We spent 12(ish) hours traveling in a hot charter bus to cross the border from the DR to Haiti. I was just waking up from a nap when I heard “get your passports ready, we’re at the border!” As we all scrambled to gather our things and walk through customs, I peeked out the window to see dusty mountains and busy markets. As the guard pressed another stamp into my passport, it suddenly hit me that I was in month 2 of this thing that I still can’t believe I’m actually doing.
“God show me what You see in Haiti. Show me what You’re doing here. Show me where I can join you.” His response was a whisper… “Look closely; These are my kids. I speak their language. I understand their culture. I serve them in ways they understand.”
As we drove through the dust clouds, I could sense that this month was going to teach me something beyond my own notions of what “fullness” truly is. My squad and I are serving alongside a ministry called Mission of Hope, located in Titanyen, Haiti. Titanyen in Creole literally means “less than nothing.” It’s certainly no mistake I am where I am, especially during this season. Being in Haiti has awakened life in me I didn’t know was dead. A sense of hope in an unseen promise…a childlike trust that God keeps His word even when it doesn’t seem true from my vantage point. There is hope here though you might not see it at first glance.
I remember what the Father said that first day- “look closely…”
Then I saw it…the hope that was waiting to be found in the women practicing voodoo in the waterfall as she bathed herself in “lucky” water, not accepting the truth we shared- that with Jesus we don’t need good luck because He takes care of us. In the voodoo priest who wouldn’t let my teammates pray near the candles that he was praying at- likely because he could sense the force of God our team carried. In the orphans who don’t want to let us get close and in the ones who cling to our necks for hours as if they’ve never been held before- neither knowing that they have a perfect Father that cares for them. I saw the hope in the strategy of this organization as they strive to disciple and train Haitians in every area so that one day this entire ministry is Haitian run and not American sustained; so that they are not changing the way Haiti was created to worship God, but rather making a way for God to be welcome in the land He knows and loves. This land is called “less than nothing,” but I see hope. I see it bubbling up from underneath the very things that seem so hopeless. And I love watching it and being part of it.
I’ve spent this month painting orphanages, cutting grass with machetes, hand washing laundry with Haitian women (who do it way better than me), playing with the village kids, getting my butt kicked in double dutch jump rope, politely declining marriage proposals, wrangling goats for farmers, sharing Jesus with voodoo masters, and experiencing God by fearlessly asking Him tough questions that can sound as simple as “Why?”
Jesus used Haiti to show me hope manifesting itself in what seemed hopeless, so that I could notice His hand working in my own life the same way: calling hope to rise out of my disappointment. Sometimes I focus too much on what’s difficult, hard, or “seemingly unfair,” and I forget that God’s good plans for us always include being made more like Christ; and often times, dying to our flesh and being made more like Christ hurts. Jim Elliot wrote “Your Word says ‘He makes His ministers a flame of fire.’ Am I ignitable? Oh God, keep me from the asbestos of distractions.” Like Jim, I want to be ignitable. But being ignitable doesn’t stop at being a blazing force for the Kingdom of God; I believe it also means being placed in the refining fire. Romans 12:1 says for us to present our bodies as a living sacrifice. My friend here on the race told me “every other sacrifice was slain on the alter; as a living sacrifice, we are the only ones who get to choose whether we will get up or remain surrendered.”
Oh, Haiti. I love you so much. Thank you for being the catalyst that opened my eyes to so much more.
