In which God gives me a most incredible gift

Three days after I surrendered my alone time to the Lord, I had a room all to myself. It was not of my doing, I didn't have to manipulate it, but here I am!

That was November 18, and on November 21, I was in my room, all by my very happy alone self.

I still haven't gotten over the luxury of it.

This is how it worked out:

The day we took the trip to Port-au-Prince that I mentioned earlier, my roommates were headed to the airport. Their time here was complete and they were heading home. Once they left, I moved in with Gerda to help her with the kids while Annie was home for a week. Annie got home on the 21st, and I moved back out and down to my old quarters, now empty.

I don't have any kids. I'm the single person again.

This frees me up tremendously. I feel like dancing. I feel lighter than air. I feel so liberated to pour into others now. I can finally devote the time I need to elements of class prep that just had me stumped. I can offer to take kids for a while to let one of the other ladies have a break. I can have all the school-age children at Club Indigo over to my room for school time. I can make the projects that have been weighing down on me, like the gift packets for the nannies at the creche. Ah...I finally feel like I am bursting free to thrive and act and actually accomplish the roles that God has given me, instead of just barely keeping my head above water and operating in survival mode. I feel like I am released to do the work I am called to do and have the possibility of doing it well.

I am incredibly thankful.

This side of the room has become like our little community center. It's a school room, movie theater, dining room for group pot-lucks, music lesson studio, you name it!

Important note: I don't want any of this to sound like I disliked my roommates or chafed under the crowded conditions. We had such a fabulous group of girls together, and we had a thriving, happy, unified relationship. For having 5 women in such small quarters, we had practically no bickering, gossip, or raging emotions, and that is amazing evidence of God's grace being supplied to us. I love the fact that the girls and I shared this room. It's part of what makes living here a happy thing. All the memories of what we did and said here still float through my mind as I walk through the room. "Remember when so-and-so's bed was there?" I will think to myself. "Remember when we had the table there, and we cut up all the vegetables for stir fry together and told stories?" "Remember when there was a huge spill there?" etc. etc. etc.

No, my relationship with my roommates was purely positive. But their time came to an end, as I knew it would, and their departure made it feel like my own time in Haiti was starting over from the beginning. I know, however, that my laments over their absence cannot bring them back. Just as God gave grace for the season we were together, he is giving grace for this new season. I rejoice in it and I am thankful for it.

In which I surrender my right to be alone

Not everyone likes to be alone, but I do. They say you can tell whether you're a true introvert by asking yourself this question: Do I recharge by being around people, or by being alone?

For me it has always been the latter. Being around people drains me, so I can only do it for so long. Then I need to get alone for a little while until I store up the energy to face people again. I feel like I could be alone forever without suffering the least bit of loneliness. 

One of the things that I was recently longing for, that came to an excruciating point of longing, was time to be alone. I just wanted to go away from people and be by myself. I wanted to recharge, rest, and not talk to anyone or see anyone for a really nice long time, until I felt ready to face people again. I have been surrounded by missionaries and children constantly, and don't get me wrong--they're wonderful people and amazing lovable kids! But when you have 5 adult women and 4 kids living in a 15x19-foot room, and there are constantly needy kids tugging on you, begging for your time, and needing to be taught, fed, clothed, bathed, and otherwise cared for, and then you stack up two continuous months of this on my poor little introverted soul, that little introverted soul just starts withdrawing, disconnecting, trying to invent a way to get alone, and constantly being drained more. 

The other night I was walking down (alone!) from the 3rd floor to the 2nd floor, and I just cried out to God about it, begging Him for a chance to just be alone, without shirking my duties or carrying less weight than everyone else or being selfish and leaving all the brunt of the work to others. And He asked me one of those penetrating questions that reset my whole perspective.

"Do you really need to be alone?"

So of course, my mind started clicking through all the possible answers. My first reaction was, "Yes! Of course! You know me! Don't you see how much I need it?" But the question didn't go away, and it slowly dawned on me: 

All I need is Jesus. 

I don't need alone time in order to be an effective missionary--I need Jesus. 

My source of recharge is not in getting by myself; it is in Jesus. 

On the one hand, letting go of my desire to be alone felt terrifying. What if God took me up on it? What if I never got to be alone again? Just thinking that thought was enough to trigger a panicky, clutching, reflex-like motion. I wanted to grasp, manipulate, and struggle until I got to be alone, and then I wanted to stay there for as long as I wanted, basking in the silence, and recharge. A lump rose in my throat at the thought of giving up something so precious, so dear, as my alone time. To give up the right to it, the title to it, the "mine-ness" of it--that would be a sacrifice. 

But on the other hand, if I didn't think about what I was losing, but instead focused on the truth, suddenly it was possible to open my grasping claws and let go. 

Truth: God could ask me to sacrifice all my alone time for the rest of my life, and that would be ok. He could supply all my sufficiency. So there is no excuse for me to pout about not being alone. If I really live what I believe, I can lift up my head, smile, and face the crowded world teeming with people, not because I've had enough time alone to recharge and find it in myself to face them, but because Jesus in me is enough, and His grace is sufficient to give me whatever I need to pour into them. 

In that instant, God brought me to the point of surrendering my right to be alone, laying it on the altar, and giving it up. But He didn't stop there--He brought me even farther, to the point where my soul could actually rejoice that I am not alone, and I could make a wholehearted, grace-prompted declaration: "I rejoice and delight in not being alone." All of my self-pity evaporated and I was reset, recharged, and cheerful again. 

Ah, surrender--it's the shortcut to relief. :-) 

A Haitian Thanksgiving

There was no football game (and no TV to watch it on, even if there had been).

There was no Black Friday sale on the next day for everyone to get excited about.

There was no one to call it the obnoxious name of "Turkey Day." (Thank goodness!)

There was no crisp, biting air and bare tree branches outside the window.

And it definitely wasn't "Over the river and through the woods."

It was simply and purely our missionary family getting together for some long-awaited American food and fellowship.

On the menu:

Turkey. It looked like ham, and it tasted like ham, but the package said turkey. So we called it our turkey ham. I actually think it was some kind of sandwich meat.

Velveeta Shells & Cheese. A yummy gift from the US-based staff. THANK YOU!

South African Stir Fry. Secret ingredient: Mango chutney. Fabulous!

REAL mashed potatoes

Gravy

In the orange bowl: Stuffing, also a gift from the US staff.

On the square platter: Sweet potatoes. Yes, that gray mound is sweet potatoes. The sweet potatoes here are a whitish color, apparently. They were really yummy!

We had a lovely, God honoring conversation over dinner. My favorite part was hearing stories from Annie of people whose lives God had changed and redeemed, and the results of His work in their lives.

We had lots of Haitian kids in attendance, too, and *gasp*--none of them really liked the food! To me it was like eating ambrosia and the elixir of the gods. Never has American food tasted so good. Our menu might not look that amazing to you, but all those "normal" dishes were such an incredible treat to us, they might as well have been served at the White House.

Thank you, God, for all of your many blessings to us this year!

~ ~ ~

Let me recount:

This time last year I was in Spain, serving in Betel. Thanksgiving Day, I worked in the church, and I remember saying, "Happy Thanksgiving" to some of the Americans there, and they all did a double take, like, "Oh, yeah...it's Thanksgiving, isn't it?"

I served in the jolly, happy house in Azuqueca for about three months, and went to England in February, where I served for about three more months in Betel.

I came home and spent about a month at home, recharging from my experience and absolutely loving being with my family.

I went to Ellerslie and spent 9 weeks there.

I went home and spent just less than a month, a brilliant, delicious month of time with my family.

And then I went to Haiti.

Last Thanksgiving, if you had pulled aside the veil of the future and revealed me in Haiti "on this day, one year later," I would never have believed you for a minute.

But look at the way God has led, directed, and opened doors! It is incredible! It is fabulous! All the way, I was led just to the brink of the end of the current step before I could see the next step. But God's hand of blessing has been so evident on every bit of it. I am in the grand adventure--not just a wannabe bystander watching the current flow by. I am living, breathing, and sleeping it. It is marvelous! Praise God for His abundant direction and provision!

Glimpse of the market

Usually we drive by the market on motos. We whisk through and never have a chance to interact with people. But the other day, an American we know offered us a ride to the creche in his car, and on the way he stopped in the market to buy some watermelons and bananas. This is what ensued (viewing from the back of the car).

It still amazes me how exciting it can be to just pick up fruit at the local market.

More Haitian Food

Beans and Rice

Cornmeal mush with black bean sauce and onions

Beans and rice with spicy fish

Cornmeal and beans with sauteed vegetables and beef

Beans and rice with chicken

Cornmeal and beans with smoked fish

Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches, Haitian style

Cheese and Pineapple pizza from the snack bar--totally NOT Haitian

Breakfast at the Club Indigo buffet--what a treat!

_______________________
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Haitian Food
The Cost of Food

Dusty Roads

Dusty dirt road through the banana fields

During Hurricane Sandy, the bridge on the highway between here and Port-Au-Prince got damaged, and it has been closed ever since. That used to be the only way to get to Port-Au-Prince from here, but recently they constructed a provisional bridge on a detour route.

We were on the way to the airport to drop some people off, and I had requested to go along. It was my first time back to Port-Au-Prince since I got to Haiti, and I wanted to see if everything en route was still as shocking as I found it to be when I first got here. It wasn't. But I'm still not used to the way everything turns into an adventure, even a "routine" airport run.

We got in the tap-tap at 6:30 and headed off. When we got to the turn-off for the detour, we noticed a bunch of people milling around like something was happening. All the buses, semi trucks, dump trucks, and tap-taps were pulled over to the side of the road, and their passengers were sitting on the curb, waiting. The local residents were all standing in little groups, talking excitedly and gesturing.

Someone told our tap-tap driver that the road was blocked up ahead and that no one could get through because there was a manifestation going on. The residents along the detour route were fed up with all the dust that the heavy traffic created, so we were told they had blocked the bridge and overturned a bus in the road and that there were people demonstrating in the street so no one could get through.

Our tap-tap pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the engine. Our translator, Jack, came out to tell us what was going on and explain what our options were for getting to the airport on time. We were trying to make it there for a 10:15 am flight.

"You can wait for the police to clear the demonstration and then see if you can drive through," Jack said, "Or you can walk down this road, take a moto to a footbridge, walk across with your luggage, and take another tap-tap on the other side the rest of the way to the airport."

We considered both of those options and neither of them looked good. Waiting for the demonstration to clear could take hours--or days. We saw one police car drive in to the scene of the manifestation. The people on the street laughed. What could so few police do against an entire angry mob? We didn't expect there was any way for that to happen.

On the other hand, walking across the footbridge with large pieces of luggage did not seem to be the safest option. There were a lot of angry people around. Jack said this was a dangerous area. We were white, and most of us were women. Our bags were huge. We would be obvious targets for robbery.

I prayed a short prayer for God's blessing and direction, and I ended with the request, "Please open the way so that we can get to the airport in time to catch the flights." But even as I said it, I realized that I didn't really have the faith to expect that we could do it. It seemed impossible.

We started talking about trying to re-book the flights for the next day. Jack's friend, Jimmy, said there was another road, but it would take longer than three hours to get to the airport by that way, which was all the time we had at this point. It was another loop that would take us all the way back up through Saint Mark and around to the north.

Jack went to see if he could negotiate a good rate for a tap-tap in case we should decide to walk across the footbridge. He came back almost immediately, however, saying that it was not a good time to try to cross, because there were too many people trying to cross to get to school on the other side of the river. Maybe if we waited for 15 minutes and tried again, he said, it would be safer.

We called one of our staff members in the US and asked her about changing the flights. She said it would be better to try one of the other options. We would wait 15 minutes and check the footbridge again. If that still wasn't an option, then we would wait for the manifestation to clear for as long as we possibly could until there would be no way to make it to the airport on time. In that case, we would try to re-book the flights.

One of the guys led in prayer again, asking for wisdom and direction. I had the confidence that God was going to lead through whatever decision the guys made.

Jimmy came up and said, "I don't think there's any use waiting for the demonstration to clear, because they're saying now that the people have torn up the bridge completely."

We got a call from our stateside staff member, who had talked to someone else, who said they do this all the time, and she always gets through. She said we should just drive up to where the crowd is, find out who the leaders are, and bribe them with $20 to let us through. We were talking to Jack, asking him if he could negotiate this for us, when suddenly someone came up to our tap-tap driver and reported that the demonstration was cleared. Just then, all the trucks roared to life and started going down the road, so we did, too.

How reliable is information that you get from the street? First we hear that they've overturned a bus in the road, then we hear that the bridge is dismantled, and then the news comes that it's open? Quite the telephone game happening here.

When I see this picture, I do a double take. "This where I live!?"

We went on to the bridge, and it was indeed open, lined with heavily-armed police on both sides. They were directing traffic across the one-lane bridge, letting 10 cars or so across at a time in each direction. We got across!

Photo of the bridge from our way home from the airport. The police were gone by this point.

It was obvious why the people disliked the dust. The dirt road had kicked up so much that the banana leaves looked tan rather than green. But I still don't understand the Haitian mindset. It looks to me like they want to stop the problem via destruction rather than productivity. "We don't like the traffic, so let's destroy the bridge," seems to be the prevailing notion. Why? Why not demonstrate to make them pave the road, for instance? There would be ways to do that--wouldn't there?

Can a plant even do photosynthesis when it is caked with this much dust?

Just past the bridge, someone in the tap-tap said something like "Water is coming."

"Water is coming?" we thought.

Then we saw it: a huge truck with a tank of water, spraying it out in a horizontal jet, right at the level of the tap-tap's open sides. The girls all fled to the opposite side of the tap-tap as the water sprayed in, and then had to sit back down on a wet seat. Ahh, the adventure. But at least they were doing something about the dust problem.

How would you like it if this was your house, this close to the road? 

Just from breathing the air through that one trip to the airport and back, the inside of my nose and my respiratory passages were caked with dust, and it took a few days to really completely clear it out. What if I had to breathe that all the time? My hair was caked with dust when I got home. What if I didn't have a shower, or water to take one? The truth is, Haitian people put up with a lot more hardship than most people even know about.

And we made it to the airport on time! Praise the Lord! God answers prayer! Even when you don't have the faith to believe that He will do what you ask, hey, you have nothing to lose by asking! Who knows if he might just show off a bit to bless you and increase your faith?

Port-Au-Prince Toussaint Louverture International Airport (PAP)

My students

Here are all the precious children that I work with every day! (Click on the picture to enlarge.)

Hunter update

Hunter.

Ahh, this child with outstanding personality, humongous special needs, and incredible patience in the midst of difficulty. 

He and I have such good times together. I take him and snuggle him and we go on little walks. I say the alphabet to him and he echoes me--more or less precisely--while he looks at the sign-language letter that I make with my hand.

But he has slowly been getting weaker. He used to be able to sit up in a chair while he ate his meals, and lately he has been unable to do that. He slumps more limply in my arms when I carry him, and the skin on his thighs has begun to hang in loose wrinkles.

Also, his hands are still pitiful, and they seem to be getting worse.

I think it's a combination of scabies and hand, foot, & mouth disease, compounded by the fact that his leukemia and HIV have left him with practically no immune system, and exacerbated by the way he constantly chews on his hands.

I showed his hands to the nurse and she cleaned them really well with hydrogen peroxide, iodine, and neosporin. He screamed and writhed while they were dressing his hand, but it was so necessary, I could not help but rejoice that finally his hands were getting some help. 

It made me wonder--how many times do I scream when God is cleaning up something rotten in my life? How many times do I writhe and try to flee from under His restraining hand? How many times do I doubt His love? But if I could only see how necessary it was, if I could only know how it was poisoning me to let it continue, I would know that it was precisely because of His love that He performs the painful surgery. 

The nurse has been dressing his hand every day since then, so he now has a fat white bandage around his left hand. Good thing, because it keeps it out of his mouth. 

• • •

A large mission team came to volunteer at the creche this week, and I was talking to one of the team members. We walked by Hunter's crib and I was bragging on him to her about how lovable he is, how he can repeat words you say, and how he constantly has a good attitude despite his health problems. 

We were standing there loving on him when a couple of other people walked by. 

"Oh, isn't that the one who only has a month to live?" one of them said. 

I froze. 

A month to live? 

"Is that what they told you?" I asked. 

"Yeah, when we had the tour, they told us that he only has about a month left," he said. 

"Oh," I faltered. I could see that he was unaware of the effect his words were having on me. He did not realize that they came across as callous and unfeeling. How could he know?

"Oh. Well, I'm glad you told me that because...I love him..."

I was choking back tears now. I struggled to maintain my composure. I took a deep breath. 

"So..." I continued, "that'll just give me time to prepare my heart."

He walked on, probably unaware of the blow that I had received. 

• • •

If it's only a month now, I will treasure it. 

Precious!

Our newest baby rescue:

"Oldline," 18 days old.

The Cost of Food

Haitian money. 1000 gourdes equals about $25.

Just a few examples of the cost of food here in Haiti.

Gallon of milk: $10.50
Pound of butter: $7.00
Dozen eggs: $2.75
28-oz. jar of peanut butter: $7.85
370-g. jar of raspberry jam: $5.38
48-oz. can of Crisco: $9.38
18-oz. container of prunes (with pits): $5.25
Can of pink salmon: $6.00

I know that things are inevitably more expensive on an island where everything must be imported. Just ask anyone who has been to Hawaii. But unlike Hawaii, where there is actually an economy, industry, jobs, and cash flow, Haiti has none of that. 

My question is, how does the Haitian afford to eat anything? 

Laundry

Just when you thought YOU had a lot of laundry...

Try washing clothes for 180 kids!

In the heat.

By hand.

With detergents that cause your skin to peel after just one day.

With flies buzzing all around you.

Washing sheets that are stained with poop, onesies that are drenched in spit-up, and shirts that reek with sweat.

My roommate Bethany helping with the washing

Your tools: A hose, a couple of buckets and large wash basins, and some balls of soap.

Your dryer: A clothesline on the roof, causing you to have to take many trips per day up and down the stairs, bearing loads of clothes so heavy, it takes two people to carry them.

The dry clothes then have to be folded, sorted, and taken back down the stairs to the clothing room, where there are huge baskets and bins for every size under the sun.

Your work is never-ending.

Even if you did somehow manage to finish all the clothes, your work would start up again tomorrow with a vengeance.

And imagine if it rains!

When Hurricane Sandy brought us four consecutive days of rain, we got a backlog of clothes so large, the bundles started piling up in the schoolroom.

And then--


Do all this with a smile on your face and a song on your lips, a faithful energy and an unflustered spirit.

And you'll be approaching the quality of our laundry ladies.

These two ladies do such a good job!

• • •

Now go take that laundry you've been procrastinating on, dump your clothes in the washing machine, add some soap, start it up, and walk away. While the machine is doing all the work for you, freeing you up to do other, more interesting things, think about these two ladies and say a prayer of God's blessing for them.