Steps

Adoption as Sons

2011-07-29T06:09:00.000-07:00

This week I had the privilege of attending my friends' court hearing to finalize the adoption of their little boy, Will. Having followed his story over the past 2 1/2 years and having seen the miracles God did just to get Will from Haiti to the US, I entered the courtroom with what felt like an ice cube in my throat and group of moths in my heart.

As the attorney stood up, and began to describe the papers she was handing the judge, I thought back to Mme. Soliet, the orphanage director in Haiti, and the innummerable phone calls and conversations she had had to get signatures from the biological father on those papers.

I thought of the Haitian judge, leaving in the middle of a meeting late on a Saturday night to sign papers that would allow Will to head to the embassy the following day and leave the country on a special post-earthquake visa.

And I thought of our dear friend Magistra Dahame translating those papers while sitting in a dusty classroom where the occassional rat graced the rafters and asking "Teacher, how would you describe the word "duress"?"

The South Carolina judge could never guess how many hours of stressing, running, and praying went in to getting those papers in his hands.

Then the attorney called upon the parents to testify. One by one, Beth and Justin, the parents who had fought 3 years through a forest of red tape for their son, were asked to make public affirmations of that love and commitment.

"Do you understand that this adoption is permanent?"

"Do you agree to take care of this child and meet his every need?"

"Do you understand that health problems could arise in the future?"

And on they went. "This adoption will make this child your legal heir, which means he can inherit from you and you from him, just as if he had been born to you."

Though Will had been living with Beth and Justin for over a year and had been their son even before that time, there was something powerful about this public declaration that this is their son.

And I couldn't help but think back to the bible passages where God sends his Spirit to declare about Jesus, "This is my son, whom I love. With him I am well pleased." How affirming for Jesus, and for Will, to hear their parents publicly affirming their identity as a beloved son.

While I tried to keep the tears pooled in my eyes and tried to swallow the ice-like lump in my throat, Paul's words popped into my head. "The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.”" Romans 8:15

Wow! The fact that God has adopted us as his sons and daughters makes so much more sense to me. After watching Beth and Justin and the things they were willing to invest just so they could bring their son home--the finances, the time, the tears--I think maybe I'm begining to get a glimpse of the love Paul was talking about.

When I walked out of the courtroom Wednesday morning, Will was in his Daddy's arms, friends were hugging Beth, and I'm pretty sure God was smiling and saying "Yep, those are my kids, and I love them!"

Grand Tour of America and Haiti Trip

2011-07-29T05:06:00.000-07:00

My fiance Matthew and I often joke that when we came home from Haiti for a break, we were coming for a Grand Tour of America. Often driving 10 hours one way to visit each other's families, going to weddings, and squeezing in vacation time I think it was a fairly accurate statement.

Well when I moved back from Haiti, it was no different. From April to July I had slept over night in Indianapolis; IN, Dayton,OH; Lynchburg, VA; Detroit, MI; Central, SC; Stoneboro, PA; and gone back for a visit to Haiti.

Below are a few pictures of my travels:

My Dear Friend Merline

2011-03-26T20:19:00.000-07:00

I had a really good time hanging out with Merline tonight. The two of us did a little bit of work in the afternoon then hung out in my house talking life and watching a movie.

While we're together, we switch back and forth between Creole and often blend words between both languages. Example I said tonight You can see my zos (zo creole for bone). To be honest I'm rarely conscious of which language we're speaking. At one point tonight I thought we were speaking Creole and realized she was speaking English, and I was responding in Creole.

We've figured out the perfect movie watching system, French dubbed with English sub-titles, and again, I honestly hardly notice that I'm reading while we watch. It's amazing to think how much the two of us have learned about each other these past two years.

Tonight we went for a walk along the sea. Probably the last of several seaside walks. As we walked we talked about our first walk together. How nervous I was when I read the Creole words on my note card: eske ou vle mache avek mwen (would you like to walk with me?) and how surprised she was that I genuinely wanted to be friends.

We laughed again at our first conversations and reflected on how good God has been to put us together. I can't believe what an amazing friend God has given me here in Haiti and can't believe my time here is almost up. It looks like I may have to find my way back to visit in the near future and in the mean time invest in several Skype minutes.

Peer Evaluation

2011-03-17T06:55:00.000-07:00

Last night in English class we were discussing of the meaning of the word peer. Taking my cues from Keith Folse's Great Writing 4, I defined peer as someone who is equal to you and proceeded to give examples. Teachers' peers are other teachers. Parents' peers are other parents. Etc. Then, trying to stretch this definition a bit, I said in church all the attendees are peers.

One of my students quickly posed this question, "But teacher, why are we peers in the church and then when we leave church we aren't all peers?"

Not wanting to let the moment pass, I invited the whole class to respond. The discussion that followed reminded me again of what an incredible opportunity I have to teach English class here in Haiti.

We talked about equality and submission to authority and ended with a bit of theology. "Teacher, I think that church is not a building. Church is in your heart, and wherever you go, you should take church with you."

The mayor chimed in, "The bible says we are supposed to love all people. And even if someone is not our peer we're supposed to love them and give them respect."

I'm sure I had a huge grin on my face the whole time my students were discussing this. I cannot hide how proud I am to hear their hearts and how excited I was that the definition of the word peer could provoke so profound and rich a discussion.

Walking By

2011-02-17T17:40:00.000-08:00

Outside the gate of our mission station, there was a man would lay in the dusty road. He lay there sometimes with his back propped against the wall and his oversized right leg sticking out into the street. Othertimes he sprawled out sideways, his head just inches away from the earth where goat poop, trash, and urine wash down in the rains.

Almost every day I walked passed him on my way to class, sometimes greeting him sometimes not. Usually I was in a hurry to get to class, and carrying only what I needed to teach: chalk, books, a flashlight for the walk home, so when he asked for food, I didn't have any with me to give.

Here I walk by people every day wearing tattered shirts or shoes two sizes too big. The kids, all of them, have learned 2 or 3 English phrases including "I am hungry," and "Give me one dolla(r)." And adults who see you in the street will ask you for the shoes off your feet, and those who see you in the store ask you to pay for the items in their hands. So I've learned to ignore, grown accustomed to turning my head and walking away.

But this man, lying in the street alone, was obviously not a child playing a game and testing his English or an adult looking for a laugh or some free phone cards. This man was dying in front of me every day.

Several times I thought, I should take some food to that man today, but don't remember doing that even once. I didn't give him any money or even a cup of cold water. I walked by him. So his face has haunted me. I see it sometimes when I read stories in the bible like the good Samaritan or of Jesus healing a beggar.

In April of 2010, I headed back to the States for a few months, and while I was there, this man's face never left my mind. I decided, when I get back to Haiti, I must give this man some food or something. I looked for him when I returned in August, but he was not here.

I asked about him and discovered he had passed away sometime while I was gone. I don't even know his name. Never had a real conversation with him. Yet the face of this man will forever be my companion.

Things Here that I Just Like

2011-02-01T18:26:00.000-08:00

There are some things in Haiti that are really tough and stink, but there is a lot of stuff here that is just really good and fun. Here's a list of a few of my favorite things here.

- Each of my students greets me with a handshake when they come in, and gives me another handshake when they go out.

- If you are with someone who has something you do not, they will almost always share what they have with you. (for example snacks) :)

- Everytime someone walks into class, even if they are late and class is going on, they say "Good afternoon, Teacher."

- Conversations with people you know well almost always involve a pat on the back, or putting a hand on their shoulder or maybe even a hug.

- My students call me Teacher.

- Everyone always asks about how my family is and sends their greetings to my mother, father, and sisters even though none of them have ever met one of my family members.

- When you're in, you're in. Once people here accept you, they take such good care of you. (When I was sick, 1 man offered to take my trash out every day, 2 ladies volunteered to do laundry, another woman cooked for me one day and sent V8, and everyone prayed.)

- Good friends hold hands sometimes while talking or walking down the road.

- Also, when you're sick everyone tells you to drink delicious fresh citrus juice...to which I have no objections.

I'm not sure what I'll do when I go back to the States. I really am going to miss some of these little bits of Haitian culture, and might have to try to transport some of these things with me without being too socially awkward.

Reflections In the Tension of Two Realities

2011-01-25T18:42:00.000-08:00

It's 8:30 in the evening, and it is still about 80 degrees out. My ceiling fan is on and the windows, as always, are opened. It's hard to believe that at the same time many people back in the States are huddled under blankets or sitting beside heaters as snow blows around outside.

But it's not only climate that separates these two realities. It's political structures, economic struggles, infrastructures, and a history of prosperity or poverty. While I'm in the States, showering in hot, drinkable water, I often think of the Haitians bathing at the public fountains or privately in their homes using a gallon jug of cold, untreated water. Or when I hop in the car and head down the highway to the grocery store, I think of the unpaved rocky paths in parts of Port Au Prince, packed with cars creeping up the road within inches of each other.

How is it that the realities of a five dollar a day cup of coffee and a nine dollar a day pay check can exist simultaneously? How can I walk down a trash covered ally past beggars and barefooted kids in tattered t-shirts one day and the very next day climb into a $30,000 dollar car and speed past multi-million dollar shopping centers or church campuses where any given person can be wearing an outfit easily worth over 100 dollars?

And yet I do. One day I am here in Haiti, handing out a bag of rice or an extra pair of shoes, and the next day I drop 60 bucks at Wal-Mart and tell the cashier no, I don't want to donate my change to the children's hospital. What do I do with that?

On other days I decide not to give the man in the 4-sizes-too-big corduroys money for medicine for fear I'm enabling an unhealthy dependency and instead send my money to an American church trusting they'll choose to use it better than I will.

One day I feel like the richest woman in town because I live with electricity, a refrigerator, and a flushable toilet, and the next day I’m laughing with my friends about being poor because I’ve never owned a car and can’t afford good health care. I don’t know how to respond to this reality or interact with these realities.

Obviously I can’t only care about the poor when I’m living among the poor and then deny their need with a simple perspective shift that places me in the position of poverty rather than power. But how can I maintain a sense of responsibility for the well being of my brothers and sisters who have been oppressed and in need since before my birth, while I have been born into an abundance that was established and bestowed upon me based on nothing other than my birth into privilege?

Almost a Year Later

2011-01-08T07:38:00.000-08:00

In front of the Bicentennial Monument January 2011.

Last week I traveled to down town Port Au Prince for the first time since the earthquake. Even though I have been here since the quake, I had not yet had an opportunity to travel down by the palace or through some of the most heavily damaged areas.

So, almost a year after the earthquake changed our lives, I saw the damaged palace for the first time. By now the dust has settled, and the chaos that filled that square last year has settled along with it. The palace is surrounded by a chain link fence and cars are parked in what used to be the beautifully kept green lawn.

Across the street, where a larg park used to be, tents and makeshift homes hide the space and the sidewalk. In another direction, more tents, tarps, and tin homes crowd around the statue of Henri Christophe on his horse. Where students once lounged in the lawn to study, mothers wash clothes in metal basins and children wait in line for water provided my NGOs.

Photo of Bicentennial Monument yard before the Quake. This travel blog photo's source is TravelPod page: Port-au-Prince

The beauty of that well kept place is gone, the need of the people pressed right up against the walls of the fragile government structures.

But what bothered me most wasn't just the raw reality of need, but the permanance of it. Almost a year later, people seem to be settling in to their new homes. Porta potties have been brought in to line the edges of the cities and water stations have sprung up amidst the tents.

A boy in the doorway of one of the tent sat polishing his shoes as we drove by. Meanwhile I listened to one of the missionaries tell me about reports of an increase in rape in the tent cities and answer back the news I had heard about AIDS being on the rise in these settlements, too.

Elections

2010-11-22T09:18:00.000-08:00

I'm writing this from my kitchen table. Outside the sun is just setting, the temperature has dropped to a comfortable 80 degrees, and the sound of a man yelling on a microphone is drifting into my windows. His staccato speech is occassionally interrupted by smooth waves of cheers.

To be honest, in some ways it sounds a lot like a Sunday morning church service here where the worship leaders yell out phrases which the congregation echoes. But this isn't church; it's a political rally. Apparently one of the candidates is holding an event in the center of town. There's a crowd of people gathered in the sqaure, and political posters all over the walls in the middle of our city.

With elections only 9 days away, it's safe to assume, the whole country is covered with political preparations. It's definitely interesting to see campaigning in a country with limitted electricity (and therefore limitted televison/campaign ads). Last week we heard a band playing and a large crowd of people cheering and singing. We peeked out the gate and saw the crowd moving down the street, singing all the way. Apparently this too was a political candidate. This kind of campaigning feels a lot more lively than the endless advertisements we see on American TV.

Unfortunately election times in Haiti have also historically been a scene for unrest. With so much corruption in the government, times leading up to elections can become a little more unpredictable with high emotions and political protests. The country dodged potential unrest earlier this fall when Wycliff Jean was denied presidential candidacy, but since then there have been several protests happening in Port Au Prince over other issues.

During the next few weeks leading up to the elections (which take place November 28th), please pray for this country. Pray God would raise up the right leader to rebuild the governement and country. Pray that God's hand would be on all political events, and that his peace would reign. And pray that God would miraculously begin breaking the strongholds of corruption in Haiti.
(written Friday November 19, 2010)

Surprise Students

2010-11-21T15:57:00.000-08:00

My first day back after being sick I had four surprise students show up in English class. Because my class is small, and I wasn't sure if new students had registered while I was away, I let them stay for one class, planning to kick them all out the next day.

I worked on a little "you're kicked out" speech and returned to class that Wednesday evening. When I arrived, however, I discovered that only 2 of the 4 had stayed. And after asking a few questions, I learned that one of them had been moved to my class from a lower level.

3 down 1 to go.

I turned my attention to the remaining surprise student, who was sittting straigt up in his chair notebook in hand, eagerly awaiting class. "Having him around won't hurt anybody," I reasoned, and backed down from my kick-em-out strategy.

A few days passed, and this student continued to arrive ealier than all the other students, armed with his pen and papers. So I started to ask him a few question. Where are you from? How is your family? General conversational English stuff.

I soon found out that this guy, who had heard about my class from the mayor, had been a university student in Port Au Prince last year. He had been visiting La Gonave when the earthquake happened, and when he tried to return for schooling found that his home had been destroyed.

Since then, he has been living on La Gonave, trying to find a way to return to Port Au Prince for University. And in the mean time, he's attending my English class. Though I'm very sad he has had to hault his education, I am so thankful that we can offer him an opportunity to continue studying at least one subject and that we get to have him in our program.

Summer Video Update

2010-11-02T07:32:00.000-07:00

Back in August, we did a video for fundraising. It turned out great and is a good overview of my vision for Haiti. Here it is the link to youtube if you want to check it out.

Just Click on the title of this post, or copy and past this link in your browser: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dc6ofXrPicQ

Thanks Ken DePeal for all your awesome work on it.

Snapshots of my Spiritual Journey

2010-10-22T08:09:00.001-07:00

This year has been a challenging year for my faith. At times I’ve felt lost, frustrated, angry, and defeated. I’ve been learning a lot, but in the last few weeks some of those lessons have finally culminated into truths I can cling to. Here’s a little snapshot of my journey.

In the midst of feeling sick for the 7th consecutive week, I kept coming across verses about victory.

"The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to His heavenly kingdom." 2 Timothy 4:18

"But the Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen and protect you from the evil one." 2 Thessalonians 3:3

"They will fight against you but will not overcome you, for I am with you and will rescue you, declares the Lord." Jeremiah 1:19

"...no weapon forged against you will prevail, and you will refute every tongue that accuses you." Isaiah 54:17

Lying in bed in a house in Florida while other missionaries covered my English classes and I watched my time in Haiti tick away, I felt anything but victorious. Yet these are the verses I read. These are the words people prayed over me. Could I possibly be winning even though I feel defeated? Can victory in Christ look like 2 months of bed rest?

I read a devotional by Oswald Chambers. "Have we come to the place where God can withdraw His blessings and it does not affect our trust in Him?"

Hmm. Can I trust Him? Do I trust Him? Again, having an unknown illness that made me too weak to fix my own breakfast was not exactly my idea of safety. Then again losing four friends in a year and living through the craziness of an earthquake weren’t on my list of life under God’s protection either. But they happened.

Was God still good through all that? Is God still good now? Who is God anyway?

I read the whole book of Job.

I read about Paul’s sufferings.

"Rather, as servants of God we commend ourselves in every way: in great endurance; in troubles, hardships and distresses; in beatings, imprisonments and riots; in hard work, sleepless nights and hunger; in purity, understanding, patience and kindness; in the Holy Spirit and in sincere love; in truthfulness of speech and in the power of God; with weapons of righteousness in the right hand and in the left; through glory and dishonor, bad report and good report; genuine yet regarded as imposters; known yet regarded as unknown; dying, and yet we live on; beaten, and yet not killed; sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing and yet possessing everything." 2 Corinthians 6:4-10

I read 2 Corinthians 11:23-12:10.

These two men, giants of faith, still clung to God’s goodness, preached God’s goodness. They lived honorable lives yet experienced terrible things. They served God yet they suffered. And ultimately they still saw God as all powerful and as loving.

Who am I to question God? What do I know about goodness?

I read the last two books of Job

"Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation? Tell me, if you understand. Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!" Job 38:4

and some verses in Psalms.

"He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul." Psalm 23:2-3

He must be good. He has to be good. Whether life stinks or life is awesome, I have to believe He is good.

I read another devotional by Oswald Chambers.

"Faith by its very nature must be tried, and the real trial of faith is not that we find it difficult to trust God, but that God's character has to be cleared in our own minds...Faith in the Bible is faith in God against everything that contradicts Him--I will remain true to God's character whatever he may do." Oswald Chamerbs My Utmost for His Highest

Illness and Identification

2010-10-15T07:15:00.000-07:00

Sun poured into my kitchen windows, pushing the temperature in my house to tripple digits. A fan overhead hummed. A diesel generator outside moaned, and I turned over on the couch. A day before I'd discovered that if I lay on my right side, with my back toward the oscillating fan, the air might cool my neck long enough for me to catch a 20 minute nap.

And if it didn't work, I knew that if I just stayed still for the next 3 hours, the worst part of the day was over. So I'd lay there, listening to the hum-moaning and wait.

I did this off and on for 2 full weeks as my body fought off whatever little protozoa or bacteria had intruded into my intestines. And as I lay there I thought. Sometimes my thoughts were less than spiritual bursts of self-pity. "This really sucks. I hate this stupid country. Why can't I just sleep in an airconditioned house. I wish I could destroy that dumb generator."

But on other days, my thoughts walked out my front door and crossed the street to the Wesleyan Hospital, where on any given day 30 to 40 patients are lying in rooms much hotter than my living room, with nothing but a warm wind to blow on their backs. Is this what they feel like all the time?

I thought about their dirty sheets and the warm water they must drink, since most people don't have the luxury of a freezer or extra ice for drinks. These thoughts often led to self-depracating comments like, "Justine you're a big baby," and "You have no idea what suffering is."

They also led to prayers. "God comfort those people in the hospital. Heal their bodies. Guide the doctors and nurses. Help them know how to treat them." I wish I could say that living across the street from a 3rd world hospital leads me to pray prayers like this daily. I wish I could say I think often of the suffering of those who are always battling bouts of giardia, dengue fever, malaria, typhoid fever, and dysentery. And those who have no American haven to retreat to.

I wish I could tell you that I knew how extended sicknesses like this impact the income of already impoverished families and how lack of income leads to lack of food which leads to lack of strength and extended recovery time. I don't.

But during my bout with tropical illness, something amazing happened. I stopped pitying the poor and instead identified with them. "It's not fun to feel this weak. Boy I bet it's tough to earn a living if you're constantly battling sickness. Wow! I wonder if the people in the hospital actually sleep when it's hot like this." Though this alone isn't enough to change anything else, it is enough to change me. And that's a start.

Nouns and Adjectives

2010-09-20T08:19:00.000-07:00

C.S. Lewis when describing the Fall of man in The Problem of Pain,writes, "They wanted to be nouns, but they were, and eternally must be, mere adjectives." He's speaking of our desire to be God when we are and will forever be man. But I love the analogy he uses.

Adjectives, as we all know have one main function: to modify or describe a noun in the sentence. They cannot stand on their own. They cannot be the subject or perform an action. Their single purpose is to describe the noun, to show us more about what the noun is like.

And the noun. The noun is the meat of the sentence. You can't have a sentence without a noun or pronoun. There can be no story or subject or setting if there is no noun. The noun is the point. There need not be adjectives if there is no noun.

Isn't this a beautiful picture? Our single purpose or role on earth is to describe the Noun. Show the world what He is like. We need not try to be the Subject of the story or the sentence. We can never be. The story would not make sense if we tried to make an adjective the subject. It breaks the basic laws of grammar.

Nor would our story make sense if we tried to make ourselves and not God the subject. It can never be about us. That would break a basic law of the universe.

So instead of pushing awkwardly into a grammatical place that does not belong to us, our role as believers is to be the best, most wonderful, beautiful adjectives that we can be that others might know more about the Noun through us.

Ezai's Going Home

2010-09-06T13:18:00.000-07:00

It was Saturday afternoon when Diane Busch (the PA here) popped into my house with the biggest smile I've ever seen on her face. "Justine guess what! They found Ezai a home!"

I have tears in my eyes now as I remember that moment. Ezai has a home! The thought took a while to sink in. He'll have clean sheets, and pants to wear. He can eat every day, and he'll have a great family to love him.

Having spent the last several years of his life in the poor house in town, Ezai has never had the luxury of having more than his basic needs provided for. The poor house, which is aptly named, is home to about 18 people who live in two or three, dirt floored rooms and cook food in a pot on a fire outside. It is run by a sweet Haitian man with few resources, and most of the residents are elderly.

When you visit the poor house, Ezai, a 14 year old orphan with Cerebal Palsy stands out among the crowd. He is tall and thin, and his left foot is severely crippled. When he walks he kind of hobbles along, the front part of his ankle touching the ground, while his foot, bent awkwardly foward, follows behind. But the first thing you notice about Ezai isn't his handicap, but his smile.

Almost every time a visitor comes, Ezai races across the yard yelling happy sounds, and giving the newcomer the biggest hug ever. Though he cannot speak very well his smile says it all. Ezai is full of joy.

But his life is about to get much better. This year, after volunteering several times at the poor house, Diane Busch developed a special place in her heart for Ezai. She could see that this boy could not get the care he needed amongst the other residents at the poor house, and started to worry a bit for his health.

Then one day, on a plane ride to the US, Diane met a woman who had been working with an group home in Haiti for kids with Cerebal Palsy. She got off the plane with the woman's contact information and a renewed hope for Ezai. Now, less than two months later, the orphanage has contacted Diane to tell her that they have a place for Ezai!

God is sooo good to take care of his children! Pray for Diane as she works out the details for Ezai's big move. And pray for Ezai as he makes this transition. And praise God for the incredible way that He looks after widows and orphans.

She's Haitian

2010-09-06T12:51:00.000-07:00

Today I walked to the bank with Merline. Motorcycles and rickety old trucks rumbled by on the dusty roads as we walked. In the span of our half mile walk, we stopped at least 4 times to speak with friends shaking their hands and giving hugs. This friendliness and built in social time may be one of my favorite parts of this culture.

We were both smiling as we started approaching the bank, and Merline looked at me and said, "Justine, you are very popular. Everyone wants to see you." We laughed, as Merline added, "You are Haitian."

About a second after she said that, a stranger sitting on the ground in the shade of the 2 story block bank building. Yelled, "Blanc! Blanc!" (white white) In an attempt to get my attention. Almost every time I walk down the street I hear this words which are almost always followed by a request for money or sometimes a vulgar comment.

It's not that being called white is offensive by itself. But the way it is used in the street often feels direspectful. My Haitian friends would never call for me like that, nor would my students, or the people attending the church. They may describe me as blanc or as the blanc which I don't mind, but they would never just say "White told me to do this." They would use my name.

Because of this, I generally don't respond to these calls and often times block them out entirely. This may sound silly, but being called Blanc in the street is one of my least favorite things about living here. It is also one of the things I have the least power to change. So I try to let the words roll off me every time.

But today, as the woman yelled these words at me, Merline turned to her and said, "Li pa blanc. Li se Aytian." (She's not white. She's Haitian.) What a neat compliment! Though she had just said the same thing to me seconds before, it meant a lot to me to hear Merline telling a perfect stranger that I am Haitian.

Why Running?

2010-08-15T10:34:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make...My recent post about running, wasn't entirely about running. You see this whole summer while I was training, I kept thinking of spiritual parallels for my running endeavors. In Haiti, I was (and am) pretty stuborn. I don't like to "quit" or "slow down" or walk uphill. I'd rather run the whole time because I am after all on a run or as the Apostle Paul says in a race.

When Jenny told me I'd burn myself out if I ran up all the hills, I had flashbacks of myself in Haiti, scheduling up my free time and trying to go to every church service, youth group, prayer event, while teaching an english club for women and one for nurses...All this was my time off, and I wondered if Jenny's advice could apply even there.

On one of my favorite running routes, I start out going up the biggest hill of the course. Once at the top, I feel like a champ and know I can take the rest of the course just fine. But a lot of times when I run this course, I find myself on mile 5 with cramps in my legs and thoughts of quitting in my head.

The same thing happens when I start into a ministry. I want to do something awesome and huge right away so I can feel like a champ, but when I get to the end of my 11 month term, I have spiritual cramps and want to quit. What would it mean for me to take Jenny's advice, and walk uphill so I could make it to the end strong and steady?

"You have to eat and drink while you run," my little sister advised me as we talked about doubling my distance. It doesn't take much to make the connection between water and trail snacks to the Living Water and Bread of Life. If I run without water or a little snack, I can go pretty far (assuming I ate and drank enough before taking off), but if I eat and drink little bits while running, I can go further, many miles further.

I love this idea of refueling while running...A lot of times I'm great at preparing for ministry, reading the right books, listening to sermons, asking people to pray. And I'm pretty good at refueling afterwards, hiding out in my house, singing worship music, praying. But what would happen if in the midst of the ministry race I ate and drank the fuel I needed? How much further could I go?

Speaking of going further, there is an African proverb that says "If you want to go fast go alone. If you want to go far, go together." I've done a lot of running alone, and to be honest, I'm pretty good at it. I am self-disciplined and self-motivated. But it wasn't until my little sister ran with me and said, "You can go further than you think," that I really started to stretch myself as a runner...I went from a 6 or 7 mile personal record to 13 miles in just 3 months. Why?

My little sister didn't run with me every day. She didn't tell me what to do. She just encouraged me, and every once in a while ran beside me. There's something to be said for not doing it alone (it: running or life). And yes, sometimes it took a little longer for us to get going together than it would've taken alone (on the day of our big run Jenn waited 20 minutes for me to get out of bed), but in the end we both went further together.

How do I carry that concept of community into ministry? How do we carry that concept into life? Running beside those who are tired, encouraging those who are discouraged, teaching those who are stuck?

So I guess my recent post about running, wasn't really about running but it was all about running. I hope that I run the race well.

The Bubba Run

2010-08-13T11:22:00.001-07:00

My little sister, Jenn, says for every mile you run (in a long run) it takes your body 1 day to recover. That means my body will be back to normal in 13 days.

Jenn and I took off this morning at 6:20 with the goal of going on my longest run ever. Just 3 months ago my PR for distance was 6.1 miles, and running 13 miles sounded both overwhelming and ridiculous.

At about 4 miles my knees and hamstrings would start to ache a little and by 5 I would fix my thoughts on making it home.

But one day, Jenn and I decided to go for a run together. We talked as we ran, and when we reached the corner I normally take toward home, I turned to her and said, "Do you think we can go further?"

We did. We went about 8 miles that day. I felt awesome.

When we ran together, we did a couple of things differently than I had done them on my own. For one we carried water. "You lose so much water when you run," Jenn had told me. "If you want to go far you have to carry water."

Jenn, who had also completed a 35 mile in the race also confronted my stubborn insistence that we run uphill. "Sometimes you have to walk or you'll burn all your energy right away," she told me. I'm sure I rolled my eyes the first time I heard.

On her 35 mile run, Jenn and all the other runners stopped frequently at feeding stations to grab a fourth of a peanut butter sandwich, some fresh fruit, or crackers. When we ran, we reached into Jenn's pockets and pulled out gummy snacks and pretzels. These few calories gave us enough of a boost to add on the extra miles at the end.

After we finished our 8 mile run I had asked Jenn what she thought about running to Grove City, a town about 13 miles from our front door. Cooly, and with the confidence of a seasoned athlete she agreed to do the run some time this summer.

Running this course became one of my personal goals for the summer. So each week I ran 3, 6, 8, and 10 mile routes,paying attention to what foods fuel me up for a run and which foods I crave after running. I pushed myeself to run further faster and ran til my big toes got callouses.

After 3 months of mostly solo training, Jenn and I took on the bubba route this morning. Running along a country road past cornfields and cow pastures and to my dad's office, we pushed through butt cramps, aching ankles, and sore knees. And in just 2 hours and 38 minutes we had done it. Downing some water and stretching my calfs out on Dad's filing cabinet, I thought to myself, "I bet we could go further."

Overwhelming Generosity

2010-08-02T08:20:00.000-07:00

This morning I went to the dentist again. This was my 6th visit to the doctor since I returned home last April. And this is the 6th time that my bill was generously and miraculously covered. You see my insurance in the US isn't great, so when I have to go to the doctor, I usually put it off and save up, then I go in and pray every procedure is simple and cheap.

But every time I have done this, someone else has insisted on covering the cost. It's humbling, overwhelming, surprising every time. To think that so many people would find me worthy of their generosity, and would invest in my health at their own personal expense makes no sense to me.

I cry every time it happens.

By this point, I estimate my summer medical bills somewhere between 1000 and 1500 dollars, all covered. And on top of that, I've had people do everything from treating me to coffee to buying me new clothes to helping with school loans. I wish I could say that I've kept tabs on it all and have a repayment plan all set up. I don't.

And maybe that's not the point. You see accepting generosity and grace isn't something that comes naturally to me. I come from a home of two hard-working parents who would help us kids when we needed it, but ultimately expected us to work for what we need.

So when I found myself in a position where I was working (as a missionary) but my work wouldn't cover my own need, I looked for ways to work more, earn more. Still what I could do on my own wasn't enough. No matter how hard I worked, I needed Grace.

The spiritual parallels are incredible. How silly of me to plan and strive and scheme and think I can do it on my own. And how tender, loving, and generous of God to raise up people to take care of my every need. Though I still wish I could pay for my own appointments, I appreciate the fact that each time I visit the doctor I'm overwhelmed again by the generosity of the cross.

Funny Little Things

2010-06-21T12:07:00.000-07:00

This past week I was out in Indiana when my check engine light came on the car. 7 hours away from home and having only a basic knowledge of cars, I normally would've freaked out. But this time when it happened, I wasn't alone. I was out with an awesome missionary couple (Greg and Heidi Edmonds) and their little girl, and they ever so sweetly looked out for me. Greg checked the oil while Heidi used my GPS to find the closest Autzone. The two of them helped me get it looked at and made sure I was safe before I drove away.

This isn't the only time that I have seen convenience in the midst of car trouble. Last year, when my wheel bearings were going bad, I happened to lend my car to a mechanic who heard the squeeling bearings and volunteered to fix them for me for free. Another time last year my timing belt broke, the car waiting to totally shut down until I made it off the interstate and into the safety of a Taco Bell Parking lot.

And just last week, the car I was driving lost power steering and all the lights came on when I was again in a parking lot. Had this happened 5 minutes later I would've been on the side of the interstate sitting in the rain. Taken as isolated incidents this stuff seems like a stupid coincidence. But when you look at it together, I can't help but wonder why my car always breaks in the most convenient of manners.

Let's Be Honest

2010-06-12T12:58:00.000-07:00

Let's be honest, when I first got back from Haiti this past April, I was a mess. I often found myself in social situations unable to speak or engage in conversations. My mind blank. Some days I was having trouble getting myself out of bed. What's the point? I often asked myself before I forced my feet out of the covers and onto the floor.

And the hardest thing about it was I didn't understand why. Sure there was that thing about living through an earthquake in Haiti. But being that broad wasn't helpful. The whole world seemed to be grieving the earthquake, yet still I felt so alone in my emotional funk. What was going on?

One of the first times I realized my problem was during my first week at home. I went to visit my sister and brother-in-law in Detroit. And after a should-have-been-fun day at the museum looking at mummies, I was withdrawn, speechless. When people die, their bodies rot or turn into grotesque paper machet-like human pinatas, otherwise known as mummies. That is our physical fate, if we are lucky.

These thoughts passed through my mind as I looked out the windows of the car at the abandonned buildings on nearly every street corner. It's here too. Haiti, the United States, the world is filled with poverty, pain, and brokennes.

After a few days in Detroit, I headed to my parents' house only to discover friends having huge family problems. And a few weeks later, a 26 year-old friend of mine was hospitalized and died after a 4 year battle with Lukemia. He was my fourth friend under the age of 30 to die in a period of 4 months.

God what is going on? The world is horrible. Numbness and depression were starting to turn into frustration and anger. I thought God was good? Why is life so bad? I wanted to throw God out. Be ticked and forget about the faith all together.

But something in me couldn't. Even in the midst of feeling confused and hurt, something in me knew that leaving the faith and calling God a jerk would be a denial of Truth. I still don't know how to describe it, but it was like in the midst of HUGE tragedies, I still saw God's goodness in tiny intimacies.

For example, I thought about how after the earthquake I was running into people who'd lost 3, 7, or 9 family members and were themselves suffering from post-traumatic stress. I saw 5 new kids show up at the local orphanage after losing family members. And yet in the middle of that I saw God make sure I got fresh green beans: a visiting team unknowingly going to the Dominican Republic and buying fresh produce that would satisfy my exact craving the very day I voiced it to the missionaries.

Or how on January 14th, just 2 days after the earthquake, I got word that I would be able to attend a women's conference in Colorado that I'd been wanting to go to for 5 years. And the same week of my birthday, the only birthday I've ever passed without receiving any cards from family or friends (mail was impossible in Haiti at the time), I found out I'd recieved a scholarship to the conference and would pay only $25 instead of the impossible price of $375.

And just in case I was going to miss these connections, at the women's conference in April one of the speakers said, "Jesus name is like a kiss on an earthquake." His intimate love and tenderness toward me were undeniable. So I found myself trying to reconcile two seemingly exclusive realities: God is an intimate and omnipotent lover and friend, and God sometimes allows terrible pain and tragedy on earth.

How is this? A friend of mine, when listening to my grief said, "You know Justine, I just have to believe God's love is bigger than that. It's bigger than the death of my husband and bigger than an earthquake." This idea is all through the bible. I've been reading lately in Romans 8:35-39 how NOTHING can separate us from God's love. And to be really honest, I still don't get why horrible stuff happens. But somehow I am beginning to believe that God really is good even in the middle of every human tragedy.

Prayer Update (e-mailed 5/18)

2010-05-21T07:41:00.000-07:00

Hi again friends,

I hope you all are well and enjoying this spring. Thanks for continuing to pray for me these past few weeks in the States. So far things are working out according to plan.

What I'm doing
Most of my Sundays are scheduled up. I'm waiting to hear back from one church, and then every Sunday from now until July 11th is full! Yay God! I am looking forward to reconnecting with a lot of the churches who've been faithfully praying for and financially supporting me this past year.

It is awesome seeing some of you in human form instead of in text on a prayer list. Teachers may know what I mean. It is a lot different getting your class list, and then seeing your students in the classroom. Nothing beats seeing people face to face. As I see you all it is exciting and encouraging to remember how many people are a part of what God is doing in Haiti through this ministry.

I'm also using a good bit of my time doing administrative work, like writing thank you notes, scheduling meetings, coordinating small Haiti projects, and answering e-mails. To be honest, it has been difficult to find a good work rhythm these last few weeks, but the to do list is steadily getting smaller.

What I'm learning
And in the midst of all this, I think I'm learning a lot about who God is. As I've had more time to reflect on the last several months, including the times since the earthquake, I am finally starting to see how God was there all along. And I'm starting to see how tenderly he loves me.

For example, one day in Haiti I started to crave fresh green beans. We don't get many fresh green vegetables there, so I hadn't had any in weeks and the store I used to buy green vegetables from was destroyed in the earthquake. Well that very day after expressing my craving to my friends, a team came in carrying supplies for the hospital. On their way they had picked up vegetables in the Dominican Republic for the missionaries. And their bags included, yes, lots of green beans.

It sounds almost silly telling you now, but who else knows our desires that intimately? I keep seeing little things like this both from my time in Haiti and now in my time in the States. Someone recently reminded me that God's love is bigger than anything that can ever happen: an earthquake, a friend's death, a sickness. He is bigger. That's been a really comforting thought to me these last few weeks.

How you can pray
- Keep praying for wisdom and His leading as I speak.
- Pray for His provision both financially, emotionally, and spiritually
- Pray that I continue grieving in a way that honors God.
- Pray that I'd obey God in the day to day things and I'd follow His schedule.

Thank you again for everything. Please let me know if there are ways I could be praying for you as well. (I really do like it when I can know how to pray for you.)

take care,
justine

College Graduates

2010-05-18T12:29:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I attended my little sister's college graduation. It was kind of weird for me to be back on a college campus and to look at all the students and professors from the outside in.

It made me think back on my graduation 2 years ago. What was I thinking? What did I hope for? What did the speakers tell us?

Even though it hasn't been that long since I was wearing that robe, so much has changed. I think of my own naive optimism. I left college feeling confident. I understood God and the world, and knew what I was going to do to change everything. The students there had that same look on their faces as they watched the speaker or shot silly string at one another.

They seem so young and innocent. I know many people probably look at me and still see the same things inside. But where I am now feels worlds away from where I was as a college graduate.

I had no idea how difficult ministry really was or how hard it is to apply perfect book theories to a broken reality tied up with the messy strings of history. Sure, work overseas, empower nationals, always create self-sustaining ministries, sounds good. But how does that work in a country with one of the worst economies in the world? And how does that work when the parental ministry of missionaries 50 year ago is still strongly influencing the population of today?

I know...I'm learning change is a slow slow process, and people are changed by people not policies. This is a lot harder than it sounded in intercultural studies classes.

I also think I'm learning a lot about God. I knew God was good in college because mostly everything in life was good. I loved my classes, my friends, chapel, my job. Not that there weren't hard times, but it was easy to believe God was good in such an awesome environment.

But what do you do with your good God when there is a huge earthquake, you lose friends, a whole nation is grieved, and an already impovrished country is left with a wreck that would take the United States years to recover from? Is He still good?

I'm starting to believe again that He is, and starting to see that He never left and never changed. But it seems like sometimes I have to trust His goodness rather than see his goodness.

I heard a quote at the graduation last weekend that was something like this, "Greatness is not determined by how much money you make or how successful you are in your work. Greatness is determined by what it takes to discourage you. Don't ever quit." I think this makes more sense to me know 2 years out than it would have 2 years ago.

At 24 there are so many things I just don't get. I am starting to get glimpses of how hard life is and can be. (I know anyone over 40 is probably saying just you wait.) And I'm starting to see how ideals aren't so easily translated into reality. But I wonder if there isn't something beautiful about the naive optimism and hope of a college graduate that starts to slip away as we step into disillusionment. I don't want to ever lose that feeling I had when I graduated that our God can do anything and will do awesome things. This is still true.

What I'm doing in Haiti

2010-05-05T11:25:00.000-07:00

This April, I finished my first year of living in Haiti. During that time, I was able to teach 2 English classes to adult professionals. I was also able to introduce my highest level students to research writing, which was really fun. Classes, however, along with everything else were interrupted by the earthquake on January 12th. After that point, I temporarily shifted my focus from teaching English to working with other missionaries to coordinate relief and host short-term teams.

Though this shift was necessary, it was difficult. And becuase of this break, my students andI are anxiously awaiting English classes which will resume in September. This year, I hope to find a new curriculum, raise the standards of the program, and start taking steps to prepare students for the TOEFL tests.

In the long-term, we would love to see our English students go on to become translators, to take Master's courses online, or to pursue degrees at the university we hope to start on La Gonave. Though I am not sure if I will be in Haiti to see the university become a reality, all the other missionaries working in education and I are committed to teaching our students with the university goal in mind.

Through English classes, computer courses, and the use of the WISH library (which is currently under construction), we are equiping our students to pursue further education in Haiti or around the world.

Big Bags

2010-05-05T10:52:00.001-07:00

On April 6th, 2010, I flew back into the United States. Inside my suitcase, I carried a couple of full journals, some faded skirts, and Haitian coffee, a load much lighter than the one I'd carried in 11 months before.

As always, I was happy when the luggage guys took my bag from me and tossed it into a pile. It was nice knowing I wouldn't have to think of it again until we reached Ft. Lauderdale. It and all my stuff would ride safely along until I got to the next airport, where I would again let the airport attendants stow it away.

I guess I just take it for granted that all my stuff will be safe, never even glancing inside my bag until I reach my final destination. It's easier that way because then when I get to it, I'm so excited about seeing my family that I don't care that there are coffee grounds in my tennis shoes or that the lotion broke open on my new skirt. And besides that there's no baggage tosser around for me to scold unnecissarily.

But this particular time, my luggage didn't make it through. After waiting for 45 minutes or so, we finally filed a report with the airline asking them to ship the luggage to my sister's house in the next day or so. Now call me sick, but something in me was strangley satisfied to walk out of the airport with only a backpack.

Maybe I get a strange pleasure out of simplicity, or maybe it's because I had packed a change of clothes in my carry-on and knew we could pick up toothbrushes at Walgreens...either way, I wasn't worried. And I had no problem letting my luggage be someone else's concern. I hate carrying big suitcases and all that stuff anyway. If I let my inner simpleton win out over the worrier, I think travel everywhere with just a back pack or with no luggage at all.

It's possible that I'm just a little crazy and hate carrying luggage. But is it also possible that this reflects some spiritual truth?

Becoming a socially awkward American

2010-03-06T16:41:00.000-08:00

This evening I was talking with a pastor when I noticed a mosquito on his face. I immediately reached up and gave his face a small smack to ward off the malaria-carrying insect, to which he quickly responded, "Merci."

Earlier this week, I broke the same American social norm when I stuck my finger out to wipe flour off the face of one of our cooks. Thinking about this tonight, I wondered if after spending time in Haiti, I'm becoming a socially awkward American.

Here are some things that are now normal to me:
1) touching someone's face (see above examples)
2) carrying everything in a bag when I go out (a pair of shoes, a can of soup, anything)
3) close-talking
4) asking "how is your family" every time I talk to someone
5) touching while talking (generally putting an arm around the other person's back)
6) shaking hands at the end of every conversation
7) paying by handing crumpled up money to someone else with a closed fist
8) close-sitting
9) talking loudly to others across the room
10)arriving fifteen minutes "late" to everything
11)close-standing and generally just being too close

So if ever I reach up and hit a mosquito off or your face or insist on shaking your hand every time I leave your living room, please forgive me. I am now a socially awkward American.

God Can Do Everything

2010-03-03T07:00:00.000-08:00

They were both squatting down on the cement slab, large metal wash basins at their knews, as they scrubbed clothes and towels and asked me their usual twenty questions of the day. "Ki le ou prale peyi ou?" (when will you go to your country?), Mme. Ovner asked in a sing songy tone.

When they heard my answer "Avril," both the wash ladies gasped a surprised, high pitched oh. We've had this conversation at least five times, and the response is always the same. How long will you stay there, will you come back, when will you come back, nap priye (we're praying).

This morning, however, it went a little different. When they asked if I'd come back, I decided to explain my financial situation and how I can't come back without the help of the churches. I then asked them to pray God helps me come back. Maybe I did this to try to break the stereotype here that all Americans have unlimitted resources. Maybe I was just worrying about fundraising again. Or maybe it was a little bit of both.

Either way, their response blessed me. They both emphatically committed to praying for God to help me. Then they said to me, God can do everything. Mme. Ovner even started singing, "Bondye ka fe tout bagay, tout bagay, tout bagay." (God can do everything, everything everything.)

And as she did, I looked down at her. This stick-thin mother of three, who was wearing the same faded orange t-shirt and navy blue skirt I saw her wearing yesterday outside her two-room house in the poorest part of town, was looking up at me with a reassuring smile. I watched her hands scrubbing back and forth over the clothes, knowing how much her forearms must ache when she finishes work each day, and wishing I had her faith.

Images of Destruction

2010-02-26T10:26:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I made my third failed attempt to get to the epicenter in Port Au Prince. By failed, I mean my insistent requests for transportation to the center of town were denied in favor of more important things, like medical shipments and airport runs. Though I had traveled over 3 hours to get to Port Au Prince for this very purpose, I again had to accept that it just couldn't happen. I couldn't see the heart of the damage.

And it made me cry. Not because I didn't get my way, but because something inside me needs to see the crumpled palace, impassable roads, and piles of rocks where buildings once were. Something in me needs to see these images of destruction.
I'm not sure why. I've been seeing images of destruction ever since the quake. But the images I'm seeing are not the same as those that filled the screens of televisions in homes across the world.

No what I'm seeing are the blank faces--eyes on the floor, lips straight--of friends who talk again about the family they've lost: hurt. I'm seeing the little dance our laundry lady does when she asks me if I felt the latest tremor, and she alternates stomping her feet and shaking her fists back and forth: fear. And I'm seeing it in the wet cheeks and trembling chins of the men who pass in front of the church on Sundays: brokeness.

Though there aren't fallen buildings and tarp cities on La Gonave, these other images of the earthquake are forever etched in my mind. I will never forget walking into Merline's house and seeing her whole family lying on blankets under a tarp, hardly talking. And I'll always remember the faces of my English students as our room started to shake and they scurried under tables, one of them on his knees hugging a door frame.

But still something inside me is begging for more proof. Did this disaster really happen? Is it as bad as they say it is? In spite of all I know and have seen, part of my heart still will not accept it. I want to deny what I know is a reality, which may be why I'm longing to see such overt images of destruction.

Nomads, a Frenchman, and Earthquake Relief

2010-02-20T17:31:00.000-08:00

This afternoon, I found myself sitting across the table from a French man and listening as he told stories of a tiny village in Niger where he helped finance a tree planting project. He talked about the school children who each cared for their assigned tree and explained a demi lunair water irrigation system.

As we talked we ate Haitian food with a Canadian pastor, I thought back to scenes from the movie Second Hand Lions. A couple of crazy seeming old men sit on their front porch, guns in hand, and tell stories about their adventures in remote places. Then I looked back at the Frenchman. He's tall with gray hair and a carefully groomed mustache. He was wearing a yellowish brown button up and speaking accented English, and talking to us about Africa.

This man, a nurse, had shown up on the mission station unnannounced. Somewhere between his adventures in Africa and his time with his wife he had managed to make friends with a Haitian and arrange a 3 week trip to Haiti to work at the hospital.

People like this really exist? This is real? There are really French men who know and work with desert nomads in Africa. Nomads who paint their faces, dance, and build irrigation systems. I had to laugh a little bit as I answered my own rhetorical question.

This is my life. It is real. I really did wake up this morning and watch part of an 80,000lb. food shipment move into our guesthouse and I did hear that our 3000lb shipment of hospital supplies was delayed in England because of a bomb threat. And I did share lunch with a Frenchman telling stories about nomads in Africa.

Complexities of Cross-Cultural Giving

2010-02-09T17:56:00.001-08:00

At around 8:00 this morning I walked out of my front door expecting to hear the normal morning bustle of wheel barrows, laundry buckets, and young men with machetes talking as they start work. Instead what I heard was an indistinguishable rumble of several voices, a choir of requests occasionally reaching a crescendo when one voice rose above the others. I looked for the voices, expecting to hear news of some recent event in the street. What I saw instead was a crowd of 40 to 50 people, hands stretched out over our compound’s small metal gate. Also lining the gate were 8 to 10 of our workers, walking back and forth, talking to the crowd, and making waving motions.

“Sak te rive (what happened)?” I finally asked, a little nervousness showing in my voice.

Quickly and casually my friend replied, “Yo vle kek ti radio (They want radios).”

This is not good, this is not good, was all I could say in response.

The people had come because they had heard that people from the compound had been given little radios. These radios, which came with a crank flashlight, were given to us yesterday by a team. We had given them out to our workers and the hospital workers, then sent some of the workers home with boxes to discretely share with their friends. But somewhere our plan had gone awry, and word had gotten that there were radios at the Wesleyan compound. Hence the mini mob.

Fast forward two hours. I was at the airstrip in town, which is really a large, clear dust path usually covered in goats. Three North Americans had just arrived with plans to respond to a distress call they’d heard in the States, and we had gone out to give them a ride. They loaded their bags into the bed of the truck while a crowd of 15 or 20 kids mostly under 25 stood nearby watching in the shade of a tiny block building. Once all the stuff was loaded, a single box of water bottles, left intentionally, sat on the ground in front of the group.

There was a moment of stillness.

Then before I knew what happened, pieces of cardboard had been flung in every direction and the crowd of kids were now entangled. Pushing, pulling, and wrestling, they grappled for the bottles. When all the bottles had been snatched up, the group separated, leaving behind 4 flat chunks of what had been a box.

In the midst of it, I had backed uncomfortably into the truck and pulled the door shut behind me. As we pulled away from the airport I shivered. This is not the Haiti I know, but this is the second time I’ve seen this new face in one day. I’m not telling you this so you’ll fear for our safety or be afraid to give. If anything these stories reinforce the fact that people here are in need.

Giving in a desperate place, however, is more complex that I ever realized. It takes networking and discretion, wisdom and shrewdness, which we hope will characterize our daily distribution efforts. We get it right much of the time. But sometimes, on an atypical day like today, we’re reminded again of the weight we carry by having resources in this culture.

earthquake

2010-01-14T11:53:00.000-08:00

Today is the second day after our world was literally rocked. The people here on Anses-a-Galets have remained mostly safe from the physical harm, though a few reports of injuries and structural damage have been reported. However, no one seems to remain safe from the emotional impact of Tuesday's earthquake.

Families all over the city are still waiting to hear from loved ones. Today I watched about fifteen Haitian men and women load onto a boat to find their missing relatives. One passenger searching for a school aged son, another in search of his wife, and several more searching for 3 college-aged siblings who have yet to be found.

One lost child is enough to make a whole town weep. We do not have enough tears for those who are still missing.

Each moment that passes hangs heavier on the shoulders of those of us in Haiti. And occassional aftershocks make it impossible to pretend that our world could be normal.

Last night was one of the eeriest nights I've yet passed in this country. The usual loud music and yelling from the night clubs was strangely absent. The silence a sickening reminder of the silence so many are experiencing as they still wait for news from their families.

And in the morning, as I rose, I heard roosters yelling all over the town, but my sleepy heart was almost sure it was the sound of my neighbors crying.

Walking in the Dust with Us

2010-01-10T11:50:00.000-08:00

For several months now I've been going to youth group at the Wesleyan Church here. It's been a funny experience as I've listened to Creole lessons on the etiquette of hosting or being a guest, and have fumbled through my song book to keep up with their hymns and asking everyone around me which bible passage we're reading.

Most of the time when I go, I don't say anything. I just sit and listen. Every once in a while the pastor will call on me for an answer, to which I almost always respond "M pa konnen." (I don't know). I haven't been what I would consider an avid participant or contributor.

But last month, just before I left for the States, the pastor said something that surprised me. "Thank you Justine for walking in the dust with us." He was referring to the 2 times I've gone to prayer and walked through the dusty streets which I walk through all the time anyway.

I didn't think this was a very big deal until my friend Merline explained it to me. "Sometimes Haitians feel a little bit under everyone else. And it is very rare to have a young missionary who comes to youth group."
(just for the record, Zach attended faithfully while he lived in Anses-a-Galets)
"So when you come and listen and you come and walk in the dust with us, we consider that a great honor."

I'm not sure if I got teary or not, but at the time I was trying to express to my friend what a privilege it was for me to go to youth group. I had seen how accommodating they could be, they'd switch from French to Creole bibles just so I could understand and they'd re-explain things if they knew I was confused. And I honestly felt like more of a burden than a blessing. But apparently God was doing something I couldn't see.

I've been wondering if Jesus felt the same way when he came to walk in the dust with us. I've been thinking a lot about his life and how he literally left heaven to come live amongst us. What an awesome sacrifice!!

Over Christmas, when I was living with all the privileges of the US (hot showers, Starbucks, paved roads, and English worship), I found myself resenting the sacrifices God's been asking me to make in Haiti. If other people can live with this stuff, why can't I?

Then, through the prayer of a friend, God brought my mind back to the truth of his sacrifice. Not just that he died, but that he lived here, among us. He left the golden streets to walk in the dust with us! What an honor. And what a challenge.

Youth Group

2009-12-15T14:47:00.000-08:00

A few months ago, I started attending the youth group. I went at first to practice listening to Creole. Sometimes I understood the message, and sometimes I didn't. Most of the time I just came to watch and would have been content to fade into the background. Little did I know, my friends in the church had no intention of letting me lay low.

They immediately began asking me to pass in front of the group. One day they asked for a testimony, another day it was prayer, and still another day they asked me to teach. They made it a point to include me, and continued asking me questions even when I'm sure my responses revealed how lost I was in the language at times. My own shortcomings seemed to have no effect on their insistent invitations.

It may have even encouraged them. In fact, just last week they asked me to preach on the spot at a prayer meeting! This might deter some people, but to be honest, it has done nothing but blessed me.

Through their questions and the way they've involved me, I've experienced new levels of grace and love. The greatness of this grace and love really hit me tonight as I watched 9 youth group members file into my back porch for a special prayer time organized just for me. They came to pray for me before I leave, and in the last hour, I listened totally humbled by the sound of Creole prayers for Se Justine (sister Justine), her family, her fears, her safe trip to the United States, and more importantly her safe return.

At the end, one girl even sang a special song dedicated to me. I cannot express how incredibly humbled, blessed, and grateful I am for these amazing young people and for the picture they're showing me of love and grace.

when God is silent

2009-11-15T11:41:00.000-08:00

God has always talked to me. And I've always liked it that way. When I read the bible the verses jumped. When I went to church the preacher preached to me. When I talked to my friends the stuff they were learning was exactly what I needed to hear.

But in the last few months, for whatever reason, that changed. I found that God wasn't talking to me in those ways anymore. In fact I would read my bible every day, read a devotional, pray, and sometimes read other spiritual books and never seem to have one deep revelation. At first, this really scared me. I wondered if I was somehow sinning and blocking out God's voice.

Or I thought, maybe he's talking and I'm just not listening. I tried with my own logic to make a message or a word from God out of the random smatterings of reading and quiet time. But honestly, that didn't work. I still felt his silence.

This was a bit discouraging and kind of scary. If I'm not hearing God, how do I know what his will is? I was so scared in fact, that I stopped acting in faith. If I didn't know what God was saying, I didn't want to do anything.

For example, I was praying about what to do w/my money. I had been thinking about hiring some people to help in my house because I knew their families could use the help. I had also been wanting to help a friend out with some school expenses, but I never heard God say, "Justine hire this woman to clean" or "give your money to this friend."

So I did nothing. For several months, I just held onto my money and waited for an answer. Eventually I got one. In the midst of the silence, I felt God's spirit start to convict me about storing my treasures up on earth instead of in heaven. He brought to mind the parable of the talents, the rich young man, and the passages about giving to your brother in need. And in my heart I felt him so strongly say, "you're money is going to rot."

Wow! Kind of intense. I still wasn't sure what God wanted me to do, but I knew I had to start giving it away. So I did. I decided to do the things that had been on my heart to do even though I hadn't specificially heard God say them.

And you know, I think he was happy with that. I wonder if sometimes I don't overcomplicate God's will, making it out to be this tightrope walk that would end disastrously w/one mis-step. I don't know, maybe sometimes God does talk to us about every single decision. And maybe in some seasons He doesn't.

Maybe sometimes he says Go here. And other times he just says be my servant, and leaves it up to us to interpret what that means. I mean really, do you think God would get mad at me for hiring a struggling young widow to clean my house w/o asking him? Or would he be angry if I helped a friend out with their schooling when I know he's blessed me financially? Probably not...

Even now, I'm still sorting out what to do when God is silent. Maybe it's this simple: Do the good that's in front of you to do.

holiness?

2009-11-15T10:53:00.000-08:00

The night she had 6 pudding instead of 7, I'm not sure if anyone noticed that it was her who went without. No one sees the cupboard full of missmatched sheets, the aftermath of open-handed linen lending. And I've not heard anyone acknowledge her sacrifice when she continuously offers the last bit of leftovers, leaving her own plate empty.

And yet, still she does it. Every day, Joy Irvine chooses to put others before herself, in a subtle but stunning posture of selflessness. As I've watched her over these past seven months, I've often thought, I wish I had a heart like hers and wondered how I could get one.

I don't choose to use my only free moments in my week to love on a three-year old or teach math to a second-grader. In fact, I'd much rather use my time for me, retreating to my house to write and listen to some music. But she somehow consistently chooses sacrifice, so much so, that I'm not sure she's even concious of it.

Sure, 30 years of marriage and mothering five children may have something to do with her bent toward servanthood. But I think it's even more than that. To me it's an example of what happens when a believer chooses to be Christ-like in the little things. Gradually, those little things accumulate and inside that person the nature of Christ himself is cultivated, and for a few moments each day heaven is on earth in her holiness.

Research is boring, right?

2009-10-21T19:44:00.000-07:00

I just want to say quickly, I love teaching. To see my students hungry eyes light up when a concept finally clicks, may be one of the most rewarding exciting experiences I've had. Today in one of my English classes, we talked about research for 45 minutes.

That sounds so boring, doesn't it? But it wasn't boring at all. My students were firing questions at me faster than I could answer them. They wanted to know, how can I narrow my topic when I like every topic? "The poor, for example, is a very important topic everywhere in the world," one of my students said. He wanted to know how he can choose just one topic to write about.

Then another student asked the very basic question, "How can I find information in a book?" It sounds so basic, but we then spent several minutes talking about looking at the title of the book, the table of contents, and the index. We talked about scanning and key words and bold headings.

And every eye was on me, every hand eagerly scribbling notes.

What a huge privilege it is for me to teach here!

Looking Haitian

2009-08-30T16:04:00.000-07:00

The other day Merline and her sister stayed over to watch a movie. In the morning I was telling them that sometime, I want to get my hair braided. Well before breakfast was over sometime had arrived. Merline's little sister braided my hair in about forty-five minutes. When it was all over, I looked like this. Finished product-->

I loved it....I had to take it out after only 3 days because I went swimming and couldn't get the salt out of my hair. But for a few days, I looked quite Haitian.

Leader

2009-08-24T19:00:00.000-07:00

A few nights each week, after the workers have left and the sun has started to set, I go running around the perimeter of the mission compound. It’s a short track, but 5 to 10 laps gives me enough time to relax, digest the day, and get a little exercise in the process. Normally running is a time of solitude for me. But last week, my time of solitude quickly turned into a game when 3 little kids joined me for my jog.

The three little ones were sitting outside waiting for their mothers to finish the day’s work when they smiled at me passing by. The oldest one, who’d seen me running before began to run beside me, so I asked him if he wanted to race. He said yes and ran along side me, but we never set a finish line so the race continued for half a lap.

Soon his little sister and brother (maybe 6 and 5 years old) followed his example, and began running behind us. We must have looked pretty funny, the four of us running along in a line like little ducks. I laugh now just thinking about it—a 23 year old, a 10 year old and 2 kindergarten aged kids.

Since I had their full attention, I decided to make a game of it, and told the oldest boy “Ou lide. Nou swiv ou.” I think that means, “You leader. We follow you.” It must have been close enough because he started running in front. After a bit we picked another leader and went on like this. Of course I led them over logs and around a swing-set and under tree branches, but the little ones just ran straight and hard, as if they were finishing some army exercise.

In fact it reminded me of a running drill we did in high school. I think it’s called an Indian run. Anyway a whole team runs in a line and the last person runs to the front of the line, when she’s there, the new last person runs to the front, when she’s there the new last person does the same until you’ve finished running the assigned distance.

Anyway, the kids stuck with me for a good ten or fifteen minutes until their mothers came out. I don’t know if they felt like they had to keep playing or if they really were having fun. But as they left I told them, “Thanks for running with me,” and they got the biggest cutest smiles on their faces. Doing Indian running drills with Haitian kids may be one of my favorite little gifts God’s given me. :)

(I wrote this a while back, but haven't had a chance to publish it until tonight)

A quick Creole story

2009-08-24T18:39:00.000-07:00

Last week my friend invited me to go to youth group with her. Just before we left she told me they could make me go up front and ask me to share a little bit. So I tried to think through what I might say. When we got there, sure enough, they asked me to share. They started to invite my friend to come with me to translate, but she said in Creole, "Oh no, she doesn't need me. She speaks Creole." I was terrified!

Despite my fear, I managed to go up and give a quick Creole introduction and a little testimony of how God brought me here. My language must not have been too bad because they asked me to share a meditation next week! Though I don't totally understand what they mean when they say meditation, I do know they'd like me to talk for 15 to 20 minutes.

If you could, pray for me as I prepare. Pray that I would know what to share and that God would help me as I write it out and translate it ahead of time. From what I could see, and what my friend has told me, the youth group is a tough crowd. They often talk amongst themselves during the lesson, and many of them don’t have a great attitude toward church in general.

I’m excited for the chance to share with them because I’ve been watching them in church each Sunday and have wanted to see them come to know God in a real way that excites them. But I am a littel intimidated to speak to a tough crowd in a new language.

feeling victorious

2009-08-17T19:11:00.000-07:00

This past month I was 1 of 2 missionaries on the mission station in La Gonave. When I first arrived there were 8 missionaries here, but with injuries, maternity leave, fundraising, and the end of a term, all but two of us had outside obligations. I had only been in the country two and a half months when everyone had to leave, which may sound intimidating.

But actually, it was a neat rite of passage for me because I had to learn everything like: where the stores are located, what to do when I need a doctor, how to run a guest house, how to cook anything and everything from scratch (I make a mean potatoe soup), how drive a four-wheeler, how to speak Creole, how to catch a rat, what to do when the water filter breaks, how to fight a Haitian cough, how to have healthy boundaries, and how to graciously handle other people's needs. And I had to do it all with little advice or guidance from anyone except God. It was kind of cool because at times I knew my choice was cower in my house and cry or take a risk and conquer.

Tomorrow some of the other missionaries will be returning...Wohoo! And by September we will be back up to 7 missionaries. Though I'm excited, I wanted to take a minute just to mention how thankful I am for the past month. I'm feeling pretty victorious.

1100 Words -- The Equivalent of Chinese Literacy

2009-07-13T16:58:00.000-07:00

In my 11th grade world cultures book, I read that to become literate in Chinese, students needed to memorize 1100 characters. So, being the goal-oriented girl that I am, I decided that if I could memorize 1100 Creole words, maybe I could speak Creole by the end of the summer.

Starting in May, I decided to learn 75 new word each week until September. Finding 75 new words each week has been kind of fun because I have to get creative about where I get these words. If I'm sick, I memorize words like stomach ache, diarrhea, and cramps (all important words in Haiti). If I go to the market, I learn vegetable words, money words, and phrases like "you ask for too much."

This week I will pass the halfway mark (wohoo!), adding 75 new words to my current 546 to make a total of 621. Whew! But I'm starting to find that memorization and conversation are not enough.

Though I'm understanding and speaking more Creole, I still can't put all my little words together to make coherent Creole thoughts. To help with this, I will spend 1 month in Port Au Prince studying intensively.

I'll leave this Saturday, and while I'm there, I will keep working toward my goal of 1100 words. But I will also work on a new goal of leaving Creole infancy for the equivalent of Chinese literacy. :)

(You could pray for me as I study. That I can learn quickly, that I connect well with my teacher, and that God gives my brain supernatural ability to think in my new language.)

The Big Vision

2009-07-13T14:41:00.000-07:00

I walked into Haiti, hoping I would get to teach a couple of English classes here and there. But just a month after arriving, I found out what a great a vision I was falling into. I discovered it one afternoon while I was talking with another missionary. She was showing me English curriculum and mentioned in passing, "Well you know about the university and everything, right?"

University? I had no idea. So I asked, "What university?"

That's when Joy began to tell me all about the Haitian Wesleyan Church's vision for an English speaking university. A few years ago, the leaders of the church told Dan Irvine (Joy's husband) that they wanted to begin an English speaking university that would offer degrees in Business, Agriculture, and Nursing.

They explained that they wanted the school to be in English because if students got their degrees in English instead of French, they would have more opportunities to pursue master's programs in the States or elsewhere. English-speaking students would also have access to more resources which are written in English, and the university could invite professors from the States and other English-speaking countries to teach.

But there was one problem. Before they could begin this university, they would need a class of students ready to study in English. So three years ago, Joy began the process of teaching professional men and women English with the hope that one day they may be able to attend an English speaking university in Haiti.

And that's where I come in. This year, I'll get to teach Joy's most advanced students writing. This is one of the last skills they'll need for further education. As I teach the mechanics and grammar of writing, another missionary is hoping to begin teaching computer. And eventually, by working together, our students will be writing word-processed documents, researching online, and even sending articles to foreign magazines for publication...At least that's the big vision. :)

My Haitian Family

2009-06-29T07:05:00.000-07:00

There's a verse in the bible that says, "God sets the lonely in families." I prayed this verse before I left the States because I hated the idea of leaving my family behind. And God has been faithful. Several Haitians in my life are treating me like family.

The Uncles
- The night watchman -- Each night he greets me and asks how I am. Then if I'm walking from one house on the compound to another, he will get his big spotlight and shine it on my path until I'm in my door. He's kind of like a protective uncle.

- The two sailors -- They have very different personalities. The one is small and chatty. He keeps some of his boat stuff at my house so he comes often to pick up stuff as he needs it. And each time he talks to me in Creole, and laughs and laughs as I try to understand. He kind of picks on me a bit and really gets a kick out of it when I have a language epiphany and say, "Oh, mwen konpran."
The other sailor is a strong silent type. The kind who holds the door for you and grabs your hand to help you get safely onto the boat. But he too picks on me. The other day he tried to tell me something. I didn't understand, so he laughed and laughed and lightly grabbed my wrist. (this would be something like a mix between an American knee slap and cheek pinch)

The Moms
- A cook and a nurse -- My friend's mom was cooking at my house the other day with one of the nurses. As they cooked they of course asked me if I was married. When I said no, I explained that I will not marry just any man. They both understood and said, "We will pray for you to find a husband." There was definitey a lot of motherly tenderness behind those words.

Some Dads and a brother
- The other missionaries -- They have pretty much fathered me. Before heading to the States Pastor Dan was pretty protective of me, giving me advice he'd give to his daughters. And Butch will walk me to my house at night if he thinks a stranger is on the compound.
He and Zach (a father/brother team) have also had to rescue me twice this week. Once when I locked myself out of my house and the other time when I locked myself in my bathroom. (the bathroom is a good story for another time.)

Sisters
- The women in my English club -- These women really treat me like sisters. They tell me they worried about me when the other missionaries went to PAP and left me here. And they wondered if I was ok in the thunderstorm. They also make sure to give me advice about who I should and should not talk to, and they help me with a lot of the stuff you talk to sisters about. :)

My Extended Family
- There's also some extended family around here, you know the third cousins and such. They're the ones I see once in a while but really enjoy. Like the laundry lady who shows up behind my house and yells for me through the windows. She's small , round, and spunky. She's friendly ike a great-aunt, but a fierce worker who would do anything for her now grown kids.

I could go on, but you get the picture. "He sets the lonely in families," and makes them lonely no more. :)

Trash

2009-06-14T18:47:00.000-07:00

This evening as I went back to my room, a sound behind my house caught my attention. I looked out my windows to see what it was. I expected to see the pack of stray dogs that frequent the trash pit (which is also just behind my house). Instead I saw two teenage boys, running, backs bent, heads nervously turned in my direction.

The one boy had in his hand a white trash bag. I knew it was mine because when I threw it out earlier this afternoon, there were no other bags in the pit. I watched as they carried my trash to the back wall, then dumped its contents on the ground.

As saw them sorting through the trash with their eyes, I felt like they were sorting through me. Guiltily I wondered, what had I thrown away that week? An empty milk box, rotten salad, a couple of mango pits.

I was ashamed by the amount of food that had rotted in my fridge before making it into anyone's stomach. Would these boys take some of that food? Maybe I shouldn't have thrown that out yet. But soon they too had determined that my trash really was trash. Then they hopped back over the fence leaving my trash on the ground by the back wall.

The whole episode took less than a minute, but I can't stop thinking about those two boys. Why did they dig through my trash? What did they hope to find? How often do they sneak into the trash pit?

A little gift

2009-06-08T20:19:00.000-07:00

Today I listened to worship music with my friend. It was the neatest thing because she started try to explain her worship experience to me, and neither one of us could quite put into words what happens when you sing a song and your heart connects with God.

Then a few minutes later a song came on that I recognized. It was "I Can Only Imagine," but all the words were in French. As it played she roughly translated for me, and said how much she enjoyed the song. It was so beautiful to hear her say, "when I am with God, I can only imagine." She spoke softly and deliberately, and looked up toward heaven when she said it.

When I tried to answer back, "Yes I understand," I felt tears coming to my eyes because I really did understand what she meant and I knew we were both at that moment feeling near to God.

This was the first time that I have connected with someone here (other than a missionary) on a spiritual level. It was a huge gift!

I cannot wait to develop my Creole so I can really begin to know people's hearts.

Places

2009-05-30T19:39:00.000-07:00

These past two weeks there have been a couple of teams here, so I have had several opportunities to get out and see a little more of La Gonave. And it is beautiful.

The Saline

This past week I helped one team with a VBS they were hosting. They hosted it in one of the neediest areas in town, the Saline or the salt flats. This area lies along the coast and floods often from heavy rains and high tides. The houses there are crumbling from the salt water, and there is always trash and waste in the streets.

But the people are beautiful. The children were great fun as they sang each day, and the pastor was a huge encouragement. We could tell by his big grin and bubbly spirit that he loves God and his congregation.

The team also went back twice to show The Passion of the Christ, and several people accepted Christ at both showings. This is exciting because the need here is so great. We can give away food, clothes, and money every day, and still people go hungry. This can get discouraging, but when you see people coming to know Jesus, it's a good reminder that God's the only one who can meet all our needs.

As a side note, the salt flats is quickly becoming my favorite areas in town because there are so many people to talk to there.

Church

Last Sunday I got to go to church in a small fishing village. We had to take a boat to get there. Then once we arrived, the water was too shallow for our boat to pull up to the dock. Another small boat had to row out and pick us up. It took 3 boats to get us back after church.

But going was a blessing because it showed me another side of Haiti. At one point the secretary was reporting on the monthly offering. One week it was less than 10 goudes, which is about 25 cents! I couldn't help but wonder if the people in the church were giving out of their poverty like the widow gospels.

The Sand Bar

There is a big sand bar just 10 minutes from the coast. We often go there to get away. Well last time we went, I put on goggles and looked at the coral wreath for the 1st time. It was incredible. There were tiny blue, orange, and neon yellow fish everywhere, and waves of sea grass covered the ocean floor. For the first time ever I wished I could breathe underwater. (Next time I'll take a snorkle.)

Mache -- to walk

2009-05-17T12:37:00.000-07:00

"Ou vle mache avek mwen apre travay ou?" I carefully pronounced the words I had study all morning, and double checked my note card to make sure I'd said it right. "Do you want walk with me after work?"

I was talking to the only Christian girl my age that I know here, and this was my first real attempt at friendship. I desperately wanted to make sense. Even more than that I wanted to hang out and have a conversation that went beyond hello-how-are-you. My palms sweated a bit as I waited a milisecond for her response.

"Wi."

Whew.

I was pumped at the prospect of having a real friend. And laughed for a few minutes with Marline as we tried to figure out what time to meet and realized that neither one of us is very good at telling time in the other's language.

We did manage to set a time to hang out, and went walking last Thursday for a few hours. It was the highlight of my week. I got to walk through the market, linger in the plaza, and see the Wesleyan school, greeting Marline's friends and relatives all the while.

The fact that neither of us knew all the right words didn't matter (We both carried Creol-English dictionaries as we walked) nor did it matter that men yelled out comments every where we went (I'm still new enough in the community to be a spectacle.) Marline treated me like a friend, and we had a good walk.

Thank you God for a new friend. :)

karate

2009-05-13T12:51:00.000-07:00

Last night I was taking my trash to the trash pit, and I saw 8 or 9 hermit crabs on the path. All of them were crawling away from me, scared. Then when I got to the pit I saw a stray dog scrounging around and several lizards scurrying out of the trash. And I thought, oh yeah, I guess I do live in Haiti.

It's funny how quickly I've gotten used to seeing palm trees, palmettos, cacti, and cocroaches. The sounds of the birds and Creole conversations are becoming so familiar that I forget that I'm in another country. I am used to the smell of frying food and burning trash, and I hardly notice the man who shouts on the distant loudspeaker each day.

I still don't know what that sound is, though I hear it everyday...It comes from town. I hear a lot of stuff I don't understand. For example last night, it sounded like someone was holding a karate class just over the wall. I could hear an instructor shouting out commands and a group of people yelling out staccotto responses. Do you think Haitians take karate classes?

Culture Shock

2009-05-07T16:05:00.000-07:00

Today I went to the market for the first time. Two other missionaries (Maya and Beth) were taking me so that I could get some of my groceries. As we walked up to the maze of tents and people I thought back to the other markets I'd been to in Guatemala and Swaziland. This market, like those ones was full of vendors selling everything from toothpaste to fish to sandals.

Sheets draped over pieces of wood created a droopy ceiling much like the market place in Disney's Aladin. And men and women sat Indian style on tarps beside their fruit, or they sat on chairs behind their fruit.

As our small group walked through people seemed to lean forward and call to us from every direciton. I could only guess at what they were saying. At one point Maya turned to a group of young people and said in Creole "We speak Creole too." (This much I understood.)

She later explained that she heard the people making fun of us so she wanted to let them know she understood. I watched in awe of her confidence. In the mean time, Beth led us through the tents and explained what could be found in each section. She greeted several of her friends along the way and occassionally asked in Creole "Cambien goude pou sa?" (how much is this.)

And for the first time all week, I really started to freak out inside. What am I doing here? This is what I have to do every time I want an onion?

I wasn't just freaking out b/c I had no clue what was happening, though that was a part of it. I was freaking out b/c I knew I was starting to let go of everything that's been normal and starting to create a new normal.

Someday, I like Beth and Maya will go to the market by myself to pick up a pepper or an onion and to chat with the women working there, and I won't think anything of it.

(Afterward: As soon as I got back from the market, I had to put on some music, fold laundry, and sweep my house. It was very therapeutic for me to realize there are some small things that are still familiar.)

some funny little things

2009-05-03T18:13:00.000-07:00

I've officially been in Haiti for 5 days which is just long enough for me to have 5 quirky things to share w/you.

1) There is a little red bug that lives in my bathroom and he has a pattern on his back that looks like a red and black flag.

2) Every time I walk outside I hear the russling of little lizards scurrying away.

3) I buy boxed milk. (If it's not opened you can keep it in the cupboard for months.)

4) The Creole word for cake is the same as the Spanish word for cat. (gato)

5) One of the first things I learned to say in Creole is, "I don't know Creole." (m-pa pale Creole) kind of ironic isn't it?

bonus -- There's a word in Creole that sounds like marmot and has nothing to do with rodents. When I first heard it, I couldn't focus on the sentence and had to giggle at the picture of a rodent I had in my head.

Responding

2009-05-01T04:58:00.000-07:00

"Exposure demands a response." ~Chris Heuertz, executive director of Word Made Flesh

I've been exposed to poverty, to hunger, to nakedness, so now what?

Yesterday we drove from Port Au Prince to another town to catch a boat. The roads we drove on were very rugged, speckled with potholes and washed out in several sections. Along them we saw several homes. The homes here all seem t be about the size of a small garage. If I had to guess I would say most of them have 2 rooms. All along the roads people were selling paintings, hand-made crafts, fruit, and anything else that could sit on a table in their front yard.

Once we reached our boat, we then went on to La Gonave, our final destination. We drove again past several small houses where there were naked children playing along the street, while their mothers sold goods. To be honest, I wasn't surprised by any of this.

A few years ago, the shock of these sights would bring me to tears immediately, but today I did not cry. I wrestled. I know my pity and my tears will not change this. Though I'm sure God still likes when we cry over injustice, I want to do more than cry over it.

I want to change it. But I have no idea how. I know just giving money and things isn't enough. That can even do more harm than good if it creates an unhealthy dependence -- think of the short falls of the welfare system (Don't get me wrong when we see the naked we need to cloth them and when we see the hungry we need to feed them...it's about balance). And I know just going and seeing and talking isn't enough. I want to do more.

I want to respond to poverty and injustice as Jesus did. And I want to do this not only in Haiti, while I am living among and making friends with these people. But I want to do it in the U.S. where I live among the wealthiest people in the world. (Yep in the U.S. I'm filthy rich, even w/a part-time job paying $8 an hour.) But how?

Could you pray with me as I wrestle with this? Now that I have been exposed, how should I respond?

Abandon

2009-04-28T05:37:00.000-07:00

This morning I read in My Utmost for His Highest, "Are you prepared to let God take you into total Oneness w/Himself, paying no more attention to what you call the great things of life? Are you prepared to surrender totally and let go? The true test of adandonment or surrender is in refusing to say, 'Well, what about this?'"

Wow! "Refusing to say, 'Well, what about this?'" I'm not there yet. All week I've been asking God, well, what about this. What about my family, what about my church, what about my friends who don't know Jesus?

And I've been frustrated b/c I feel like I'm abandoning everyone I care about to move to Haiti. But this morning as I read through this devotional, it hit me. What if I'm not abandoning friends, family, and the lost? What if what I'm really abandoning is self?

Just some thoughts on my last day in the States. :)

Prayer Circles

2009-04-19T19:22:00.000-07:00

My legs are tired, my mouth is dry, and my heart is oh so full!! Thank you to all of you who made it out to the farewell party and my commissioning service today. It was such a big blessing.

They prayed for me during both services at my church today. It was maybe the 10th time that a church has laid hands on my to pray over me and my ministry, and each time I feel even more encouraged than the last. It is very humbling to kneel down and feel the hands of so many people on my shoulders, back, and arms. The weight of this collective touch would be difficult to stand up under, and I can't help but think of that how that physical strength pushing down represents the same spritiual strength that will be holding me up when I go. It is an awesome picture.

It's also pretty encouraging to turn around and see the circle of people who have come to pray. I have locked in my mind images of circles at different churches in Indiana, Michigan, and Pennsylvania (ECC, New Lebanon, College Wesleyan, Lighthouse, to name a few), and if all of these prayer circles were added together the number of people in them would well over a hundred. It's a small army that I cannot do without.

Seriously, one of the biggest lies I've had to fight as I've prepared to go is the lie that I am alone. But today God knocked that lie out of the way. Seeing and feeling the power of prayer circles forces me to see that I am NOT ALONE.

Today was a huge day to celebrate what God is doing not in my life, but in HIS BODY. And you are all a part of that. Thanks for coming. Thanks for praying. Thanks for rejoicing!

March Newsletter

2009-03-26T07:55:00.000-07:00

More than I Imagined
“Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we could ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us…” Ephesians 3:20

If you’ve heard me speak in the last 8 months chances are, you’ve heard me talk about this verse and about how God is doing MORE. Well, my friends, He’s at it again.

As I’ve prepared to go to Swaziland, my job description has been pretty fluid. This fluidity has left lots of room for me to imagine what I would do in Swaziland. I was imagining myself teaching English, mentoring young adults, and encouraging nationals and missionaries. I didn’t know if I would get to do any of these things, but I secretly hoped that I would.

Then, two weeks ago my hope was put to the test when I found out that I will not be able to go to Swaziland. This news surprised and confused me, so I started to pray. As I prayed, God reminded me of all the things I was looking forward to doing in Swaziland: teaching, mentoring, and encouraging.

At the same time Global Partners mentioned that I might be able to go to Haiti. Since I have a strong relationship with the missionaries there (the area director Dan Irvine was my pastor all through high school) I sent them an e-mail, listing all the things I was hoping to do in Swaziland.

Shortly after that, the Irvines contacted me to tell me that all the things I had been hoping to do in Swaziland are needs in Haiti! This week, Global Partners officially reappointed me as a one-year missionary to Haiti. I am very excited that God is taking my same passions in a new direction. He really does do immeasurably more than all we can ask or imagine!!

What I’ll be doing in Haiti
I am hoping to get to Haiti this May. Since the budget is a little less than my Swaziland budget, and since there is such a need there, this goal is very plausible.

Once I get there I will start taking language classes and preparing to teach. In the fall I will be teaching 3 levels of English classes to adults. These adults will be a mix of believers and non-believers, and I can’t wait to meet them all!

In addition to this, I may help debrief and direct short-term teams that come to Haiti.I am excited about all these things, and can’t wait to see what MORE God will do.

Prayer Requests and Praises:·
Logistics – lots of little details to take care of as I switch destinations and prepare to depart ·
Perseverance – finishing time in States well·
Cultural Preparation – different going to live in a country I’ve never visited·
Family time has been great. God’s moving in my whole family.·
Praise God for his provision and direction

The Number Crunch
Prayer Partners – 100% (over 100 people are praying for this ministry!!)
Funding – 94% (before Haiti budget change)
Total Times Speaking – 25
Number of Churches Visited – 21
Ways God has Advanced His Kingdom – Too many to count!!

In Sickness and In Health

2009-03-09T12:33:00.000-07:00

“I can’t be sick.” I told my mom Friday night, as I raided the kitchen, taking zinc, drinking orange juice, and looking for any other vitamins in the house. “I have to speak Sunday.”

“You’ll be better by Sunday. You just need to rest,” she reassured me. And at her advice, I cancelled my Saturday plans and scheduled a day home in bed. Boy was I glad I did.

Saturday morning I woke up at 6 with a high fever, and aches everywhere. My whole body was weak, and just walking down stairs wore me out. So I took some medicine and crawled back into bed. I stayed in bed with a stack of Kleenexes most of the day, hoping to recover. But when Saturday night rolled around, my fever got even higher, and I began to worry. “What am I going to do about tomorrow?”

I had planned to speak for 20 minutes Sunday morning at a small church nearby. They had given me the entire sermon time, and I had called to confirm these plans on Tuesday. But Saturday night, I wanted nothing more than to cancel those plans.

I imagined myself calling the pastor and saying in a raspy, pathetic voice, “I’m sorry I can’t come tomorrow. I’m sick cough cough.” Though I could see him in a panic scrambling around Saturday night, putting together a message while his kids were fast asleep, I knew he’d have to feel bad for me. Maybe he’d even let me reschedule. Surely I was too sick to speak.

But as I contemplated this cancellation, I remembered a something I had read that day in Sacred Marriage by Gary Thomas. It was in a chapter entitled “Sacred Struggle: Embracing Difficulty in Order to Build Character.” In it Thomas talked about how our difficulties in marriage and in life are opportunities for us to become more like Christ. One quote by Gary and Becky Ricucci stuck out to me. It says, “…God doesn’t protect Christians from their problems—he helps them walk victoriously through their problems.”

I didn’t feel like walking victoriously that night. I felt like curling up and going to sleep. But for whatever reason—maybe it was God’s grace or maybe it was your prayers—at 7:00 Saturday night I decided again to speak Sunday morning. Though I knew it would be tough, it would not be impossible. So I made a plan. I would practice for 20 minutes, pick out my clothes, have my mom iron them, have my dad pack the car, and I would get directions. Then I would drink some more thera flu, get a shower, practice for another 20 minutes, and get to bed by 10 (which was 11 with the time change). The next morning I’d have to wake up in time to take more medicine and lower my fever before going. Then if I could hold it together for 2 hours I could come home and crash.

And this is what I did. The plan couldn’t have went more smoothly. I spoke on Sunday for 20 minutes. It was the first time since Friday afternoon that I had stood up for that long, and I had to speak leaning on the podium the whole time. When I was done, I was still pretty shakey and missed a step walking off stage, dropping my bible to the floor. But I was so excited that I made it through, that I didn’t care about my clumsiness, and the people didn’t seem to either.

The rest of the service was a blessing to me. They took time to pray over me before I left, and several people asked me questions and came to look at my display afterwards. As I talked with them, I was a little embarrassed to think of how close I was to canceling my engagement, and I did my best to look healthy while I talked.

After I got back to my house and had some lunch, I crawled back into bed and slept the rest of the afternoon. This morning, I thought again about the whole thing and felt a big sense of accomplishment. Maybe that’s prideful or silly, but I just felt like yesterday, we won. Satan threw sickness and discouragement and temptation to quit my way, but through your prayers (it had to be prayers I don’t know how else it happened) I was able to stand for 20 minutes, God’s message was shared, and a church was encouraged.

“…God doesn’t protect Christians from their problems—he helps them walk victoriously through their problems.” It’s a quote that makes so much more sense to me this morning, not just in light of marriage but in light of walking with God in sickness and in health.

Blessed by a Broken Car

2009-03-05T13:58:00.000-08:00

On February 6, I set out for Marion, IN. The plan was for me to get to Marion February 6th, hang out with friends for a couple of days, speak on Sunday the 8th, and head back to PA Monday morning. But after driving only one hour, my plans were put to a halt.

I was driving just outside of Youngstown, when I ran into some heavy traffic. I hit the brakes and slugged along at 10 miles an hour. This slow pace lasted only a minute or two before traffic sped up again, and I hit the gas eager to get going. As I did, however, I noticed that the car didn’t pick up like it normally would. The RPMs climbed to 4 then 5 while the speedometer was barely reaching 50. At the same time, I noticed a flapping fwhoop, fwhoop, fwhoop noise coming from the car. I needed to find a place to stop.

With a strange calmness, I started scanning for a good place to stop and made my way through the four lanes of traffic to the far right. Within a mile, I’d reached an exit and found a Taco Bell to pull into. Just as I made it into the parking lot, however, I lost all power steering and all the lights came on. I coasted to a stop. I tried to restart the car, but the engine wouldn’t turn over.

And then I realized my nightmare had come true. I had broken down alone. As I let this thought come in, I felt my throat tighten and my chin quiver. “You’re fine,” I reminded myself. Then I called my dad.

I felt much better after arranging for my rescue and informing the Taco Bell employees of my plight, so I walked back out to my car. As I did, I thought to myself, “What am I going to do for three hours? I wish there was a coffee shop around here.” Just as I thought that, I looked up, and noticed a Starbucks across the road. I was so excited.

I grabbed some books, a journal, and some money and abandoned my broken down car for a cushioned chair and a tall white chocolate mocha. As I sat there listening to soft jazz music and scribbling thanks in a spiral notebook, I felt a wave of relief sweep over me. “I don’t have to be anywhere or do anything for at least three hours,” I sighed.

Then I opened up a book I was reading and saw the story of Martha and Mary. “But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made…” it said. It’s the typical bible story about busyness, and we always read how Martha was “upset about many things but only one thing was needed.” I had read it a hundred times.

But this time, in Starbucks with a broken down car, it was different. Why was I so relieved to have nothing to do? Why did it feel so good to read my bible and journal and be alone for three hours that Friday afternoon?

I thought back to the week leading up to Friday. I had spent all week scrambling around getting ready for the weekend. I had worked every day making phone calls, cleaning, packing, e-mailing, and had taken little to no time for myself or for God. I was so worried about all the things I needed to do to be ready to speak on Sunday night, that I had forgotten the “one thing” that was needed. Time with Jesus.

What I Need

2009-03-05T13:56:00.000-08:00

At the beginning of December I was really struggling with fear about my finances. I remember looking in my checkbook to write my tithe and getting teary. 10% seemed like a lot to give when I knew I didn’t have enough to pay for the things I needed like dental work, glasses, and college loans. I tithed anyway, but I was still really worried.

To ease my worry, I turned to one of my favorite passages in the bible Matthew 6:25-34. This is where Jesus talks about not worrying about what you’ll eat or wear etc. As I was reading verse 32 really stuck out to me. It says, “For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly father knows that you need them.” Wow! I loved the idea that God knows my needs.

But just knowing that God knows wasn’t enough to stop my worries, so I decided to write my needs down on an index card as a way of giving them to God.

On one side I wrote Needs: - Filling in my tooth (I told him which tooth.)
- College loans paid each month (I wrote the specific amounts.)
- Funding for Swaziland
- Speaking engagements
- Food and housing while I’m speaking
- Transportation to and home from speaking
- Sleep
- Friendship
On the other side I wrote Wants: - winter coat
- glasses

Then, I dated it 12/5/08 in the corner, tucked it into an old journal, and forgot about it.

At the beginning of February, I rediscovered the list. And to my surprise, God has been working on providing for every need on the list! Some of the ways He’s been providing have been a little miraculous, like a waived dental fee, a 76% discount on a winter coat, and a donation designated for traveling costs. Others have been every day, like a steady job so I can make loan payments, having $43 from work to pay the eye doctor, and phone calls from old friends.

God’s been so faithful. When I wrote the list, I was hoping that I would be able to look back and see a couple of ways God provided. But I didn’t expect him to address every need and to do it in less than 2 months! He knows what we need.