Day Four began with another picturesque morning. John and I stood on the balcony of the clinc with our coffee, unable to take our eyes away from a blanket of pink clouds that dressed the mountaintop. It is the one year anniversary of the tremblement de terre.
We made bacon and eggs just before the power went out, so the five of us shared breakfast in the dark. It seemed appropriate for this place as well as this day. This is a place with no tight schedules, where the common theme seems to be, “Be patient and keep trying.” This is a place of grace, and I was reminded of what someone I fell in love with used to whisper in my ear, “Tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes.”
After breakfast, we headed back over to the orphanage in Uncle Nick’s truck. Nick isn’t afraid to get his truck dirty. If you’re one of those folks who finds status in driving a big truck that is camouflaged in mud, you should visit Double Harvest and take a ride with a Vanwingerden. Despite the bumping and flopping around, I managed to stay in the truck, but J.L lost his glasses.
Haiti is a place of bondage as well as freedom. While these folks were brought here as slaves and continue to live in slavery to their government, they are free to do so many things that would land Americans in the slammer. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to these children jumping on our vehicles and riding miles and miles away from home through countless villages that all look the same. All of the villages have dusty, almost naked babies, skinny cows tied to trees (and I don’t mean ice cream), crumbling block homes, sugar cane, underbrush and a dog. All the dogs look the same in Haiti. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s the same one. If I had one, I’d name him Fruitcake.
These children jump on our moving vehicles. They’re risking their lives, especially when Nick is driving. American children have to wear helmets on bicycles and sit in car seats until they’re eight years old. These kids are standing in the back of our truck, and we’re essentially kidnapping them for the day. Their mamas have no idea where they are, and I have a feeling they’re not looking. And of course, the children are not playing hooky from school. These children don’t go to school.
At the orphanage, the men had poured a good part of the footers for the new school. When we got there, the Haitians were already buzzing about, anxious to pour and spread the rest of the concrete. These men were off from work for the day in memorial of the earthquake, and they wanted to donate their time to Ashley’s Orphans. I ran off to teach Kelvins, Deacons, Jonathan and Makens how to play War. We played for almost an hour, and somehow Makens was always the winner.
I could hear a ceremony going on in the church to commemorate the day all Haitian lives were changed. I was anxious to join them. Soon, my friend Denise came and invited me to go with her. L’eglise had a concrete floor and metal grates in the windows instead of stained glass. Women sat on one side, men on the other. Denise and I sat with the children. Some women had brought towels and were lying on the floor with babies. One woman handed me her baby and asked me to kiss her.
The people were singing a song apparently called, “Bezwen Jezi” which directly translates, “Need Jesus.” Haitians don’t sing the way many of us do in American churches. They sing strong and LOUD. I was astonished at the intensity of that song among the people. I sat there numbly, knowing that I don’t understand dependence on Jesus the way they do.
A pair of precious dark arms was raised in worship in front of me, severely wrinkled from both age and survival. The worship leader called out, “Meci se Dieu, Meci Jesu, Meci Papa, Meci beaucoup, Meci, Meci, Meci…..” His list of thank yous was eternal. I wondered whether people who have so few material things have Bibles. Could they read them? It looked to me like the Word was truly written on their hearts.
Soon a new, livelier song broke out and women and children began dancing in the aisles. Children encouraged me to dance with them. They had no idea what they were asking. Just in time, I looked back and there was Stanley waving me to come out of the service. Stanley, who speaks adequate English, had become my friend from Day One. In fact, my husband came home from Haiti in September talking about Stanley. He is a treasure. When I went outside he said, “I just wanted to make sure we were okay.” I was shocked to discover that he was offended that I had played games with the other children, and had apparently neglected him. He said, “I saw you worshipping in the church and I knew you had Jesus, so I knew I could tell you.” Namaste. The Spirit in me identifies with the Spirit in you. I am so thankful to have that Spirit in common with so many brothers and sisters around the world.
Pray for all nations to worship the Creator. Pray that we can let go of self-reliance and trust in a Sovereign God.
Dawn
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