You Know You're In Haiti When...

You know you're in northern Missouri when you have to leave the night before your flight to make it through the white-out to the airport that's two hours away.

You know you’re in Kansas City when a caravan of fifty snowplows rolls past the terminal window, blades up, because there’s no point in plowing when the snow’s still falling!

You know you’re in Chicago when Shaina’s aunt and uncle pick you up at the airport and take you to the best Italian beef restaurant in the US.

You know you’re in Fort Lauderdale when you walk through the exit doors and a friendly voice from above tells you “You’re beautiful. Have a great day.”

You know you’re finally back in Haiti when you start sweating before you even step outside the airport.

You know you’re in Haiti when your heart finally feels like it’s home.

You know you’re in Haiti when being bumped and thrown around, while squished in the front of the truck with three other people, is the most wonderful ride you’ve had in months.

You know you’re in Haiti when you daily receive the most delightful hugs from the most beautiful little girls.

You know you’re in Haiti when you feel accomplished for the day after killing a spider the size of your fist.

You know you’re in Haiti when you get to wake up with the sun, the view when you walk outside is an island in the Caribbean Ocean, and every night the sky sparkles with millions of stars.

You know you’re in Haiti when the most exciting event of the week is not losing a single pen.

You know you’re in Haiti when the warmth of the sun on your skin thrills you so much that you forget to put on any sunscreen, and your long-awaited “tan” is soon peeling off.

You know you’re in Haiti when you make a child’s day by giving them a pair of new shoes.

You know you’re in Haiti when the day’s trip is canceled because two semis have been turned horizontally across the road to block it, and the people who took the keys from the drivers are MIA.

You know you’re in Haiti when you have to leave at five a.m. to beat the road block so you can get to the airport on time.

You know you’re back in Fort Lauderdale when you miss your flight while you’re sitting right at the gate. Don’t ask.

You know you’re back in Kansas City when donning layer upon layer of clothing doesn’t even keep the cold out.

You know you belong in Haiti when you miss it before you’ve even left.

More Than Overcomers

I would like to apologize for my severe case of writer’s block during the last half of the past year. Slowly but surely, I believe I am being cured of it.

Since my last entry so much has happened and so much has changed that I am not sure I will be able to catch you up on everything, so I will focus on a few of the ways God has been working, both inwardly and visibly.

Those of us who were in the accident in May will never know just how many people, across the country and across the world, were lifting us up in prayer, but we do know the aftermath of that outpouring. All of the American team members were healed so swiftly that even the doctors were stunned. What a glorious witness to God’s amazing power. Everyone is back to life as usual, and though many still have emotional and physical scars as reminders, God's love has been our healing balm for those as well. In Haiti things were not so quick, but what else is new? The last Haitian was not sent home from the hospital until September, but all of them are also healing well. The two boys whose lower legs were amputated are being fitted for prosthetic limbs, and Marc’s arms now have neither rods nor casts on them. He was told that his right arm may never have the same mobility as before, but we continue to praise God that He provided a way for Marc to keep both arms as he requested. By all human standards he should have lost them. God knew better.

When the malaria epidemic broke out, more desperate petitions were made to the throne of grace. God saw fit to heal all, seven by restored health here on this earth, two by taking them home to be with Him: twenty-year-old Yoka, and Monique’s unborn child. We will never know why, in His sovereignty, God chose this method of healing for those two, but we continue to believe Him, though sometimes with a faith blinded by tears. Our future hope is the confidence that keeps our legs from buckling underneath us.

Since then an explosion of tropical storms, cholera outbreak, and political upheaval have overtaken the country of Haiti. Dee and I have been here in the States, Dee with her children and her mom, who went through and is now healing from open heart surgery, I back and forth between the Dorcé family and my family, helping with stateside Blessing Heart International correspondence and paperwork. Too many things to recount occurred, and made Dee, Wilckly and I realize God was telling us it was time to be still and let Him be God. And so Dee and I stayed, and Wilckly has been back and forth between the States and Haiti since September. It has been the most difficult wait I have ever endured, staying here and not returning to Haiti.

While we have been here, God has been working. He knows our needs so much better than we do, and He has provided BHI with two school buses to fill with more supplies and ship to Haiti, and a Backhoe loader and Rhino that are already there in Haiti working to build up the mission compound. He raised up countless supporters who have caught the excitement about what He is doing through the Dorcés and are helping in huge ways, financially, giving of their time and energy, and with prayer and emotional support.

This week Wilckly is returning to Haiti after spending the holidays in the States with his family, and God has opened the doors for Dee and I to accompany him for a week. At this point my excitement far outweighs my hesitancy, but I know that I will have hundreds of emotions and memories to deal with, even in the short space of a week. My goal is to be an encouragement to the Haitians who have been serving in our absence and working to keep the mission running, and to Wilckly before we leave him there again. God’s presence and involvement in our efforts have been very evident, and we are confident in Him. Though at times it may seem that oppression from the enemy is more than we can bear, we know our God is stronger. And in Him we are already more than overcomers. “If God is for us, who can be against us?”

Behind the mountains there are more mountains...

Something I quickly learned during my first few months in Haiti is that, according to the Haitians, the more proverbs you know, the more Haitian you are considered to be. There are countless Haitian proverbs, covering all topics from riding a mule to the contrast of the poor vs. the wealthy. My Haitian family, especially Fre Marc, our proverb guru, did their best to ensure that I was as Haitian as possible before I left for the States for the summer. I learned most of them that fateful day while traveling on said mules. One, however, that will now no doubt stick with me the rest of my life, is this: "Deye mon, gin mon." Translation: "Behind the mountains, there are more mountains." The double meaning behind this statement is what caught my attention in the first place. Not only does this refer to Haiti's terrain, it is also speaking of the hardships Haitians face. In other words, beyond every trial in our lives there is always another trial waiting. Depressing, yes, when looked at in that way, but unfortunately it is a perspective that is common for the Haitian people to have. It is all they have ever known. Without experiencing it for myself, I knew I would never fully be able to comprehend this proverb, but through the events of the past two months I think I have begun to reach an understanding of it.

Let me explain: it was Sunday, May 16^th, the last full day the college mission team would be with us, and the day before Dee and I were to fly back to the U.S. for the summer. We were celebrating the Lord’s Day at our newest church on a mountain in Kamicho (the very same place where we mounted the donkeys that day last October), a church that was started because one man decided he wanted to become a follower of Christ, and told others. The small congregation had grown enormously, until now, on this Sunday, the tiny shelter built with large sticks and covered by a tarp we’d given them at the first service, was packed to overflowing…perhaps two hundred Haitians were standing or sitting, singing their hearts out in thankfulness to their risen Savior. The joy was evident on every face. After the service we were able to set up a mini clinical, where people from the area could bring their sick or injured loved ones to receive limited medical care from the two nurses who had come with the team. This drew an even larger crowd, and lasted for over two hours in the hot sun. By the end of the afternoon, though our spirits were high, we were physically exhausted and so ready for a relaxing evening at the beach.

We all piled in the back of our dump truck and headed down the mountain. We were less than fifteen minutes from the smooth, flat road, when all of a sudden the truck lurched and started picking up speed. Then everything and everyone got deathly quiet. We were flying at a downhill slope, steep drop-offs on both sides, reaching speeds of 60 mph, and we realized the brakes had given out and the engine had failed. I think everyone was in denial that we were going to crash until it actually happened, because no one said a word, and very few of us even braced ourselves. A few of us remember thinking, “We’re not going to make it off this mountain alive…” and I’m sure that is what the devil intended. But God had different plans. For one, He made sure Wilckly was driving that day…Wilckly didn’t panic, and he was able to maneuver the truck down the road and around a ninety degree turn that by all human standards we should never have made, and stop it by running the side into a cliff wall. The inertia from the impact threw the truck to its side and tossed most of the twenty-seven of us out of it like rag dolls, but once again we saw God’s hand at work. Though many were severely injured, of the eight who were okay, four were Dee, Wilckly, me, and Seth (one of the nurses)…those who could speak Creole and/or administer medical care to the others.

It was no coincidence that this happened five minutes away from a mission with a clinic that had American doctors, medics, and nurses…who wouldn’t have been there except for the earthquake. Everyone was stabilized there and transferred in ambulances (another non-existent item in Haiti before the earthquake) to the University of Miami Field hospital in Port-au-Prince, which was set up…you guessed it…after the quake. In no way am I saying that we are thankful that such a tragic natural disaster occurred five months before, but this is one very clear example of God using it for good. Some of us should not, in all human reasoning, have made it off of the mountain that day.

Ten of the Americans were able to fly home on the originally scheduled commercial flight, but four had to be medevaced to a hospital in Miami for further care. And this is where the mountains come in. One of those was my sister, one was my best friend. The others are friends as well and have had a huge part in our mission stateside. In the days following, we experienced doubt, uncertainty, many ups and downs while praying and waiting for these people to heal. Though some were released a few days later, it wasn’t until this past Saturday, six weeks later, that we could say every American was home.

And on the Haitian side the trials have been just as, if not more, difficult. Two men each had the lower parts of one of their legs amputated, and Pastor Marc almost lost his arms. He is healing quickly, but is still in need of plastic surgery, and there is a risk of infection if he doesn’t receive the proper care. We are desperately trying to get him here to the States. Two of the Haitians who were in the wreck are still in the hospital. Then, only days later, four of our people were admitted to the hospital with varying stages of Malaria, one of them being Marc’s two year old daughter, Alexandra. Since and Dee and I were both here with the team, Wilckly was dealing with all of this on his own.

Through it all, however, we have not stopped believing that God is sovereign. Obviously whatever God was doing through us at that church and in those people on that mountain truly scared Satan, because he went to some real trouble to try to stop us. But our God is greater, and His ways are higher. We are being taught to say, like Job, whose experiences we can now better understand, “Though He slay me, yet I will trust in Him…He also shall be my salvation.” (Job 13:15-16)

As I write about mountains another verse comes to mind: “Assuredly, I say to you, if you have faith as a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you.” (Matthew 17:20) But I have been learning that often times God requires a different kind of faith: one that asks us not to move the mountain, but to climb it. This takes such perseverance, energy, stamina, endurance, and determination which as humans we do not have, and many times do not even want to have. That is when we must say, “God, I can’t do this…but You can,” and with that humble realization, we soon find that He has taken over, and it is no longer us climbing, it is Him.

This is why we can stand, facing the overwhelmingly huge mountain in front of us, knowing full well that behind this there will only be another…and still have hope. Because our God is bigger. And He is never going to leave. Those truths are what will carry us through, what will give us the strength to continue, even when the way is seemingly impossible. We know Who has the victory in the end. And we are on the winning side.

Please continue to pray for Blessing Hearts International and all those involved.

We are in dire need of the support of our fellow believers…please stand with

us as we face these difficult times.

Morning by morning...

Sunday, May 2^nd, 2010 7:00 p.m.

Tonight as I sit in our new uphill office, listening to the musical tinkling of my wind chime, blown by the Caribbean breeze, I am reflecting upon the events and emotions this past month has generated. Never before have I been so challenged and stretched, so forced to rely wholly on my God. Only in the last few weeks have I truly learned what it means to trust in God as my Shield, my Rock, my Comfort, and my Hope.

One aspect of being a missionary, one that I had not counted on encountering, has been made altogether clear to me since my friend headed back to the States. Loneliness. This struggle is something many people who are not on the field do not fully comprehend. Being away from family and friends, often without the equipment the rest of the world has for instant communication, or at least with very limited technology, and faced with the constant spiritual and physical battles of serving in another, often destitute, culture, often brings waves of this emotion. Missionaries are not superheroes, as is a common misconception, and they feel normal emotions such as sadness, joy, discouragement, and hope just like everyone else does.

But even though I have had quite a battle with this feeling, God has been faithful. Without Him I would never make it. And He reminds me of that fact daily. Because of the absence of the companionship I have been, really, so spoiled with, I have been required to lean on Him completely, to allow Him to be, not only my Father and Savior and Lover, but also my Friend and Comforter. Though at times circumstances seem hopeless and all strength is gone, God is here, holding my hand and leading me through. Without that knowledge I would be lost. This I know, all too well.

Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father.

There is no shadow of turning with Thee.

Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not.

As Thou has been Thou forever wilt be.

Great is Thy faithfulness!

Great is Thy faithfulness!

Morning by morning, new mercies I see.

All I have needed, Thy hand hath provided.

Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.

Cleanliness in a Fourth World Country...

Saturday, April 17th, 2010 10:00 a.m.

Another difference we deal with here in Haiti is the topic of cleanliness...I've decided to focus on one aspect of it: bathing. Though at the beach we sometimes had running water, even there just taking a bath required more energy than we often wanted to put out. Now that we are at the uphill property we are back to taking bucket baths. Let me enlighten you on the amount of effort a "bucket bath" requires:

First we decide we want to expend the energy bathing takes...usually this means either the heat has become completely unbearable and the only relief we'll get is pouring cool water over ourselves, or we just returned from a long ride in the truck and are covered with dust and exhaust smoke from other vehicles on the road.

Next we gather our clothes and begin the search for a towel and soap. We have places for these things, but when eight to twelve people use the same shower these items are easily misplaced. Twenty minutes later we walk behind the house, laden with our accessories, and upon seeing the padlocked door, realize we forgot to ask for the keys. After a few minutes of searching for the person who last had them, we open the door, place our items on the 1 ft. by 1 ft. "table" inside, and look in the bucket...no water.

Then the battle begins...is there water in the barrel? Not enough. Does the reservoir have enough water? Yes. Is the hose connected? Not yet. To connect the hose someone must go around the house, outside the gated yard, up the driveway to the reservoir. Once the hose is connected, and the water is slowly flowing out into the bucket, we wait about twenty more minutes until it is full. Finally our bath is ready. Once the door is shut behind us and we are sure nothing else can delay it we look into the bucket once more and realize there is no cup with which to dump said water on ourselves. By now we are too exhausted to look for one on our own, so we call out the door for a "gode" and wait for someone to find one, clean it, and hand it in to us. Now our bath is ready.

And finally, fifteen minutes later, we emerge clean and cooled off...at least for about seven minutes.

Internet in a Fourth World Country...

Saturday, April 10th, 2010 12:15 p.m.

For a switch, I have decided to give a brief description of one of the differences brought about by living in a country such as this. Through this, I hope to provide a better understanding of what it takes for us just to send an e-mail or update a blog.

Around 2:00 p.m., after we have eaten lunch, since it's the hottest time of the day, and some people have finally left the yard for a while, giving us a small break from meetings, distributions, cleaning, and supervising construction, we decide we'll be able to spend some time on the coveted internet, which at times is our only access to the "outside world." First I have to find the keys so I can open the office where we keep the inverter. I unlock three concessive doors to reach said office, only to discover that the inverter is out of juice. The next step is to find two or more of the boys who can roll the huge generator outside and start it to give us electricity and also re-charge the inverter. Most of the boys are helping with the construction work or uphill, so half an hour later, they finally make it down to the yard to commense the "delco."

After making sure the inverter is set to charge and the extension cord is plugged in I go back inside, again unlock two of the before mentioned doors to retrieve the internet modem, printer, and computers and cords. Carrying all of these items, I mosey on out to the back of the house, where we have a screened-in tent for our office, complete with two desks, two plastic chairs, and a power strip for all of our devices requiring electricity. I take both laptops from their bags and plug them in, then fit all four wires into the back of the internet modem, plug it into the power source, and connect it to my laptop. Just as I sit down to turn on my computer, the generator shuts down. I send for Smith again to come find out what is wrong with it, and he works on re-wiring the starter while I type out an e-mail using the last fifteen minutes of charge on my computer.

Another twenty minutes goes by, and finally we have energy again. It is now 4:00 p.m. I click on the little "e" icon for internet access, and it refuses to connect me. I turn off the internet modem, restart my computer, and repeat the above step. Google.com miraculously appears on the screen! Ten minutes later my e-mail account has loaded, and I am able to begin reading and replying to my mail. When I am finished with my work, I call Dee and she is able to spend some time on the internet herself. Just before dark we close everything down and turn on the inverter, now fully charged so the yard can be lit during the night...another chapter in the saga of our internet activites has come to a close.

Easter weekend...

April 5th, 2010 2:00 p.m.

Believe it or not, Easter is celebrated in Haiti. In fact, the Haitians are more serious about this holiday than most Americans. Everyone had the entire weekend off, which means all of our construction projects came to a standstill, something we weren't quite prepared for, since Easter seemed to come upon us so suddenly this year. But it turned out for the best, as we all got a much needed rest from the constant meetings with people, running errands, and disributing food and supplies.

Sunday morning dawned bright and early, and though we didn't have a sunrise service like I am used to from my home church, our church begins very soon after the sun has risen over the tip of our mountain. I had spent the night before copying Bible verses into Creole on slips of paper and placing them inside twelve Resurrection eggs (plastic eggs containing little items and verses that tell the Easter story) that we had amazingly found inside the container...we found them just in time, too. God is so awesome. Dee used them to teach Sunday school, and the kids had lots of fun walking one at a time to the front of the class to open the eggs and read the verses inside. In the morning service we sang quite a few songs that I knew, including my favorite Easter hymn, Because He Lives. It was just as beautiful sung in another language. After church we handed candy out to all of the people...no Easter egg hunts, but they still got candy!

That afternoon a group of us drove to the beach and swam, relaxed under the shade of the coconut trees, and ate a picnic lunch on the sand. It was the first time I had been anywhere for more than two hours without Dee, Crash, or Wilckly, and I was very grateful my Creole has improved so much. However, I greatly enjoyed that time spent with the people...even in those few hours I was able to build relationships with some of them who before then I had only said "good morning" to each day. God is definitely using this time to bring me closer to the people, as well as to Himself.

Of course the weekend was over all too quickly, and this morning masons and welders are all over the property, generators are running, hammers pounding, and ground shaking all over again. Back to work it is! Praise God for the rest and calmness of the weekend, and for the time we had to meditate on His sacrifice for us. It is so true, that "because He lives, we can face tomorrow" no matter what it holds.