My Disney Life

The following entry is not an all-inclusive example of my every-day life in a third-world country. In fact, it is far from that. The struggles I encounter and the obstacles I face daily require me to search for the roses among the thorns. These glimpses are God's gift of joy that pulls me through each hardship. The attached files include a description of one of these pictures He has given me to keep me looking with eyes of innocence at the life He's given me to live, no matter what may cross my path.

Sundays in Haiti

Monday, April 23^rd, 2012

        In many ways you may find that our Sunday mornings in Haiti are not so different from yours.  It’s like pulling teeth to get the kids out of bed, washed, dressed, fed, and out the door.  All the Bibles and songbooks seem to have been lost overnight, and no one wants to move quickly after the weekend.  Finally we make it to Sunday School and through the morning service, where we all sit prim and proper in our starched Sunday best, no one guessing what a struggle it was just to make it there.  We have an opening prayer, worship time, announcements, communion, and a sermon, just like you would be familiar with.  When church is over we greet everyone and head home to our afternoon meal.  Pretty normal, right?  But this general overview of a Sunday in Haiti is where the similarities end.

          I forgot to explain why it is such a hassle to get to church on time in Haiti.  The first is water: water we use for bathing, cooking, and cleaning.  This water is stored in a deep reservoir which is kept locked so we can control the amounts of water used each day (since we have to transport this water from a larger reservoir a mile up the road, which we pay to have filled).  Once it is unlocked in the morning and all the buckets are found (a job in itself) either Dee or I has to stand guard as one of the boys ties a rope to a bucket handle and lowers it into the reservoir, pulls it up filled with water, and pours it into a 50-gallon barrel.  The other boys are filling buckets from that barrel and toting the water across the yard to our above-ground tank that holds 100 gallons.  Once that is at least half-way full we are ready to start the day.

           Second is Sunday clothes: the day before was when all the washing was done, but it began to rain before everything was dry, so everyone rushed to gather the clothes and pile them on a bed before they were drenched.  Now it is time for church and we must find the dryest, least-wrinkled (a must in Haiti) dress clothes from the pile for each person.

            Next is breakfast: we do not have a refrigerator, and due to humidity levels and pests we do not keep much food stored overnight.  This means much of our “grocery shopping” for the day occurs each and every morning.  Though we usually try to think ahead and make our purchases the night before, some things, like bread have to be bought fresh.  But on Sundays most of the street shops are closed.  It takes longer than usual just to find some good bread and few eggs to boil.  And though only a handful of us are going to Sunday School, we have to oversee breakfast for everyone (about 25 people) before we leave.

              And then there is the vehicle.  Worst case scenario is that there’s been a gas shortage, and we have to siphon diesel from our generator so we have enough in the vehicle to make it to church (one mile down the road).  Best case scenario is us pushing the truck while Dee pops the clutch ‘cause the battery is dead.  Then we pile into the bed (all but Mdme. Kiki and the kids), since the cab only has enough room for three to four people.  So much for the time spent on our hair and pressing our clothes as the wind mercilessly whips us around in the back of the truck.

                After all that we finally arrive at Sunday School at 8:05 a.m.  Dee takes the junior-high/highschool age class, and I gather all the kids younger than that.  Usually there are about twenty-five of them.  Though these kids are extremely smart and most of them can memorize anything I give them, they are not used to sitting still or quietly.  Much of the class time is spent lecturing those who are hitting the ones beside them, or reminding them that they are not to talk while I am talking.  Using flannelgraph and the promise of stickers or candy if they’re good, I manage to keep their attention for the most part, still wondering if anything is getting through to them.  They continually surprise me, though, when I say a verse and immediately they repeat it back to me, like parrots.  And the next week they will answer every question I ask about the story I told.

                  When Sunday School is over we file into church and sit on the the wooden pews.  Even though sometimes we have to battle dogs, guinea hens, or goats for a place to sit, I love our partially-enclosed building.  During the service I can lift my eyes and see mountains and palm trees, and feel the fresh, tropical air, and somehow it just seems more natural to worship in these conditions. I’ll almost be sad when we finish covering the building with tin and plywood.

                   Another difference about our Sundays is the worship service itself.  Not only is it about one and a half hours longer than most services in the States, but the worship is like nothing I ever saw growing up in my little country church.  When Haitians praise, they mean it.  And they mean it with their whole bodies.  Hands are in the air, voices are raised to the loudest volume, drums are beat with vigor, feet move across the floor and into the aisles as the people dance for their Savior.  This is true praise.  I had really been missing out.

                     Two and a half hours later church is dismissed, and after shaking hands with every single person present, we take down the decorations, sweep the floor, count the offering, and pile back in the truck to go home for lunch.  This time we have a few extras that we drop off along the way.  We sit down at the table to a steaming plate of rice and beans, chicken legs, and cooked carrots.  Not your typical Sunday roast, but delicious nonetheless.

                      I’ll never look at Sunday mornings in the same way again.  I pray that after reading this, your idea may have changed a bit, too, and as you go through your normal Sunday routine, think of us and remember to pray for those we’re reaching, despite such obstacles as wrinkly clothes, gas shortages, misbehaving children, and unfinished buildings.  We know our God is bigger than all of that.

Short Cuts

Wednesday March 21^st, 2012

        One of my favorite parts of our school days now are when I sit down with Kelsey to read.  Though I had a small share in helping my little brothers and few others, this is the first time I am able to participate in the entire process of a child learning to read, and it is truly incredible.  I remember two years ago, in preschool, when she was just learning the letters and the sounds they make.  She, and I sometimes, would get so frustrated at how long it took her to sound out simple words like “dog” and “bat.”  She would lose interest quickly, and I thought I was doing it all wrong and all she would learn is to hate reading.  But after a year of Kindergarten in the States she had had enough repetition and practice that by the beginning of our school year this September the sounds finally made sense, making our reading time much less tedious.  In fact, she even began to enjoy reading the short little books I chose for her to work through during the week.  All of that was exciting, but it wasn’t until this semester that we both had a breakthrough.

          It was this semester that she finally realized that these random words are actually saying something.  Soon she was eager to sound out even the difficult words so she could move on to the others and discover what happened next in the story.  Kelsey is finally seeing the treasures that are hidden in these things called books, and realizing how priceless is the ability to put sounds and words together to discover them for herself.  The result is delightful, both for her and for her teacher.

           Now, this process isn’t always smooth, for often now, in her eagerness to find out what the words are telling her she tries to take short cuts.  Once she thinks she has the general idea of a sentence, she glances at the first letter of the next word and just guesses, putting in the word she thinks would make the most sense.  It is a continual patience-requiring procedure I have to go through with her each time she does this, for once she has a certain word in her head, whether it is the correct one or not, it is hard to convince her otherwise, and the sounding out takes even longer.  At first I thought, ‘Doesn’t she just want to know what its really says?  It would save her so much time and me so much frustration!’

            But is she really so different from us?  I recall many times when God gave me something to do and my response was, ‘Okay, but I’m gonna do it this way, ‘cause I think this is better,’ or even, ‘That’s not really what He means; that would take too much time, so I’ll just go this way instead.’  Our ideas and short cuts are so often better than His, or so we think.  Why do we think that way?  Why can’t we just listen to what He’s really saying?  It would save us so much time and frustration!  Exactly.

             And so I am still learning more than I am teaching.  And while Kelsey continues to encounter new adventures through the stories she can now read to herself, and I revel in sharing these discoveries with her, we are both learning patience, and how to do what we are told, how we are told, whether we are sounding out a word, or obeying one of God’s commands.

My Orion

Friday, March 16^th, 2012

         Last night I decided it was time to visit my quiet place on the beach again.  It had been too long since my last vigil there.  I stood for a while, letting the salty breeze soothe my spirits, and the sound of rolling waves calm my heart.  God always speaks to me most clearly during these times.  Soon my thoughts were playing the events of the past week like a feature film in my head and I realized this was the first conversation I’d had with God in…well, far too long.  I sighed, once again ashamed at my human frailty.  I sat on the rocky sand, curling my knees up to my chest, and lifted my eyes to the night sky.  Instantly my eyes caught the familiar sight of Orion the hunter.  Since coming to Haiti I have seen more constellations than I ever knew to exist; each remains for a season, and then the stars shift to make way for new ones, but Orion…Orion is my ever-constant companion.  He may change positions from time to time, but he is always there, gracing the southern sky with his bold stance, arrow fit ready to the bow, pointing at some invisible prey.

          Suddenly it hit me.  God was my Orion.  No matter how much I may resist Him or unintentionally bring Him sorrow He is always pursuing me.  He will never give up on me, forget me, or grow weary of the chase.  My Hunter is constant, faithful, and true, even when I am not.  A chill ran up my spine though the gentle wind was warm.  Once again God had given me a glimpse of His character through one of the marvels in His creation.  And once again I was floored.  For the hundredth time I breathed the words of my favorite hymn, believing them with all my heart:

Could we with ink the ocean fill,

And were the skies of parchment made;

Were every stalk on earth a quill,

And every man a scribe by trade.

To write the love of God above

Would drain the ocean dry,

Nor could the scroll contain the whole,

Though stretched from sky to sky.

Oh love of God!  How rich and pure!

How measureless and strong!

It shall forever more endure

The saints and angels song.

Let's take a walk...

Monday, December 12^th, 2011

          Follow me as I take a walk through the village of Carries.  Stroll up the rocky path, past fences of pencil cactus, homes of rusted tin and crumbling concrete.  Children shouting and waving at us as we pass their yard.  We reach the gate of the mission compound and, before mounting the hill, we turn to smile at the passel of noisy children that has gathered behind us.  When they see we’ve noticed them, a few shriek and run away playfully, but they don’t go far, because as soon as we continue our ascent they file right back in with the rest of the group, “sneaking” about fifty feet behind us. 

           By the time we reach the inner gate of our mission yard about thirty filthy, half-naked children are in a crowd following us.  We turn just before entering the yard, and I shout, “Hurry! Go clean up and get dressed! We have practice this afternoon!” Pageant practice was supposed to begin at 3:00…it’s 3:30 now…by the time the kids return it will be 3:45.  Don’t worry, though…no one here has a schedule of things to accomplish before the day is through, so there’s really no such thing as “late” in Haiti.

            Around 4:00 the singing begins. Ten or so kids have arrived, clean as a whistle, hair done and clothes changed, and their voices soon alert the rest of the neighborhood that rehearsal has officially begun. Christmas melodies sung in Creole, French and English soon fill the air, smiles on every face as the children strain to hear the words and learn each tune. Dee and I take turns leading them in repeating the verses over and over until they sound confident in each song.  You are surprised at how quickly they memorize them? With good reason, for we are used to pages, screens, and projectors. No need to memorize – the words are there in front of you every time. But these children, from the moment they were born, have learned everything they know by memorization. School is mostly oral repetition, stories are passed from generation to generation by word of mouth, very few people own books or hymnals. Only a percentage of the population can read or write. All prayers and Scripture passages are quoted from memory, as are all songs. It’s all they know.

              And so the most difficult task while practicing for the program is not teaching them the songs, or even their lines to recite, but in actuality, just keeping them still and quiet is the real challenge. See? There’s one now – giving the kid next to him a smack on the leg. Now they’re both fighting…hold on a second while I take care of this. Here; he’s gonna come sit with us now. So, most of them come from homes where their parents (if both parents even live with them) are rarely home because they spend all day at work or trying to sell food at the marketplace so they can bring enough money home to feed their family for the day. No guidance (not to mention no food or basic necessities) all day means when the parents are home the only way they know to control their unruly children is with a belt or a switch. This is the only discipline most of them know. Run wild during the day, whipping from the mama at night. Have you heard the phrase, “Haitians don’t hear with their ears, they heard with their backside,”? Well, that’s the reason for it.

               However, Dee and I have a different format. The children know that if they don’t sit still, listen, and do their best, they’re out, just like that. And no one wants that to happen. They’re too curious to know what this whole “Christmas program” thing is all about.

               Watch: today is the first time I’m showing them some of the costumes. Here’s one of the shepherds’…and the angels’…see their reactions? I love this part. Doesn’t it make it all worthwhile? And just wait…next week when we come the kids will be waiting for us. Now that we’ve given them a little taste they wouldn’t miss it for the world.

                 Well, it’s starting to get dark. Time to let the kids go. Though it was like pulling teeth to get them to come, now they don’t want to leave. Every one of them has to touch each of our hands, grab onto our arms as we walk down the church steps, help us carry our bags and papers out to the truck. Finally the last of them skips down the path and stands at the gate until we drive past, waving as we turn the corner. We smile and wave back, calling “Good night!” What do you think? Will you join me again next week? I thought so.

The Little Things

Monday, September 19^th, 2011 8:53p.m.

I am one of those people who tends to focus on the big parts of life. Mountains are some of my favorite portions of God’s creation. I could spend hours just gazing out over the wide expanse of ocean, listening to the crashing waves. I love thunderstorms, while just a light rain is apt to simply annoy me. In another aspect, I never feel as though I accomplished anything for the day unless there is a visible, obvious change in my surroundings; whether it’s a clean room, organized papers, or a to-do list with boxes checked off. One positive way this affects me is that I rarely have trouble seeing the big picture. While others are fretting and griping about details I can usually turn my focus towards what is really happening in the larger scheme of things, and
find encouragement in that.

However, such an inclination to see only the big things often causes me to miss out on many wonderful little blessings God sends my way each day. Now that I am back in Haiti, where such modern conveniences as running water, electricity, and vehicles at my disposal (things I normally wouldn’t think twice about) are a rarity, if found at all, I am finding it is much easier to notice and be grateful for the so-called “little things.”

When a long, 105°F day passes and no one is selling ice, then evening comes and few little blocks are found and bought, cold water running down my throat is sweeter than the richest beverage.
When living in a country where the fight for survival causes most people to think only of themselves, and while visiting at a neighbor’s house everyone jumps out of their chairs to offer me a place to sit, the kind act is more cherished than if a king had offered me his throne. When the air is hot and humid, the sun is broiling hot, and you can’t even find cool water to pour over your head a small rain can offer more relief than the most modern AC unit. When a whole day passes and not one storage room is organized, not one paper is filed, but a little boy has been tickled and made to laugh as he hasn’t maybe in weeks, and a little girl has been cuddled and told she is loved, the day is worth more to me than a thousand when every checklist is completed.

And suddenly, as I am made aware of each of these little blessings, my perspective changes. A beautiful flower placed near my pillow to greet my eyes as I awaken, a smile across the yard from a friend, a tiny hummingbird lighting on a tree just above my head, a melted piece of candy
brought especially for me, held tightly in a child’s hand so as not to be lost…and my eyes are opened. All of a sudden these things are not so little any more They have become to me the grandest, most wonderful occurrences of my days, and I am learning to savor each one.

After all, when Elijah was downtrodden, questioning his faith, and longing for a word from his God, any word, God was not in the windstorm. He was not in the earthquake. He was not in the fire. He was in the gentle whisper. Sometimes we are so bent on finding God in the big things that we miss Him along the way in all the “little” blessings He daily puts before our eyes. So often we feel as though God is not answering us, not even hearing us, when really He is right there, waiting for us to stop straining our necks to search for Him in the thunder and lightning and notice His presence in the drop of rain on our face.

Missionary Musings...

I remember when I was little, sitting in church listening to the missionary speakers and always getting that rush of sympathy for all those adorable, starving, half-naked children. That desire to help. That awe for the person who had given up everything to live among them and share God's love. I was never bored when missionaries spoke. I loved hearing the stories, seeing the photos on their slide shows, fingering the foreign objects on their display tables.

But when the service was over and the missionary left, my family would return home, and all such sentimental musings (for that is all they were then) would exit my mind as quickly as they had filled it. Sometimes my friends would tell me how they had spoken with the missionary and heard even more stories. They would say how neat they thought it was to find out that missionaries are real too, normal people just like us. Of course I knew they were real, but normal? Just like us? No way. They were specially chosen by God, and they had faith I'd never before seen in normal people.

Even last summer during my own speaking engagements at camps and churches, I hesitated to use the term "missionary" to describe myself. After all, I was not qualified to be an actual missionary. But the more people I met during my travels, and the more conversations I had, the more time I spent with the Dorce' family, the more I learned how completely wrong my perception was. I realized that not only are missionaries normal people, missionaries have normal feelings, likes and dislikes, just like us. Missionaries need help, missionaries need encouragement, missionaries need affirmation, missionaries need friends, just like us. Just like me.

Suddenly all the memories came rushing back. Missionary speakers. Missions conventions. Missionaries spending the night at our house. Meeting missionary kids and playing with them at Vacation Bible School. All those opportunities I had missed to be a friend, an encouragement, to someone who needed those things just as much as I did, if not more.

Unfortunately, it took me a time of walking in their shoes to realize that fact. Until I experienced it for myself, I never knew what I was missing out on. What I had caused those others to miss out on. And so I'd like to take this opportunity, on behalf of all of us missionaries, to thank those of you who have treated us just like real, normal people. Thank you for housing us, for encouraging us through letters, e-mails, or spoken words. Thank you for heart felt prayers said in our absence, and for sincere, spur-of-the-moment prayers said with and for us. Thank you for filling up our gas tanks, for taking us out to lunch, for kindness to our children. Thank you for everything I haven't mentioned. We could never tell you exactly how much you mean to us.