I have yet to write a blog about my time in Haiti.
I wake up to the sound of the ocean and
Breakfast is always ready.
Today, and every other day, it is fresh baked bread, a banana, coffee, and hot chocolate/pudding.
Once and a while we have a little variety, but not too often.
Now is the only guaranteed time I have with the Lord.
I take advantage of it.
This time is my favorite.
We head off to a day of work.
That looks different for everyone.
It could be a day spent in the kitchen with the most diligent, hardworking women I’ve ever met.
Peeling, dicing, and squeezing all kinds of fruits to make the delicious juice they always serve.
Or kneading the never ending pile of bread dough.
Sweating, always sweating.
It could be spent in a small room full of wood.
FULL of wood.
Moving and organizing, all day long.
It’s like playing a scary life size game of Jenga.
Or hammering and pulling nails out of boards.
The nails never cease.
There are always more boards with nails to be found.
It could be spent in the clinic typing records
Observing the sick and the achy.
Listening to the voodoo stories,
Seeing the babies that are way underweight,
And praying the medicine shelves never run out.
We ride home in the back of a large truck
Through the unleveled roads
Ducking from the trees
Occasionally getting nailed in the face.
After quite the wobbly ride we return home.
The rest of the night is ours.
We eat, we spend time together, we Skype with family back home.
When I feel the exhaustion forcing me to sleep I hop in my tent
And fall asleep to the sound of the waves.
I wake up to the sound of the ocean and
Breakfast is always ready.
Today, and every other day, it is fresh baked bread, a banana, coffee, and hot chocolate/pudding.
Once and a while we have a little variety, but not too often.
Now is the only guaranteed time I have with the Lord.
I take advantage of it.
This time is my favorite.
We head off to a day of work.
That looks different for everyone.
It could be a day spent in the kitchen with the most diligent, hardworking women I’ve ever met.
Peeling, dicing, and squeezing all kinds of fruits to make the delicious juice they always serve.
Or kneading the never ending pile of bread dough.
Sweating, always sweating.
It could be spent in a small room full of wood.
FULL of wood.
Moving and organizing, all day long.
It’s like playing a scary life size game of Jenga.
Or hammering and pulling nails out of boards.
The nails never cease.
There are always more boards with nails to be found.
It could be spent in the clinic typing records
Observing the sick and the achy.
Listening to the voodoo stories,
Seeing the babies that are way underweight,
And praying the medicine shelves never run out.
We ride home in the back of a large truck
Through the unleveled roads
Ducking from the trees
Occasionally getting nailed in the face.
After quite the wobbly ride we return home.
The rest of the night is ours.
We eat, we spend time together, we Skype with family back home.
When I feel the exhaustion forcing me to sleep I hop in my tent
And fall asleep to the sound of the waves.
This place I call home is peaceful and serene.
God really blessed me.
All of Haiti doesn't look like this.
I'd go to say very little of it actually does.
I have driven through the country.
It scared me.
My heart was heavy.
I felt incapable of making the slightest impact here.
But God came through, as He always does.
He has taught me that He is everywhere.
I always thought I was sure of that.
But on my drive through Haiti I was not.
Not until I was faced with a place of such devestation and darkness did I question God's presence.
Through and through this month He has assured me that He is here.
He is the single white bird that flies over the slums.
He is freeing, He is light, and He is always here.
