The Multi-Tool

I have a couple of multi-tools that are really, really useful in Haiti. This amazing multi-tool comes with the following features and would be useful for missionaries, parents, teachers, veterinarians, military personnel, and more. It would be good for even the very youngest of children, for it was designed with their safety in mind.

Screwdriver
Hammer
Half a bowl (but I have two so I can put them together)
Spatula
Vise
Sprinkler
Eating utensils
Half a musical instrument (works when you use two together)
Directional arrow
Acoustic clicker
Comb
Blunt force whacker
Expressive nonverbal language features
Bottle opener
Puppets
Tweezers
A number of hooks
Washboard
Paintbrush
Plate
Toothbrush
Q-Tip
Toilet Paper
Washcloth
Sieve
Rolling Pin
Massage tool
Abrasive scratch


You would think, with all these features, that my multi-tool would be bulky and more trouble than it's worth, but it fits in a pocket and it's really easy to wash. I love my multi tools so much--I would hate to lose one!

(It's a riddle. What is my multi-tool?)

25 Reasons I am Thankful for Ants

My roommate and I are trying to turn a habit of complaining about ants into praise to God in all things, so we challenged each other to come up with 25 reasons we are thankful for ants. Our theory was that our two lists would not be alike, so we would end up with 50 reasons why we should be thankful for ants. We wrote our lists without consulting each other, but I think that there ended up being bit of overlap. (See her list on her blog.)

1. Thank you, God, that ants provoke a lazy person to be diligent (Prov. 6:6)

   

   Ant-eaten holes in my clothes

2. Thank you, God, that when I find my clothes swarming with ants and see the holes they have eaten into the fabric everywhere, it reminds me to store up treasures in heaven, not on earth (Matt. 6:24)
3. Thank you, God, for this major incentive to mop every day, which keeps our house lovely.
4. Thank you, God, that ants clean up trash like dead cockroaches and so contribute to tidiness and order.
5. Thank you, God, that ants are impossible to kill. This inspires me to be the same way when Satan sees me: constantly invading and never worth the bother of squishing because I will merely wriggle into shape again and crawl on my way.
6. Thank you, God, that ants can wander around the same square of tile for a long time without finding anything or getting anywhere. This inspires me to not lose heart in the midst of seemingly pointless labor. 
7. Thank you, God, that ants successfully carry really big loads. This inspires me to never be daunted by my littleness compared to the size of a project. 
8. Thank you, God, that ants bite hard! This gives me a chance to thank You in all things and rejoice even when I suffer. 
9. Thank you, God, for how the ants unify the missionaries--everyone unites in the fight to make the house inhospitable to them!
10. Thank you God, for how ants can fit into really little cracks, like little reconnaissance robots. That's cool. I'm thankful that ants are cool. How lame. I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel. I've run out of all the obvious ones. Lord Jesus! Make me really, truly thankful for ants! How can I praise you for ants that crawl on me and bite me and eat my clothes and ruin my food and swarm everywhere over the floor? Help me.
11. Thank you, God, that ants look ahead and plans for the future. I am thankful that even in such a little (seemingly senseless) creature, I can find an example of this kind of wisdom. 
12. Thank you, God, that the ant is responsible without anyone telling it what to do. That inspires me to be the same. 
13. Thank you, God, that the ant does its seemingly insignificant job faithfully and consistently, because that is what You have designed it to do. That inspires me to do what You have designed me to do faithfully and consistently, too, even when it seems insignificant.
14. Thank you, God, that the ant has a master sense for food. Within minutes of us dropping a crumb, it will be surrounded and an ant highway will have developed. It makes me consider: Do I have that same hunger for spiritual food? Do I immediately sense the smallest crumb that drops from heaven? Do I seize it, and tell all my friends, and get them to help bring it back to my home and to my life? Thank you, God, for this lesson. 
15. Thank you, God, that ants make no sound. They do their work in silence. They get squished in silence. Thank you, God, that they don't sound like mosquitoes!
16. Thank you, God, that ants are so numerous! It shows me what impact numerous tiny things can have. They suggest that I never again need to wonder if my numerous prayers are having any impact.
17. Thank you, God, that ants can burrow through the cement walls and floor of my house. That's amazing. I thank You that this means they can get in. They can also get in through the open windows and doors. I thank You that in every way, our house is not closed off to them, even though I don't feel very thankful, because you only allow what is good.
18. Thank you, God, for ants being fast. Sometimes I have to try two or three times to get my thumb on top of one of the hyperactive ones. That helps me to speed up my reflexes, which I'm sure is good for my brain. 
19. Thank you, God, that ants are edible. I'm sure I have unwittingly eaten lots of them. 
20. Thank you, God, that ants are organized underground. At least the vast majority of them are probably out of sight at all times. 
21. Thank you, God, that ants are not 3 feet long. What horror that would be!
22. Thank you, God, that ant bites are not poisonous. If they were, I'm sure I would have died by now. 
23. Thank you, God, that ants are under man's dominion and I'm allowed to kill them without committing murder. 
24. Thank you, God, that for the whole first 30 years of my life, I never even knew what it was like to have to face this problem. 
25. Thank you, God, that you created the ant, that you declared it very good, and that you have a purpose in teaching me to be thankful in all things through this little creature. I am yours, ants or no ants!

Easy vs. Hard (vs. Harder)

It's easy to be a fun, nice older sibling. Misbehavior problems are just relegated to mom.
It's hard to be a fun, nice teacher. Misbehavior problems tempt you to become hard and stern.
(It's harder to be a mom. Teachers get to let the children go at the end of the day.)

It's easy to throw your clothes in the washer.
It's hard to wash them by hand in a bucket.
(It's harder when you are on the third day of a 101 degree fever and you've eaten two meals in the last two days.)

It's easy to pour yourself out for kids' enjoyment when you get to give them back at the end of the day.
It's hard when they're around you, 24-7.

It's easy to take a shower in cold water. I often wish it was colder.
It's hard to take a shower with no water.

It's easy to have patience when you understand what's going on.
It's hard when you have no chance of understanding, because even if you understood the language perfectly, the cultural aspects would still be inexplicable.
(It's harder when people take advantage of that fact and maliciously keep you in the dark)

It's easy to keep your house clean when you can close your windows and doors, suck up dust with the vacuum cleaner, fill your mop bucket with running water, and turn on the light to see where you're cleaning.
It's hard to keep your house clean when you constantly have people tracking in and out, gaping openings for dust to come in at every window, ants burrowing their tunnels in the mortar between your tiles, and no water.
(It's harder when you're doing it in the dark by the light of one kerosene lantern.)

How do you respond when things are hard (and then harder)?

Paul was "pressed out of measure, above strength, insomuch that we despaired even of life." (2 Cor 1:8) But his response was a bracing call to the surrendered life:

"But we had the sentence of death in ourselves, that we should not trust in ourselves, but in God which raiseth the dead: Who delivered us from so great a death, and doth deliver: in whom we trust that he will yet deliver us." (2 Cor. 1:9-10)

When things are hard, it is an opportunity to rejoice, because God's resurrection power is made that much more available to us. 

Prerequisite for Discipleship

A study from Luke 14:26-33

If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.

And whosoever doth not bear his cross, and come after me, cannot be my disciple. 

For which of you, intending to build a tower, sitteth not down first, and counteth the cost, whether he have sufficient to finish it?

Lest haply, after he hath laid the foundation, and is not able to finish it, all that behold it begin to mock him, s

aying, This man began to build, and was not able to finish. 

Or what king, going to make war against another king, sitteth not down first, and consulteth whether he be able with ten thousand to meet him that cometh against him with twenty thousand? 

Or else, while the other is yet a great way off, he sendeth an ambassage, and desireth conditions of peace. 

So likewise, whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple. 

Ou Dunatai (Vs. 26, 27, 33) ου δυναται

Ou means “not.” Dunatai means “to be able or possible: - be able, can (do, + -not), could, may, might, be possible, be of power.”

Not possible. Can not. Not able.

I was struck by the repeated instance of this same phrase three times in this passage. Just one simple little word in English, “cannot,” but it carries with it such a vast wealth of meaning.

“I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me,” the Bible says. So where is this word “can’t” coming from? Jesus Himself is saying it. Is there any such thing as the word “can’t” in a Christian’s vocabulary?

“Cannot be my disciple.” Not able to be a disciple of Jesus. Not possible.

“All things are possible to him that believeth.” “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.”

The only way to reconcile these two facts from Scripture is to divide the world into the two categories that the Bible divides us into: In Christ or Not In Christ. The person who is in Christ is enabled by divine grace to do all things. The person who is not in Christ is under divine judgement  and unable to do anything to please God.

So Jesus’s words here reveal to us that it is not possible to be in Christ as long as we are holding on to the things of the world (family, possessions, our own selves, and all that we have). There is not such a thing as a Christian who is holding on to the things of the world and a “better” Christian who has surrendered all those things. According to Scripture, it is impossible for a man to be Christ’s disciple until he denies himself and surrenders everything to the lordship of Christ.

Proton (vs. 28, 31) πρωτον

Proton in Greek means “firstly (in time, place, order, or importance): - before, at the beginning, chiefly, (at, at the) first (of all).”

Think of our English word proton. It came from this Greek word. We cannot see an atom, and we think of it as the smallest building block there is for all of the elements of the world, but a proton is even smaller. Atoms are made of protons, neutrons, and electrons. So a proton is a building block for the smallest building block.

Take that concept and apply it to this verse. When Jesus says “first” here, he means backing up all the way to the beginning of the beginning. Sit down FIRST and count the cost. It’s mockery, it’s death, to begin to act like Jesus’s disciple and then refuse to give Him everything.

The Builder and the Warrior

“For which of you, intending to build a tower, sitteth not down first, and counteth the cost, whether he have sufficient to finish it? Lest haply, after he hath laid the foundation, and is not able to finish it, all that behold it begin to mock him, saying, This man began to build, and was not able to finish.”

Who in the world would expose themselves to this kind of mockery?

“Or what king, going to make war against another king, sitteth not down first, and consulteth whether he be able with ten thousand to meet him that cometh against him with twenty thousand? Or else, while the other is yet a great way off, he sendeth an ambassage, and desireth conditions of peace.”

Who in the world would expose themselves to this kind of danger?

How do these two examples relate to the point of the passage?

The builder and the warrior are analogous to a man who tries to follow Jesus without giving everything up.

Jesus says, “Whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple.”

Without first (proton) forsaking all that you have, you cannot (ou dunatai) be Christ’s disciple.

---If you are not Christ’s disciple, you are not In Christ.

---If you are not In Christ, you have none of the righteousness of Christ.

---If you have none of the righteousness of Christ, you must stand before God in your own righteousness, which is like filthy rags.

---If you stand before God dressed in your own righteousness, you will be exposed to mockery (see the builder) and death (see the warrior).

• Mockery, because everyone will see that you started a foundation called “Disciple of Christ” in your life, intending to build a tower of righteousness, but you ran out of supplies and your tower remained unfinished, whereas if you had taken Christ’s righteousness, it would have been enough to create a perfect and complete tower. 
• Death, because God’s wrath is poised against you, and your own righteousness provides you an insufficient defense to protect yourself from being crushed by its blow.

Summary

In order to be Christ's disciple, you must forsake all that you have. Your own life, your own righteousness, your own treasured possessions. Retain possession, and renounce discipleship. Let go, and become worthy of Christ and be found "In Him," not having your own righteousness, but His. An interesting dilemma. All or nothing. Take Him, and forsake everything, and end up finding everything in the long run, or seek to retain everything, and leave Him, and end up losing everything in the long run. 

I choose Him. 

In which I unwittingly flush my underwear down the toilet

...yet another episode in the series "Please Protect Me From Myself"...

How does one flush underwear down the toilet without knowing it?

I'll tell you.

But to understand the story, you first have to understand my washing machine. I have the most brilliant washing machine ever.

5-gallon bucket.
Toilet plunger. (Clean, brand new, clearly labeled for Laundry Use ONLY!)
Add clothes, water, and detergent.
Plunge up and down while you memorize Scripture or read an interesting book.
30 minutes later, wring clothes out and remove to rinse water.
Rinse, squeeze out, and hang to dry.
Voila! Clean clothes!

Today I washed a load of clothes while I happily read my Kindle. Laundry used to be my most dreaded chore. I don't really know how to wash clothes by hand, and it inevitably took a long time, was very frustrating and backbreaking and boring to me, and hurt my hands. So this new system with the plunger and the bucket is a great relief.

I washed my clothes. I rinsed them. After rinsing them, my rinse water had turned quite black, but I shrugged my shoulders and said to myself, "That's life." I don't have the luxury of enough water or enough time to rinse my clothes until the water runs clear. I had a pile of little twisted logs of clothes that I had wrung out, and as usual, I disposed of the water in the toilet. But as it poured out, I saw a black pair of underwear slip over the rim of the bucket and disappear in the toilet bowl. My water had been too black to see it.

"Oh no!" I thought. "Now I'll have to go fishing for my underwear in the toilet bowl!"

But my dismay at this thought quickly amplified when it all flushed down, underwear and all. Now it was gone.

Ooops.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no!" I said, wringing my hands. "Now our toilet is going to be plugged."

I put on a pair of rubber gloves and dunked my hand in the toilet bowl, squeezed it down the hole at the bottom, and fished to see if maybe it was right there. It wasn't.

I pulled my hand back out and doused the glove in bleach. Hopeless.

At that point, I figured it was just a matter of waiting to see what happens. Would we have to find out the hard way whether our toilet was plugged or not? None of us knew how we would retrieve the underwear at that point. So all I could do was hope for the best. Couldn't call a plumber.

What else could I do?

I prayed.

"God, can you please see that pair of underwear safely all the way down to the septic tank?" I asked.

(Can you believe I asked God to look into the tubing of the toilet and the septic tank to watch over a piece of underwear, of all things?)

Do you think God smiles at requests like that?

But so far, he has answered, because all evening, the toilet has flushed just fine.

Bestowing Goods to Feed the Poor

"And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor...and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing." 1 Cor. 13:3

Being here in Haiti, I am struck by this verse. It is not the bestowing of goods that counts, but love. I believe we could accurately say that even God, if He had not love, could bestow all His goods to feed the poor (which would result in the immediate alleviation of all poverty, since God has infinite resources), and it would be worth nothing. In other words, it would be preferable to have a world with poverty and a God of love, than to have a world without a God of love and no poverty. Our grief in seeing poverty everywhere around us in Haiti should be outweighed by the rejoicing that we have and serve a God of love.

It is an eye-opening concept that I could continually give away to the poor all the way to my last possession, and it would be worth nothing if I had not agape; and it surprises me that anything but love could motivate me to do such a thing.

However, on the other hand, if love did motivate me to do this, then it would be worth something. Bestowing all my goods to feed the poor appears in a list of of quite the pinnacle of Christian activities.

• Speaking in tongues (vs 1)
• Prophesying (vs. 2)
• Understanding ally mysteries (vs. 2)
• Having all knowledge (vs. 2)
• Faith that can move mountains (vs. 2)
• Giving my body to be burned (vs. 3)

These things evoke a certain wide-eyed wonder in the world. They catch people's attention. One could say, "Whoa, he just foretold the future," or "Look at that! He prayed and that mountain moved." In the same awestruck (yet not comprehending) tone, someone could say, "Whoa! That guy just gave away all his goods to feed the poor. Wonder what he is going to eat now? Let's watch and see what becomes of him." It can be a tremendous, tremendous testimony when motivated out of love (just as it can be nothing when motivated otherwise).

What does love look like in the person who gives all his goods to feed the poor?

1. Love for God
God's love has so transformed this person that he says, "God, I trust you." When God asks him to give up something precious for the sake of a poor person who is going to consume it, perhaps ungratefully, and then still need more, he does not resent the fact, but looks with glowing love at the Savior, and cheerfully gives it up for Him who gave up His life for him. When God asks him to give again, he doesn't get tired of it, but trusts God as he further reduces his own possessions. And when God asks him to give up his last cent, his last thread (imagine if you had given up your house, but you had two sets of clothes, and then God asked you to give one set up), he still says, "Lord, I trust you," and commits the keeping of body and soul to his faithful Creator.

2. Love for the Poor
There is a kind of giving to the poor that demoralizes him, keeps him aware of the shame of his neediness, and perpetuates his poverty. Many books have been written and many great minds have bent themselves to figuring out this problem, but the answer is simply love. If the person who loves God goes on a mission by God to the poor person to give him something, then God's love in His servant will overflow and spill onto the poor person. The poor person will feel loved, cherished, valued, and treasured. The shame of his poverty will begin to be healed, not exacerbated. Love will win him and set him on his feet in a way that money never can.


How far am I from this level of agape love? I barely give to the poor, much less give sacrificially, much less give "all my goods." How much do I love? Do I trust God enough to go all the way through with something like this if He called me to it?

I do not think God calls everyone to give away all their possessions--but I do think that whether God ever calls us to do that or not, we ought to be ready and willing to lose all our worldly goods, and even our life, for His sake.

I claim that I would give up my life to God. I tell Him so in prayer. But what if He asked me to give up my computer? I cringe at the thought. If I would not be willing to give up my stuff, would I really be ready to give up my life?

And what does God want me to do tomorrow, and the next day, and in the coming week, with the vast poverty that surrounds me? Are my goods fully at His disposal? Do I fully love? Do I love Him? Do I love the poor?

100 things I love

Got this idea from a friend's blog and thought I'd give it a try.

1. Jesus
2. The Bible
3. Missions
4. My family
5. Witnessing and seeing someone come to Christ
6. The color orange
7. Homemade chai tea
8. Playing Liebestraum on the piano
9. The book of Hebrews
10. Hiking Roan Mountain at sunrise
    
11. The medina in Fez, Morocco
12. Tinkering in Photoshop
13. Hymn singing
14. Long road trips
15. Downtown Malaga, Spain
16. Knitting hats
17. Baking cinnamon raisin bread
18. "Cities and Knights" scenario of Settlers of Catan
19. The Sacred Harp
20. Learning other languages
21. Thanksgiving dinner
22. Skiing fast enough for the tears to stream out of my eyes
23. Teaching anything to anyone
24. Green & Black's Espresso Dark Chocolate
25. Crocheting doilies
26. Drawing horses
27. Virginia (the state)
28. Card games with my grandma
29. Reading biology textbooks
    
30. Being alone
31. Kayaking to the rope swing, and swinging on it
32. Tatting yards of lace 
33. Doing my hair in old-fashioned styles
    
34. Eating Granno's apple pie
35. Reading Les Miserables 
36. Travel
37. Diving off a high rock into a lake
38. The Elroy-Sparta bike trail
39. My Kindle
40. The city of Oxford, England
41. Embroidery
42. The Kentucky Derby
43. Long, handwritten letters
44. The third movement of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata
45. Swinging in a hammock
46. Gothic lettering
47. Painting
48. The Appalachian Trail
49. Spanish Flamenco dresses
50. Cashews
51. Sitting in a lawn chair under a palm tree
52. Deep conversations with friends
53. Holding baby chicks
    
54. Running as fast as I can down a hill
55. Modeling play-doh into animal shapes
56. The Sodium-Potassium pump
57. White sandals
58. Lots of heavy blankets on my bed on a cold night 
59. Daffodils
60. Making homemade black raspberry jelly
61. Cockatiels
62. 100% Deet bug spray
63. Sharpie Markers
64. Giving piano lessons
65. Aunt Elaine's cheesecake
66. French Toast with strawberries, blueberries, and whipped cream
67. Lush green hills under blue skies
68. Building a snowman
    
69. Climbing to the thinnest branches at the top of a tall tree and swaying in the breeze
70. Eating with chopsticks
71. Hot weather
72. Door County Cherries
73. Ice hockey with friends on a frozen pond
    
     
74. Making gingerbread houses at Christmas
75. Jumping off a diving board
76. Making handmade cards
77. Cutting paper snowflakes
78. Eric Ludy's sermons
79. Carrot-Beet-Spinach juice
80. Tackling an intellectual puzzle
81. Bonfires
82. Hudson Taylor's 2-volume biography
83. Developing PowerPoint presentations
84. Folding Origami flowers out of Hershey's kiss wrappers
85. Public speaking
86. Chess
87. Reading aloud
88. String quartets
89. The organization Betel
90. Finale software
91. Looking at the stars
92. Going to a wedding
93. Giving gifts
94. Horseback riding
    
95. Fall colors
96. Butter on frozen bread
97. Mississippi Mud Cake
98. Cold showers
99. Peppermint Lattes
100. Thinking about heaven

Emilia's Donuts

Haitian Donut Stand. Photo credit: Emily Brown

When I first started going to the market, I noticed an old woman on the side of the road, frying donuts. People always say, "NEVER buy anything from street vendors!" But I decided to break the rules. I bought five donuts for 25 goudes, ate one, and shared the rest with friends. It was delicious! It tasted like the homemade donuts from the Betty Crocker cookbook. And we never got sick, so now, we pass by and stop to get a donut about twice a week.

Haitian Donuts. Photo Credit: Emily Brown

In a land where everything is expensive, this is quite an affordable treat. One donut = 5 goudes. That's about 12 cents.

Emilia with her bowl of dough
Photo Credit: Emily Brown

We have chatted with the woman who makes them. Her name is Emilia. She sits there with a big bowl of dough on one side and a pot of boiling oil on some coals in front of her. She uses her fingers to break off a section of dough, rolls it expertly between her hands into a log, makes it into a circle, and dips it in the oil. After frying it to the perfect golden brown crispness, she stacks it onto a metal platter, making a fragrant, steaming mound.

Just imagine--all she has to do is walk out her front door, light her coals, and sit in a chair by the street with her little donut operation. She fries up her whole batch of donuts, and in a few hours, when the last one sells, she goes home.

We talked about the contrast between what it would be like for her to set up her little donut stand on the sidewalk in New York. She would have to have a business license, insurance, health inspections, nutrition facts, ingredient labels, and who knows what other permits and paperwork and red tape. How much would she then have to charge for her 12-cent donuts? How much would this cut into her ability to make a living?

I'm not against regulations and structure. I think it's a good thing to keep food poisoning to a minimum.

But if a Haitian can make donuts on the side of the road, pulling the dough into pieces with her hands, not wearing gloves, and the Americans who enjoy the donuts don't get sick... perhaps we have too many regulations in place. Just thinking.

Doing Preschool

Teaching the sounds of the letters
Photo Credit: Emily Brown

It is amazing to me that we are already doing preschool. We designed, planned, and launched a program to serve the preschool kids, who desperately needed instruction. And so far, it is going smoothly!

We still have lesson planning to do, and there are still things that we can hone and tweak, but for the most part, it's up and running. Emily and I work together to teach a large group class for one hour, broken up into four different 15-minute segments. Then we take the kids three at a time for personalized instruction tailored to their developmental level. We have three half-hour blocks for different groups. Then we come back and do another one-hour group class.

The kids have been very responsive, interested, and well-behaved. They have all showed great promise for learning quickly and catching up where they were behind. It's exciting to have this chance to work with them!

Happy Easter!

Photo Credit: Emily Brown

Yesterday I realized that Easter was a day away and I had not painted eggs yet. I have no use for the Easter Bunny, but painting eggs is one of my favorite Easter traditions. Whether or not it has anything to do with the holiday, I like making gingerbread houses for Christmas and painting eggs for Easter.

“I wish I had some egg dye,” I thought. I wished I had had the foresight to ask someone to bring some down. But then I remembered that I had acrylic paints. Why not? I thought. So I pulled out some brushes and the acrylic paint performed brilliantly. It was way better than egg dye. Loved it! I’m going to use acrylic paints every year. There were so many more possibilities with it. And when we peeled and ate the eggs, the color had not penetrated to the egg white at all like some egg dyes do.

The eggs I decorated

We had Easter dinner at Club Indigo, so we all got a filling, delectable meal after church. How kind Jesus is to us, to give us such beautiful and unexpected treats. 

Photo Credit: Emily Brown

Emily
Photo Credit: Ryan Vandepanne

Shane
Photo Credit: Ryan Vandepanne

Ryan
Photo Credit: Emily Brown

Photo Credit: Emily Brown

My roommate Emily and I also did a little photoshoot in our Easter dresses on the roof of the creche. I love the view of the banana fields and the mountains.

Photo Credit: Emily Brown

What a good day! 

Black Spiky Bits In My Foot

Today Emily and I had a day off! We had an interesting and fruitful trip to the market in the morning, and in the afternoon, we decided to go down to a neighboring mission and sit on the beach. I brought my Kindle and expected to have a short swim and a long, delicious read.

We got in the water and set off for the end point of a jetty built of large rocks that was on the right side of the swimming area. As we swam, the wind was blowing right in our faces, and the waves were crashing into us head on. It was a bit difficult to reach our destination, and before we got there, I started feeling the fact that I had had a plate of beans and rice and a Coca Cola just minutes before. Bad idea...

So when we reached the rocks, I said to Emily, "I'm just going to climb onto the rocks and sit here for a minute."

I put my hand out and touched the nearest rock. I started to put my right foot down on another rock.

"Ouch!" I yelped. I had stepped on a sea urchin, and now, nine black tips of its spines were lodged in my foot, letting out their painful poison.

My black-dotted foot, and the point at the end of the jetty where I stepped on the sea urchin

We headed back for the shore immediately, and I limped out of the water. As I got out, I saw that I also had a huge laceration from a jellyfish on my thigh, but my foot hurt so bad I couldn't even feel the jellyfish sting.

I sat on a rock and sent Emily to go ask the people at the mission if sea urchin encounters were dangerous to one's health. It hurt so bad I wanted to cry, and the hurt wasn't letting up.

Emily came back and said that the Haitians told her the best thing to do would be to soak it in pee. I gave a great burst of laughter. "I should do that, just to be able to say that I soaked my foot in pee in Haiti," I said. But as I sat there, it already started to feel better, so I said to Emily that we might as well read and relax for a little longer before we went home.

Emily found a dead sea urchin on the beach that we used as a prop

While we were sitting there, a woman named Angie came up and met us, and we had a lovely and significant conversation with her. It seemed such a God-ordained time--and it probably wouldn't have happened if I wasn't sitting there with a sea urchin problem in my foot.

About an hour later, one of the Haitians came and picked out all the spikes from my foot with the point of a safety pin. By the time I walked home, I could barely feel it, so there didn't seem to be any need to resorting to such drastic measures as soaking my foot in the yellow liquid.

So that's the story of me surviving a sea urchin sting!

Birth of a Preschool by God's Grace

My job title has expanded. I am now developing a preschool program, teaching it, and doing teacher training for others who will be involved in it.

The preschool house has always daunted me ever since I got here. Until this week, I still didn't even know all the preschoolers' names. I was aware that there was a great need for someone to invest in them, but I was completely absorbed in my work with the school-age children and didn't see how I could also do preschool. I saw many people try to take on the work of teaching them, and everyone ran into major obstacles. It just seemed so hard to do anything with them.

Well, God is great, because He opened the way for me to add this role into my schedule. I will not be working as much with the school-aged children for the time being, but they also have a Haitian teacher, who is incredibly competent and helpful with them, and I myself will still have 1 1/2 hours with the older kids each day.

I look back and realize, "Wow, preschool came to life this past week!" It was last weekend that I was assigned this new role, and by Thursday we were teaching and implementing our new structure with them. I also look back and realize that last week was the same week that we were the most "pressed above measure" with extra chores, because the generator went out and we didn't have power, so we were carrying water and just generally overwhelmed with the workload of just cooking, cleaning, and laundry.

I look back and say, "HOW did that happen?" I don't even know.

Yet His grace is ALWAYS greater than our need. So He chose to maximize His glory by causing this huge, daunting project to come to life in the very hardest, busiest week that didn't seem to have a crack of time for ministry in it.

God is glorious. I serve a majestic, sovereign, mighty King! What a privilege to walk in His ways!

A rat in my room

Snap!

I heard the trap spring shut. And then--

Squeak! Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!

What in the world? He didn't die! I thought to myself. He must be a big one. 

It was 2:30 in the morning, and I was in the shower. I had gone to bed hours earlier, but I was still lying there, too hot and sweaty to fall asleep. I didn't want to bother to get up, strike a match, light my lantern, and go solve the problem by dousing myself with cold water.

Then I heard it.

Munch, munch, munch.

The sounds of chewing brought my senses to full alert. That rat is back again, I thought. I'm going to set the trap. I had just bought a rat trap in Port-au-Prince, because I had been having problems with my little nightly visitor, but I hadn't had a chance to set it yet.

I got up and lit the lantern. Of course the rat silently fled, so I didn't get a sight of him. I looked around, and sure enough, there was a neat little bite taken out of one of my fruits.

I grabbed the trap, opened my food tote and pulled out the peanut butter. Too lazy to get a spoon or something, I used my finger and wiped some of it over the little bait spot. Then, without thinking, I put my finger in my mouth and licked the rest of the peanut butter off. Horror struck me as it dawned on me what I had just done. Good thing this was a brand-new trap, I thought. I had better never, ever, ever do that again.

I set the trap carefully and put it near the spot where the rat usually visited. Then, since I was already awake, I figured I might as well get in the shower.

That's why I was in the shower at 2:30 in the morning when the rat trap sprang.

I was drying myself off and I heard him thrashing around the room, giving vociferous cries and squeaks.

What in the world? I thought. He's going to get away with my trap!

I also wondered how Emily was doing. She is my roommate and has just arrived in Haiti. She must be freaking out, I thought. Alone in the dark with a wild, frenzied rat. I wish I was at least there in the room with her.

A knock came on the door. I heard Emily's voice. "The rat got caught," she said. "Yes, I heard," I replied. Well, at least she wasn't afraid to get out of bed and walk across the floor, I thought. Her voice sounded pretty calm, too. A new respect sprang up for my new missionary family member.

As soon as I could, I exited the shower and came back to my room to investigate. Everything was quiet. Was he gone or dead?

Photo Credit: Emily Brown

There he was, upside down, and quite dead.

Finally.

Photo Credit: Emily Brown

I put on a pair of rubber gloves and picked up the trap. Emily grabbed her camera and followed me out the front door. I posed for a couple of pictures and then gingerly opened the trap. The rat fell with a thud onto the ground. I picked him up by the tail and launched him over the wall as far as I could into the banana field.

There.

He was gone.

We did it.

And then we went back to bed and slept peacefully for the rest of the night.

Haitian Church

Finally! After being in Haiti all this time, I got to attend a Haitian church.

I piled into the van with the rest of the school-age kids from the creche. We drove into Montrouis and turned down the little side road where they sell the bread. Just past a pump where people were filling up dozens of buckets, we stopped the van and walked down a footpath to the church.

The church meets in a half-finished building. The concrete walls form a structure that promises to be beautiful, with arched windows and a high roof--only the windows aren't put in yet and there is no roof. The metal braces that form the rooflines are covered with a large tarp tha,t used to be a US billboard. The words "Emergency Services" and a huge phone number are visible. However, wind and/or exposure to the elements have ripped this tarp from some of its moorings, so it no longer goes over the whole roof but droops down in several places, allowing the sun to shine in. I kept looking up at the blue sky visible above me and marveling at the many different kinds of green leaves I could see--palm fronds, mango leaves, and many others I couldn't identify.

There were a number of wooden benches set up along the shadiest wall in the church, and as we piled in with our huge group of kids, people were very accommodating to make room for us. The church was full. People were dressed in their best, and each person carried his or her own Bible and songbook.

There was no electricity. The church had no instruments, but people sang in parts, and sang heartily and beautifully. The preacher had to compete with someone just outside the walls who was knocking stones together to break them into smaller pieces, and with a hog that was squealing loudly. I was pleased at being able to understand most of the main points of the sermon.

During the announcement time, a man got up and said a few things. A lady behind us stood up and stated her name and where she was from. Then the man made eye contact with me and gave an encouraging smile.

"I think they're asking all the first-time visitors to stand," I said to Shane (one of my fellow missionaries), who was sitting beside me.

We looked at each other, confused because we really didn't understand, and didn't want to do it wrong. What if it was something totally different? Then we would be standing up and making ourselves conspicuous. The man at the front repeated what he had said and gave another encouraging smile our way. I asked a woman sitting next to us, and she said we should stand, so up we stood.

Was that enough? Did they just want us to stand, or were we supposed to give a longer speech? Everyone seemed to be waiting expectantly.

"Bonjou," I said, a little weakly. What was I supposed to say?

"Bonjou," the entire congregation responded.

They still seemed to be waiting expectantly.

"Am I supposed to tell our names?" I asked the friendly lady next to us.

"Yes," she said, "And a little bit about you."

So in Creole, I told our names and said that we worked at the creche, and then sat down.

The church service in general was very organized and reverent and traditional. The people seemed very serious, except for one little boy in the front row who kept busting dance moves and then looking back at me to see if I was duly appreciating them. I smiled at him, and he would always give a huge smile back.

Afterward, several people greeted me, and it was good to connect with other members of the community.

Then we went home. They kept piling children, children, and more children in the van, way more than on the way to church, because they had brought them in two loads, but now they wanted to take them home in one load. I said to Memen that Shane and I could walk home if she didn't think there was room for us. "I think we have room," she said. She kept directing traffic, cramming more and more people into this 12-passenger van, and finally succeeded in getting two seats open for Shane and I to sit. Then our laps were filled with children and she continued filling the rows ahead of us. When we finally took off, I counted. The van had 35 people in it. And then they turned on the heat. One of the girls was right next to the register, and sweat was rolling down her face. They didn't know how to work the switches to turn on the AC in the back, but after a general protest, they finally just turned it off altogether, which was a welcome relief.

All in all, it was a fun day! I hope I can go back! But maybe I'll make arrangements to walk home...

You're Not Allowed To Be Needy

Needy People (1) 

We went to the store in Saint Marc the other day, and while we were there, word went around that a vehicle with white people had just come up to the store. When we came out with our purchases, there were a ton of women with babies, all with their hands out, all demanding that we give them something.

It felt horrible to be so accosted, just because we were white and just because we were coming out of "the store." How could they understand how delicate our own financial situation was, how carefully we had to manage our own resources, and how fully each of us had to trust God for the food that we ate? To them we just looked like rich people, because we were driving a car and buying things with debit cards.

It also felt horrible to not give them anything when we knew they truly were hungry. If we had started giving anything out, we would have been mobbed, and our car would have been marked for next time as a car that gives things away, and so next time we would have been mobbed as soon as we drove up.

We drove away, and for the next few days, I was filled with a sense of the unpleasantness of it all. One side of me was preparing retorts that I wished I had had the presence of mind to say at the time, like, "Yeah, you have one baby to feed. Try providing for 180," or "Do you have any idea how many days in a row I have had to eat peanut butter and jelly?" The other side of me was grieved at the condition of the people, and I was frustrated by the knowledge that I really did not know how to deal with it in my own soul.

Overarching it all, though, was an annoyance that I had to deal with it at all. "Why can't they just go away and leave us alone?" I wondered. "Why do they have to come up and bother us?"

Needy People (2)

The kids have picked our front porch as their favorite place to play. They play there until it is time to go to bed, and the air is filled with shouts and laughter and the normal sounds of play. Balls and toy cars roll back and forth, and games of tag produce shrieks of excitement. Most of all, though, the kids just want to be near us. They want to be noticed. "Look! Look!" "Do you see?" "Watch this!" They crave attention. They want love. They want us.

Usually I am right in the thick of everything, with a crowd of kids around me, but one night, at the end of a particularly intense day, I just wanted to go away and be by myself. I hid in the house. Still, the noisy chatter echoing just through the doorway started to grate on my senses. I didn't really know what I wanted, but part of me seemed to be yearning and longing for something, and part of me wanted to cry, and part of me was restless and unable to enjoy reading or any other activity I could think of. I was accosted by thoughts like, "I never want to have children as long as I live," and "I can't wait to go home." Again, that annoyance came back to me. "Why can't they just go away and leave us alone?" I thought. "Can't they pick a different place to play?"

(I hate to admit to the world that I have experienced these awful thoughts, but there they are, in all their ugliness.)

You're Not Allowed to Be Needy!

I think the puzzling aspect in common between these two stories is that (1) I am usually abundantly generous and (2) I usually love children. Yet in these two cases, I experienced great annoyance that someone would presume on my generosity or my love of children and expect me to give it.

Is it human nature, or is it just me?--to discover that I am happy to give (of myself or my money), but only as long as you don't come across as too needy or too demanding.

"I'll give to you," I seem to say, "but only if you're not needy. You're not allowed to be needy. Once you start to be needy, I will begin to withdraw from you."

I will buy you lunch if you're my friend, and I won't even expect you to buy me lunch in return, but if there's any hint that you are going to sap my resources and suck me dry, I probably won't buy you lunch even once.

I will play with children and be a "big sister" with all my heart, but when I'm expected to be mom, um, that's an investment of time and energy that I shrink away from.

I will give you attention and show you love, but when you start to act like your world revolves around me, that's not okay, and I will run the other direction.

But God doesn't say to be a cheerful giver only to the ones who are "not needy."

In fact, he cautions against giving to the rich. He specially highlights the widow and orphan (society's neediest) for our attention. He doesn't offer caveats like "minister only to the deserving poor" or "love the ones who don't have Reactive Attachment Disorder."

So What Am I Supposed to Do?

Good question. I'm still asking Him for wisdom on that one.

But some answers have come.

Timothy Keller, in his book, Ministries of Mercy, traces the source and origin of poverty to the fall, and highlights the fact that all of us are needy. We ourselves are recipients of mercy. His insights into what the Bible says about the poor smote me to the heart and caused me to repent of my supercilious attitude towards the women in outside the store in Saint Marc. No more did I wish to have a ready retort for them. How can I show them mercy instead? If I have nothing to give, I can at least mirror Peter and John's approach ("Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have give I thee...") How can I impart the love of Jesus, even in this kind of encounter? (And how do I avoid the equally egregious pitfall of saying, "Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled," without giving them what is needful for the body?)

Unlimited Resources 

In withdrawing from those who are needy, I tend to excuse it as a survival mechanism or a self-defense technique, using language to myself like "parasite" or "sapped" or "burned out." I tell myself I "need space," I look at the benefits of "recharging," and I consider it isn't wrong to leave a person to God and not always consider myself God's answer to that person's need.

True, true.

But this kind of thinking reveals a perspective of limited resources. I only have so much money, time, energy, and reserve before I need to replenish.

What if I looked at everything from the perspective of unlimited resources?

God has unlimited resources. All of us are needy before Him. We are always crying, coming to Him, needing His aid. He never turns us away with an annoyed look and says, "No, you're too needy right now. You're not allowed to be needy." He has merciful, bountiful care for all of the needy people in the world at the same time. He never runs out of love, patience, attention, or wisdom to attend to our needs. He always has enough resources to provide the supplies we need, even when we are like little leeches on Him, sucking, sucking, sucking, and never giving back. He freely gives grace, finances, strength, and peace.

Do I, or do I not, have the mind of Christ?

Scripture says that I do.

Then my mind ought to be equally disposed give to the needy around me.

How does God give? Does He worry that He will run out? Does He question whether the person is worthy? (The answer would always be no, wouldn't it?) Does He look at how many times that same person has been needy in the past and has applied to him for aid? Does He experience a rising feeling of panic that He will never be able to get away from this needy person if He once starts to give?

No.

So how can I practically enter into accessing God's unlimited resources for the needy people around me?

For starters, I can recognize that I walk in obedience. For everything God has called me to do, I can expect Him to supply out of the bottomless aquifer. The women begging outside the store are perhaps outside my call to obedience, unless God specifically prompts me to give in a certain instance (which He has done before, and which I have heeded). In any case, I can expect God to provide for them with or without using me as a tool to give them something. I need not feel annoyed that they beg, but rather love them and feel compassion that circumstances have compelled them to resort to begging.

Secondly, I can confidently and fearlessly spend myself wherever God calls me to do so. I can offer myself a living sacrifice and go all the way down into death if need be, if God should so desire. I need not attempt to keep a "reserve store" of energy or love or funds, because I have discovered that as I draw from His supply, He constantly replenishes that supply as much and as often as needed. My supplies ran out long ago. Everything I have is from Him. The children who surround me every day are the calling that God has currently given me. If I look to Him for the love and kindness that I spend on them, I need not ever feel annoyed at their neediness or sense that I have run out of anything to give them.

Conclusion

The next time I am tempted to protest, "You're not allowed to be needy!" I can stop and reconsider, and change my story to, "I'm not allowed to be the judge of your neediness--I will obediently and cheerfully follow God into whatever He calls me to do for you."

The key is God's call. I could start looking around and seeing neediness all around me, and it would be overwhelming, even should the entire world try to invest in relieving the needs. The only variable on my end is obedience. I must look up, not around, and merely obey, not try to invent ways for myself to be heroic and save the world. God has already done everything needful to achieve that. I simply enter into His initiatives, and when that involves giving to the needy (which it frequently will), I can freely and bountifully do so because of His power working in me.

Granola Bars

It's terrible how covetous one gets for food when in Haiti. Among ourselves, we call it worshiping the belly god, and we fight it off as much as we can. So I try not to give in too much to it, and to be content with the food that God gives me, even if it means lots of beans and rice or peanut butter and jelly.

But the other day, I had an immense craving for granola bars. "Lord, could you just...somehow bring me some granola bars?" I prayed. And my unstated thought was, "I wish I could have more granola bars than I could ever eat! I wish I could have a whole mountain of granola bars!" But I quickly identified that thought as catering to the "belly god," and forthwith pushed it down.

Well.... of course, God hears our thoughts, even the ones we immediately endeavor to "unthink," and this time, in a move reminiscent of showering one of his other servants with bananas, He just decided to show off what He could do.

A group came down this past week, bearing a duffle bag loaded with granola bars. The guy who bought them said he cleaned off the shelves at Target.

A week after we all had feasted on these granola bars, I decided it would be fun to count them and divide them into ziploc bags by the different flavors. So here is the tally as of this morning (and remember, this total was initially much greater by an unidentified amount!):

 5 - Fiber, Almond & Dark Chocolate
 7 - Fiber, Oats, & Chocolate
 7 - Clif Crunch Chocolate Chip
 9 - Clif Crunch White Chocolate Macadamia Nut
12 - Strawberry
12 - Mixed Berry
13 - Apple Cinnamon
13 - Banana Fudge Filled
14 - Chocolate Fudge Filled
14 - Dipped Chocolate Chip
15 - Blueberry
21 - Fiber, Oats, & Peanut Butter
21 - Fruit & Nut
24 - Boxes of Raisins
24 - Packs of Extra Butter Microwave Popcorn

Total: 211

You have to admit--that's a mountain of granola bars.

Thank you, God!

The Grandeur of God, the Nearness of Eternity, and the Value of the Soul

“I grieve that my love is no stronger, and that I am no more like Him. I wonder at His glory, and sink before Him with shame. How is it that the soul being of such value, and God so great, eternity so near and yet we are so little moved?”--William Bramwell

Do the grandeur of God, the nearness of eternity, and the lostness of man change the way I live my live?

I guess so, in a measure, if you compared my life with a typical 30's churchgoing career woman--after all, I've left my claim on a career and moneymaking to go and live in (gulp) Haiti, of all places--but I don't want to be compared with her! I want to be compared with who Jesus wants to make me, who I would be, should be, could be, if the grandeur of God, the nearness of eternity, and the lostness of man fully impacted me. Let me not shy away from the full brunt of those three forces. Let me look them full in the face and be blasted by their heat, until my hard heart be melted and I am no longer "so little moved." My heart is not great enough to bear the weight of these factors. It shrinks back in alarm. It shies away. It shields itself. It hides its eyes. It cries, "I cannot bear to gaze on even one of these aspects. I have not the love to offer in response in the measure that these great truths demand."

How will I seek to keep these realities ever before my mind when the bare writing of the above paragraph caused me to seek a few hours of escape on facebook? Honestly--how will I do it? By putting up a poster on the wall? By setting an alarm on my phone? God grant me the grace to not only keep these realities before my mind, but to change the way I live my life! Only through Jesus--and, in fact, amply and abundantly through Him--can I properly fix my perspective onto what truly matters.

Contemplating these realities, even a little bit, makes it obvious that I must change. Change how? What is it precisely that God is asking of me that the flesh fears so greatly? What do I think will be the requirement that comes with looking at the grandeur of God, the nearness of eternity, and the lostness of man? I somehow instinctively know there will be a demand, and the flesh is so afraid of facing that demand that it insulates itself and contrives methods to keep from ever looking in the first place. What is this fear? I do not approve of fear in my life--yet so far, in this area, I have rather permitted fear to reign than venture the merest glance into these realities.

This is what I'm afraid of: I'm afraid that if I look too long and hard at the lostness of man, I will have to witness. I'm afraid that if I gaze properly upon the grandeur of God, I will have to do crazy-looking things, like fall on my face and cry, "Holy, Holy, Holy!" I'm afraid that if I dwell on the nearness of eternity, I will have to cut away many enjoyable things that have no eternal value. All of these have one thing in common: They spell death to the flesh. So rather than approach the searing-hot grandeur of God, accepting my death bravely, I prefer to pretend like I don't know it exists. Rather than open my eyes to the lostness of man, die to the flesh's protests, and witness, I prefer to blind myself to their plight. Rather than walking right up to the nearness of eternity, accepting what it means, and ruthlessly stripping all unnecessary things away in light of it, I prefer to go on playing with my meaningless little toys.

This is an unacceptable state of affairs. The flesh's self-preserving trick of playing clueless, ignorant, and blind has been found out.

Now that I see that, I will walk in the truth. The truth says that the flesh was dealt with on the cross, destroyed, buried. So the flesh has no business sparing itself (or sparing "me," as it so dearly likes to phrase it) from the death, embarrassment, or cutting away that God invites me to experience. I am already dead. More of the same should hold no terrors for me. Oh, I need to witness? No problem. I am already dead to embarrassment, self-consciousness, and self-reliance. Oh, I need to fall on my face and do something weird, like cry aloud "Holy, Holy, Holy?" Okay. The old man who dislikes that kind of thing was nailed to the cross and can no longer have a say in the matter. Oh, I need to eliminate worldly pleasures, like reading books and oversleeping and eating too much sugar? Well, that can't possibly hurt at all, because the old man who used to like those things is no longer part of the picture.

What freedom! What glory! What joy! What possibility! When there is no longer anyone to protest, there is no longer that hindrance to walking in the fullest obedience. Experiences of past failures (for instance, my refusal to witness on the metro in Madrid) no longer hold their dread prediction that future calls to obedience will turn out the same way.

And so I step towards this blinding searchlight rather than hiding in the shadows, and I invite the Master to do His work.

Haitian Improvisation

When I was in Spain, I thought it was incredibly innovative to discover that you could wash windows without paper towels. I hand never done it any other way, but the Spanish women used newspapers. "Ah!" I thought. "What a brilliant money-saver." But here in Haiti, I think the level of improvisation is deeper and more creative. When you do without something, you just find something else to make do for the task at hand.

For instance...

Fingernail clippers

Dishrag

Rolling pin

Table 

Mop bucket

 

Baby wipes

Ironing board

No picture available: Tin can full of water sitting on the ground next to a bar of soap =

Handwashing station

Cereal Bowl

Math manipulatives

CD scratch repair kit (works!)

Strep Throat Cure (chew one whole every so often) (works!)

And then there are the things that have a proper use, and they're donated from America, and the Haitian has no idea of what they are or what they're for, so they come up with another use for them.

Clothes drying rack

And then there is another category: Things that Haitians have and use all the time that the American wouldn't know or understand without being told, like our charcoal grill range. 

Returning a Water Bottle

I had forgotten about this story until I was catching up in my journal and it came back to mind. Incidentally, this happened the same day as my Moto Ride Through Port-au-Prince. 

I was thirsty and hot. I paid the moto driver and then asked one of the nearby street vendors for a water bottle. It cost me 25 gourdes, and I asked if they had another one. They didn’t, but they went to get one from another vendor.

While they were gone, I opened the one I had. I tore off the plastic shrink wrap and opened the cap. The cap opened without ripping away from the little ring that is supposed to stay below the plastic lip at the bottom part of the lip of the bottle, and I thought, “Oh great. This is one of those bottles that they warned me about.” Joanne’s interpreter, Dony, had warned me that sometimes they took these bottles and refilled with them with different water which wasn’t safe to drink. When the vendor came back with another water bottle, I noticed that it was filled to a different level than the one I had. Without removing the shrink wrap, I twisted the cap slightly. I could see that it, too, was going to be able to unscrew without punching off the little safety ring. “Yep,” I thought. “These are bogus…not from the factory that the label says.” I had already paid for the second bottle, too, and I asked for my money back for both of them. I explained quite nicely and calmly that this bottle looked like it had been opened before, and I couldn’t drink that water, because it would make me sick. It made me sad to do it, because I was extremely thirsty, and I really, really wanted water, but I couldn’t drink water that was going to make me sick.

The guy gave me my money back for the second bottle, but not for the first. The reason for this, which I didn’t understand at the time, was that I had removed the plastic shrink wrap from the first bottle, and everyone had seen me do it. I could barely understand the Creole spoken around me, but I could gather bits and pieces of phrases here and there. I asked again, calmly and a bit beseechingly, for him to give me my money back. A crowd of people gathered around, and they all started speaking loudly with each other in Creole. One man came, as it were, to my defense, and I thought for a minute that I was going to get my money back. 25 gourdes is about 60 cents, so it wasn’t a huge deal, but I thought it was perfectly reasonable to expect to return something that showed obvious signs of being opened before and refilled. The man seemed to be demanding that the vendor return my money back to me. However, several people stepped in and said something I didn’t understand, which I afterward surmised must have been them reporting that they saw me take the plastic shrink wrap off, which, in their minds, meant that it certainly had not been opened before I touched it. The man shrugged his shoulders and disappeared into the crowd.

Another man shouldered his way forward, picked up the water bottle, and set it down with a decisive thump on the top of the cooler. “Take this bottle, and go away,” he said.

In that instant, something in the back of my mind told me that I ought to take his advice, go away, and just drop it. However, I didn’t obey my instincts.

“No, I want my money back,” I said, still calm, unruffled, and unafraid. “I can’t drink that water. It will make me sick.”

“Then take it and throw it away,” he said in exasperation. “You’ve lost it.”

That didn’t make any sense to me. Why had I lost it? Only afterward did I realize that in their minds, the presence or absence of the plastic shrink wrap (which I had taken off myself) formed the definition of “opened before,” while to me, it was the plastic cap itself, and the water level, and the whole aspect of this bottle being a “re-bottled” water. We were talking about two different things, and I didn’t know it, and they didn’t bother to understand my point of view. “No, I want my money back,” I repeated. I stood there, almost like a Haitian approaches an American, with my hand out, standing there without speaking.

More conversation ensued, more heated discussion in Creole by all the bystanders. Another person commanded me to take the bottle and go away. The voice in my head told me I’d better listen. I sighed. “Okay,” I agreed. I picked up the bottle and walked away.

Later, motivated by my extreme thirst, I drank the water. It didn’t ever make me sick.

But after that, whenever I walked by those vendors, someone would make a comment about a water bottle and 25 gourdes, and the whole crowd would burst out laughing. The first time it happened, I apologized humbly in my broken Creole for my role in that whole drama, but that caused another burst of laughter. It was somewhat intimidating to walk by there after that, because I felt that I had unwittingly made enemies, simply because I didn’t understand.

Aside: It’s interesting how one comes to understand things here. Having gone through this experience, I understand that it’s not quite as simple a matter as it is in America to make a return of a simple item. There is no such rule as “the customer is always right.” There is no allowance made for the defectiveness of an item being grounds for a return. Now I understand—but if some seasoned missionary had tried to tell me as much (which no one ever did, because there are so many of these things, no one could possibly keep track of them all to tell the newcomers), I would have believed it, but I wouldn’t have understood.