She's never flown on a plane so this trip will be full of firsts for her all the way around. 

So... join me again this year if you will.  I will write my thoughts and prayers each day and hopefully give you a glimpse of life here in Haiti.  All I ask of you is to keep the 8 of us in your prayers along with the people we will meet - may all of our lives be enriched by the power of the Holy Spirit.