Ohhh….Haiti…
I feel like most people who walk into Haiti look at the poverty and the destruction and the filth and think it’s pretty hopeless here. I could tell you facts about the earthquake and its destruction and then remind you that Haiti is the poorest country in the western hemisphere and still the picture that would paint for you of this place would barely scratch the surface of what its actually like to live here.
Because truth is the majority of people here live under cardboard boxes and tarps. There’s no banks…none. Trash literally fills the streets, internet is a rare gold, and the rubble and remains of buildings everywhere seem like constant reminders of tragedy I’m sure these people would love to forget. The atmosphere in Haiti is unlike any place I’ve ever been. It’s every man for himself and there’s no respect or value placed on human life. The other day one of the dogs that hangs out at our house got pancaked (I’m talking like…flattened) in the street right in front of the team’s eyes. This morning a motorcycle tried to speed past our truck before we turned into church and instead crashed right into it and now has a shattered femur. Haiti is just an intense place.
And honestly, when we first drove into Haiti on the bus last week I felt completely overwhelmed by what I saw. But then we arrived at our compound where we’re staying for the month. It was dark and late and we’d been traveling all day, but as soon as my feet touched the ground I felt something different…hope! There’s such a refreshing sense of hope here.
The long rocky road we’d been riding on for hours brought us up to a large red gate guarded by a group of bright smiling Haitians. All 46 of us grabbed our packs and started uncramping our bodies and pouring out of a bus that was meant to hold maybe 20 people. Once inside we all stumbled underneath what the people around here call the “choukoun” (sha-koon). Somehow it manages to create the perfect atmosphere that makes us feel ever so slightly like we’re at a beach resort but also keeps us very aware that we’re nowhere near home and this isn’t vacation.
The warm food on the table the first night we arrived was enough to make me do a happy dance. The toilets and showers were luxuries I had refused to even dream about this month until I saw them here with my own eyes. Concrete pillars line the choukoun and provide the perfect support for us to hang hammocks on. Our whole squad is together for ministry this month so there’s a bunch of really wonderful people around me all day every day. But I’m super thankful for the special quiet places around the compound that provide an escape from the chaos and have pushed me into some much needed intimate time with the Lord. And as if all that isn’t enough… I fall asleep every night to the sound of waves crashing against the shore because our tents are literally 20 feet from the Caribbean Sea.
Then there’s church. Sure, it’s in the same building that functions as a small school during the week. And yes, it’s on the same construction site where we cut rebar and get covered in concrete every day. But on Sundays the place is transformed into a little bit of heaven and I love it. The same kids that come to the school during the week covered in snot and filth, wearing dirty scraps of clothing or nothing at all will walk into church every Sunday wearing their whitest whites and nicest dress. Worship starts and at the sound of their voices, almost immediately, the spirit of God rushes in the place and it gets so good.
In the middle of worship the pastor takes up the offering and what happens in that moment is seriously incredible…they own next to nothing but they give whatever they can. Every person in the building brought up something-mostly small coins that probably don’t add up to much at all. And yet from the time they left their seat all the way down to the offering bucket, the people never stopped smiling or singing. I love it because I just know that the church here really gets it. They’ve found joy in the midst of pain and they know hope even when their physical surroundings look hopeless.
As each day passes here I realize more and more how small my faith was that first night driving into this country. But God has been so faithful to show me good things. Like climbing trees to pick ripe mangos, and playing pick up soccer games on the beach, and singing Journey songs while pouring buckets of concrete for 8 hours. Or playing charades with Haitians to communicate simple words like hammer or wheelbarrow only to have them to laugh at me for 5 minutes and then respond with “so you’re trying to tell me you need a hammer?” in english. Haha yes… thanks a lot dude.
I’m learning that there’s a choice here in Haiti. It’s easy to look around at the poverty and the destruction and ask a lot of questions. And then when there’s no good answers or solutions you’ll probably feel overwhelmed by all of it like I did. OR, you can look around at all the rubble and choose to really believe that God redeems and that he’s pretty freakin good at taking a mess and turning it into something beautiful. Sure, life in Haiti isn’t pretty right now. The people here have been through a lot and it’s left the country empty and broken.
But we’ve all been there, right?
Maybe for you it wasn’t a physical earthquake. But I bet there’s something that left you staring around at nothing but a pile of rubble. Do you blame God? Do you let anger or bitterness completely steal your joy? I think one of the reasons I like Haiti so much is because it reminds me of my story and what God did in my life. He picked me up from my mess, dusted me off, and started putting all the pieces back together. For a while I’m sure I looked a lot like Haiti on the outside…one big disaster zone. But when I look closely, he was working. Just like he’s working here in this country. And I know it’s easy to get distracted by the rubble. I know it’s harder to look for hope. But I promise it’s there. And you have a choice.
I chose to believe that God redeems.
What about you?
