Adoration Christian Centre - Part Two

Randy Lodder, director of Adoration Christian Centre (ACC) asked me if I would be willing to lead a workshop for the kindergarten and special education teachers on ‘Hands-On Learning”.  He told me that the workshop would begin at 10:00.  When I arrived at 9:45, Randy told me that they were running late.  It is normal for things to start later than advertised in Haiti.  I was thankful to arrive early and have them running late because it gave me the opportunity to hear Randy give his teachers a ‘pep’ talk reminding them of the vision and mission of the school.  Their mission statement is clearly written on the wall when you enter the school.

“Prepare and equip students to have an impact on their community and the world for the glory of Jesus Christ.” 

 In a recent newsletter, Randy expanded on this mission by saying “At its core our mission is to proclaim Christ, focusing on providing Christ-centered education that will equip, train, build up, encourage, and develop the community in which we are serving; helping and strengthening families who are in poverty and are “at risk”, meaning they are living in some very harsh conditions.” That day, he reminded the teachers of the difficulties their students are facing which block their path to effective learning.  He challenged the teachers by suggesting that if they were all doing their job well, they would equip their students to serve Jesus Christ by serving others as they become leaders in their community.  Their education will help them achieve this goal.  To help them understand their students better, he explained that many of their students come from difficult situations as they are trying to reach the poorest of the poor.  Then Randy asked the principal of each section in the school to give an example of one (or more) of their students to help the teachers better understand the community that they are serving. 

Ketia (Special Education and Kindergarten Principal)

Ketia shared with us that some of her students would not be accepted into other schools because they don’t have the means to get shoes, uniforms or basic school supplies.  She spoke passionately that these are the students that Adoration Christian Centre wants to help.  She suggested that her teachers are able to give more than what they would receive at a local government school because they try to share the love of Christ with each one.  She stressed the importance of loving each child and being sensitive and understanding knowing that so many of them have difficult lives.

Alix (Primary School Principal – Grades 1-6)

Alix shared that one of the main objectives of this school is to help families who are in great need.  He gave an example of a family with 13 kids.  Adoration Christian Centre has a policy that they can only accept two kids per family with a goal of reaching and giving hope to as many families as possible.  This family lived across the street from the school in the ‘tent city’ since the earthquake in January, 2010, but was recently displaced due to the government coming in and telling everyone they needed to move in order to build a new hotel on this land.  The school helped this family build a house in the place where they were ‘moved’.  It would take hours for these children to walk to school and the cost of a tap tap (public transportation) would be prohibitive.  For now, ACC is paying for their transportation, however, there are others in the same situation and eventually, ACC will no longer be able to provide transportation.  There are many students who were moved and are at risk of continuing their education at ACC.  Alix told teachers to show compassion and understanding to these students when their homework is not complete as they are likely exhausted by the time they get home and might not eat again until the next day when they receive lunch at school.  He reminded teachers that children don’t learn well when they are hungry.

Evenz (High School Principal – Grades 7-10)

Evenz shared a story about a student in Grade 12 who is currently at the ‘off-site’ location. This student asked if he would be able to go to afternoon school instead of morning school.  (Some schools offer two sessions so that more students will have the opportunity to go to school.)  Evenz thought that it was an odd request as most students desire to go to school in the morning as it is believed to be when the higher quality of education occurs.  Evenz probed the student and discovered that he lives in a tent very far from the school with his mom and aunt, both of whom do not work.  His dad is not in the picture.  If he can go to school in the afternoon, he has the opportunity to make 35 HTG (equivalent to $0.80 USD) which would help buy a few supplies or food so that he has enough energy to learn.  Although ACC paid for him to get to school, he often opted to walk for one and a half hours so that he could use his tap tap money for food.  He is determined to get his education no matter how high the personal cost so that he can get a job and help his family. 

When the principals were finished sharing, Randy continued by giving a portrait of what he hopes their students will look like upon graduation.  His desire is that they will be able to support themselves with a job, serve their community, become active members in their churches and above all have a relationship with Jesus Christ.  He hopes that they will excel in school and earn a Grade 13 education.

The task is daunting and would be impossible except that God is using an incredible staff of Haitians here and a host of supporters in North America!  I am thankful for the small roles that Erin and I can play while we are here this year.  Erin is teaching Art two days each week to all of the students together with a few others, we are both involved in developing Art Curriculum for the school.  I have also been involved in leading or helping with teacher training.

As mentioned earlier, I presented a workshop that day for the kindergarten and special education teachers on ‘Hands-On Learning’, but in the end I felt like I was the one who learned the most.  

We are able to do this because of the financial support and prayer of many of you. If you would like to learn more about this school or consider sponsoring a child yourself, check out www.adoration.net. 

Adoration Christian Centre - Part One

Adoration Christian Centre is a school that was founded and currently directed by our new friends, Randy and Karen Lodder (a couple from Southern Ontario) who are supported by the Canadian Reformed organization, “Word and Deed”.  They started this Christian School seven years ago for Haitian children who are taught by Haitian teachers.  The school has grown to nearly 300 students from pre-kindergarten to Grade 10 with students in Grades 11-13 going to school off-site.  Listening to Randy talk about the joys and challenges of the school over the past few months has been both disheartening and inspiring.

 

On our first visit to the school in September, Randy shared with us that parents need to go through a long application process because so many people want to send their kids to this school.  Adoration Christian Centre, in an effort to affect as many families as possible, has a policy of accepting a maximum of two children from any given family.  Their first priority is to Christian families with hopes to strengthen Christian leaders to make a difference in their communities.  The children who attend are on a sponsorship program through generous donors in North America who provide $38 per month, similar to how World Vision or Compassion International works.   For some families, the fee is very difficult to pay.  The school provides the t-shirt part of the school uniform.  Adoration Christian Centre’s vision is to help these kids who are in especially difficult situations. 

Until this year, many of the families lived in a ‘tent city’ across the road from the school.  After the earthquake, many tent cities were erected around the city and some have remained until this year.  Recently, the government moved everyone off the land because they plan to build a hotel in that space.  Many of the families moved far from the school to a place named Canaan because that is the only place they can afford to live.  Although you may recognize the name Canaan from the Bible, believe me, it is not a land flowing with milk and honey as the name suggests.  Many of these families do not have the resources to get their children to school now and some have stopped coming to school. 

It was lunch time when we arrived so we were able to witness lunch being served to all of the students.  Until this year, they also provided breakfast since many children come to school hungry, however the funds are no longer available to provide a breakfast program.  For some kids, this is their only meal of the day which usually consists of rice and beans (diri ak pwa).

   

The original school building came down in the earthquake (and by the grace of God, no one was in the building at the time as students and staff who were still at school were all outside watching a basketball game).  The school is currently housed in a former construction company office building with rooms that are rather small.  The average class size is 25.  The kindergarten room was maybe 12'x12' max with 18 students and I felt overwhelmed thinking about my large kindergarten classroom in Drayton with all of its space and supplies and saw these children who need to sit at their table all day because there is hardly enough room to get up and move around.  Randy’s hopes and dreams are that they could buy a piece of land and build a new school as they are currently renting this space.  It would include larger classrooms.  Having said that, if there were larger rooms, the Haitian community there would suggest that the school could hold lots more kids and there might not be a solution to the crowded classrooms. 

    

Adoration Christian Centre has three classes for children with special needs demonstrating beautifully that ALL children are unique, special and created in the image of God.  Special needs classes are rare in Haiti. 

Although it was very difficult to see and hear about the poverty that many of the students are experiencing, I was encouraged that these children have been given the opportunity to receive an education.  Most of the students would not be able to go to a local government school because they would not have the necessary funds to pay for the basics –uniforms, supplies and transportation.  By the fourth grade, students are learning in French only (which is the language of the educated) and will help provide more opportunities for them in the future than if they only speak Creole.  Their education will help provide them with skills that will enable them to provide for their families and make a difference in their communities.  My utmost respect goes to Randy and Karen for their vision and perseverance to help children who can in turn help their families makes a difference in their communities.   

Visitors!

Since we are only here for one year, I am constantly aware that much of what we are learning is not so that we can cope or flourish long term in Haiti but so that we can share with the rest of the "normal-people-world" (non-missionaries) (all tongue-in-cheek).  My hope in sharing is that all of us who read these posts can be better equipped to be encouragers and advocates of global missions and those who serve away from home.  When you live over 3000 kilometres from home, having visitors is a huge deal.  Over the past two weeks, we have been privileged to have three visits from family or friends close enough to call family.  I'd like to share what that was like so that you can get a sense of how encouraging it is for missionaries to be remembered in ways that are personal and life-giving.

My younger brother Stephen is a lawyer in Boston.  He and his wife Neda, a real estate broker, and their delightful daughter, Serena, have been great personal encouragers.  Though their beliefs would make supporting our agency, CRWM ingenuine and therefore they cannot, they have gone out of their way to communicate their cheerleading posture to us as people.  About a month ago, in the midst of a very hectic time of purchasing a new home, Stephen booked a flight to come and visit us for the weekend preceding my birthday: November 7-10.

In preparation for his trip to us, Stephen started asking what sorts of things he could bring and kept on pressing for more and more and more and more.  And more.  We had some things we needed (mostly particular items we couldn't find here) that we ordered from Amazon to be shipped to his house, but most of what he took was the result of his and Neda's driving around Boston and picking up as many items as Stephen could fit into his three checked bags!  When he arrived with one very large suitcase, two large duffels, a carry-on, and a back-pack, let's just say he didn't look like a tourist on a three-day trip.  When he got to our home, it was like a Festivus celebration (Seinfeld reference), with the unpacking of flip flops, soccer balls, light duvets, pillows, candy, cheese,  and articles of clothing for each of us.  The biggest item he packed was a 32" television -- which apparently, you can put in your checked luggage!

Picking up Stephen and his five bags of luggage at the airport

It was great to be able to show Stephen around the city.  A month before he came he had done some volunteering in Boston, packaging medical equipment for a hospital here in Port-au-Prince, St. Francois de Sales.  In addition to seeing the hospital, we toured downtown Port-au-Prince, viewed the city from the mountain top to the south, and toured the many places we spend our time here:  our boys' school where we played a game of 2-on-2 soccer, my office, the schools the girls are volunteering at, and some souvenir shops.  When we brought him back to the airport on Monday the 10th, we were all sad to see him go, but even more glad that he had come.

That same week, on Thursday the 13th, although Erin didn't know it, she had a visitor en route to see her.   A month earlier, Kelsey DeGier, made a plan to come and surprise Erin with a weekend visit.  She landed Thursday at 2:00 while Erin was teaching at Adoration Christian School just a few blocks from the airport. After Carol, Meghan, and I picked up Kelsey, we went to Erin's school where Carol pulled Erin out of class.  Though we had a camera malfunction and didn't quite capture "the moment" of Erin's surprise, it was imprinted in our memories as a startlingly good gift.  Kelsey had not been to a developing country before and was wide-eyed as we drove down rutted roads past garbage piles, goats, stray dogs, women balancing baskets over their heads, uniformed school children, armed guards, barbed wire, and tropical plants.  When we dropped her off on Monday for her flight home we asked her what her impression of Haiti was.  His answer was one word:  crazy.  And in saying so, reminded us that we weren't crazy for often feeling the same thing.

Erin delighted by the Surprise of Kelsey's Presence!

The day after Kelsey arrived, we received a visit from Carol's uncle and aunt, Harv and Diane Geerlinks, who are still with us.  Diane is with NILD (National Institute of Learning Disabilities) and has come to lead some talks and workshops with Carol at the ACSI (Association of Christian Schools International) Conference being held just outside of Port-au-Prince.  Harv and Diane are unique in that their children have served in missions in many places:  India, Philippines, Vancouver, Kenya, Rwanda, and likely more, and this perspective has helped them engage us as close friends in helpful conversations about our adjustment here.

Harv and his helper, Franklin, trying out the playground equipment they repaired together with the parts Kelsey's dad Wes DeGier sent with her.  

In just a few days, this season of 'visitors' will be over and we will be back down to the six of us working our way through the adjustments of life in Haiti.  We will continue to need the prayers and encouragements of so many of you who are supporting us, but we will also have been helped in a significant way by our visitors:  Stephen, Kelsey, Harv & Diane.

It's funny.  When we arrived in Haiti one of my colleagues said to me with sincerity, "thank you for coming, it means a lot."  At the time I didn't get what she was saying and thought she was just being nice, but now I get it.  Visiting your missionaries -- even if you don't do any 'work' like laying block or painting walls -- is a mission of its own.  Showing an interest in their work, asking questions, learning, listening, taking pictures, and packing your suitcases with things they might need (Kelsey brought chocolate and some parts to fix a playground at Adoration School) are all great things to do and a way of coming alongside your missionaries.

As an organization here in Haiti -- Sous Espwa -- we encourage teams to come.  Some of those teams - Service and Learning Teams - come and build, providing the funding and the encouragement of working alongside Haitians to help create infrastructure such as the leadership training center which our friends Clare and Sandy Streutker will be overseeing the construction of in January and February.  These gifts are an invaluable blessing that will reap benefits for years to come.  Some teams though - Look, Learn, Listen Teams - come simply to learn, to show a genuine curiosity about the challenge of mission in Haiti, asking questions, and simply visiting.  They are not tourists, but interested advocates, and they might not have a trowel or paint brush in their hands, but they are providing a meaningful service.  They are showing, just by showing up, that they care.

Thanks for visiting.  

Give Me a Foot

Haitians love acronyms.  Nearly every ministry we work with is referred to by its acronym.  My first few weeks here I was learning all sorts of acronyms:  ECRH, STRH, ITRH, CRECH, MDK, SKDE, PWOFOD, UEBH, and PRIHA.  Each of those nine acronyms is connected with a series of people, ministries, and incredible stories of what God is doing.

One ministry - MDK - is of particular interest to me as they focus on leadership development which is the subject of the Doctorate of Ministry Degree I have been pursuing at Tyndale Seminary in Toronto for the last few years.  Our role here in Haiti with MDK is to encourage, evaluate and otherwise support them as they do their work.  MDK stands for Ministry Devlopment Kretienne and it is run by an incredible team of hardworking people led by their Executive Director, Lemet Zafir.

Lemet reminds me of my friend Andrew Beunk, pastor at New Westminster Church in British Columbia.  Patient, wise, hard-working, and a team leader, Lemet is also a man of prayer who expects the Spirit to be at work and expects results from ministry.  These qualities of Lemet and of the whole team he leads have shaped MDK to be a ministry that is having tangible effects in many places.

On January 12, 2010, a 7.0 Mw earthquake struck Haiti, toppling 100's of 1000's of buildings and taking at least as many lives, people being crushed beneath the weight of poorly constructed walls, roofs, and upper floors.  Those who did not die were left traumatized, many because they had been partially crushed.  As aid workers and doctors rushed to the scenes, some 4000 lives were spared by emergency amputation surgeries.  It is incredible to even begin to think about what those early days after the earthquake must have been like.  Carol's cousin's husband, Dr. Rob Yelle, was on the scene within days and has shared stories about the work that he and many other foreign medical staff did.

In the wake of all of these amputations, leaders trained by MDK saw a need:  prosthetics, crutches, canes, wheelchairs, and financial support for education for children of amputees.  Nearly right after the earthquake, they began a ministry called "Give Me a Foot" abandoning the acronyms and getting right down to business.  Within days, they were gathering supplies which were overwhelming the country as eager donors from around the globe acted out their desires to "do something" by having church drives and sending crutches to Haiti.  Our own congregation in Cambridge did such a thing and the crutches in our basement were all sent.

Bringing the supplies is one thing.  Building and supporting particular people is another.  For the past 4-1/2 years, "Give Me a Foot" has supported countless people, hand in hand with sharing the words of the Gospel, they were acting out the Gospel as leaders should, doing whatever they did for one of the least of these for Jesus himself.

Last Friday, I had the privilege of meeting five beneficiaries of the program.  For the sake of their dignity and privacy,  I am not including pictures and names, but I can share some things generally.  The five of them came into our meeting room and sat down.  There were three women, a boy, and a man.  The man had a cane; the boy seemed to have nothing wrong as did two of the women.  The last woman had one arm missing at the elbow, the other at the wrist.

These five had two things in common:  First, they were beneficiaries of the "Give Me a Foot" program; and Second, amazingly, these five had a facial countenance I can only describe as 'hope-filled.'  While many residents of Haiti, due to generations of struggle and too much loss, have a blank look on their faces, these five had deep and joyful eyes.  Though I noticed the man's cane and the one woman's amputated arms, I struggled to understand why the others were beneficiaries.

The boy, I soon learned, was the son of the woman without hands.  "Give Me a Foot" was helping them as a family afford to send him to school.  As I watched him feed his mother her lunch, a sandwich, I wondered about all the things his young mind had learned in the past five years and what other tasks had become his.  The man with the crutch revealed a prosthetic leg after some discussion, with a joyful twinkle in his seasoned eyes while he talked about the way that "Give Me a Foot" had blessed him.

This left the other two ladies.  One began to inch her long skirt a few inches above the floor, revealing at first a pair of matching shoes, and then, her left, a prosthetic leg that went all the way above the knee.  She talked laughingly about the way "Give Me a Foot" had come alongside her, how she was now one of the leaders of the "Give Me a Foot" team, and how her life had been transformed.  Finally, the last lady spoke, shyly revealing that she too had lost a hand, but eventually gesturing with it and her good hand about the work of this fine Christian leadership development ministry that had spawned "Give Me a Foot" when the need was there.

As I drove away from the meeting, I thought about my Doctoral Thesis I am thinking through for the writing that will resume when we return from Haiti.  I thought about the quality of 'readiness' that MDK had bred into their leaders who were ready when the earthquake rocked their world to respond with action and faith rather than despair and fear.  Going forward as God calls me to build other leaders, that quality will be one I will work for.

When the earthquake happened in 2010, a lot of people asked, "Where was God?"  I don't have a neat and tidy answer to that question, in fact, I may just ask him one day how his love allowed him to restrain his power and not stop the quake altogether.  But in the aftermath of the quake, thanks to my meeting with the "Give Me a Foot" folks, I do know one place God was.  Ephesians 2:10 says "We are God's handiwork created, in Christ, to do good which God prepared in advance for us to do." Where was God during the earthquake?  One place, in the people of MDK, getting people ready for a godly response to an ungodly horror.  

I've never heard of Sous Espwa

Sous Espwa.  It's Creole for "Source of Hope."  It's also the name which the combined ministries of Back to God Ministries, World Renew, and Christian Reformed World Missions in Haiti.  It's a name that I have begun to identify with.  It is the team I work with, the way I introduce myself in Haiti, and so though it is two words, it is beginning to be packed with meaning.   So you can imagine my surprise this past Friday night at the Protestant Pastor's Dinner when a kind old lady said to me, "I've never heard of Sous Espwa."

I had received an invitation from a colleague, Pastor Herode Guillomettre, who heads up a leadership training institution, to attend this special dinner.  When his note came into my inbox, it read like this:
"Je voudrais par ce mail vous rappeler l'invitation qui vous a été faite à prendre part à la 2ème conférence des Chefs de Missions, Eglises, Organisations/Associations et Ligues de Pasteurs (MEOL) le vendredi 31 octobre de 16 à 19h à l'Hotel Montana." (I would like to remind you by email of the invitation that was made ​​to take part in the second conference of Heads of Missions , Churches, Organizations / Associations and Leagues Pastors ( MEOL ) Friday, October 31, 16 to 19h in Hotel Montana.)

Hotel Montana made the news in 2010 when 100's of foreigners lost their lives when the January 12 earthquake flattened the mountain-top hotel.  Today, it is rebuilt and beautiful again, hosting prestigious events and housing dignitaries when they are here.  This night it would be home to the heads and pastors of missions and churches of Haiti, celebrating their collective work and planning ahead to how they would mark the year spanning the 200th anniversary of Protestantism in Haiti (July 2016) til the 500th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation (October 2017).

The room was elegant, air-conditioned, and everyone in the room was dressed to the nines.  In distinction to most other contexts in Haiti where Creole is spoken, this evening was entirely in French, the language of the educated.  The heads of every major denomination in Haiti were there, as well as leaders of prominent Haitian missions.   It was, as my dad likes to say, an "auspicious occasion."

The program had been planned to start at 4:00 pm (16h) and so I arrived there with another pastor at 4:00.  Rookie mistake.  The doors didn't open until after 4:30 and the program didn't commence for another 40 minutes after that.  From 5:10 straight through til 7:50, we were treated to speeches, songs, future plans, and presentations of ecclesiastical dignitaries.  Through the veil of the French language (a thinner veil for me than  Creole is) I was able to get a sense of a shared identity amoung Protestants in Haiti, and just how small a part of that Sous Espwa is.

Yours truly taking a selfie with Port-au-Prince in the background as I waited for the doors to open.

The Auspicious Occasion with the two white heads of Wallace and Walter

Of the 180-200 people in the room, four of us were white, or in Haiti, "blan."  Three of them were sitting at a table in the center of the room.  Though I was new to Haiti, I had already been to the Baptist Haiti Mission (www.bhm.org) in Fermate and had read about its legendary founding family, the Turnbulls.  Wallace and Eleanor had been in Haiti since 1948 -- 66 years! -- as missionaries.  Legendarily, they had been instrumental in aiding a community of mountain farmers become the nucleus of a national ministry which serves over 350 churches, 350 schools, and 68,000 children.  If you have ever studied Creole, you probably have used the text "Creole Made Easy", written by their son Wally (not to be confused with their other son Walter).  The three blan at the centre table were none other than Wallace, Eleanor, and Walter Turnbull.

Wallace and Eleanor at the Chapel of the Baptist Haiti Mission

After the speeches, it was time for dinner.  As we made our way to the buffet, 90-year-old Eleanor ambled over to me.  Grabbing my arm she spoke the obvious:  "You're the only white person in the room who is not a Turnbull, so I had to find out who you are."  I told her my story, how long we have been here, and who I work for.  Then she said, "I've never heard of Sous Espwa."

I explained to her that she probably never would.  I shared the vision of Sous Espwa with her, that we really don't want to make a name for ourselves but that rather we want to get behind the missions that are already here and help them flourish, with Haitian leadership over the long haul, long after I would be gone.  I told her about our local partners:  MDK (a Christian Leadership Training program), CRECH (a Christian School teacher training program), and SKDE (a church leader and pastor training program).  She had heard of each of them and was enthusiastic about their work.

Then I said, "You know, if Sous Espwa is successful, you might still never hear anything about us, but you would grow to know more about these ministries -- MDK, CRECH, SKDE -- as they grow and flourish.  A sparkle gleamed in the eye of the grizzled missions veteran.  She wrapped her arm around me, smiled a warm smile, and said, "That's perfect!  That's how it should be.  The best thing for the Haitian church is that we North Americans promote the flourishing of local leaders and then fade into the background ourselves.  God bless you in your work."

As she walked away, I felt like God himself had just encouraged me.  I had been encouraged to continue to practice the ministry of small things, of encouragement, of hiddenness, of obscurity, and of celebrating the flourishing and success of others.  I thought about how in just three short months I was learning so much.   I am eager to see what God will continue to do in me in the next 8-1/2 months.  Even more, I am eager to see how the way he is shaping me here in Haiti will prepare me for effective service in the years to come.

Haiti, From the Point Of View of a Kid - by Nathan, 12

What I Pictured

When my parents told me that God had set it on their hearts that we might move to Haiti, this is what I pictured. A straw hut (I had hoped I would get my own), I would be the guy to run down to the well everyday, and I did NOT imagine electricity! But when I asked my mom if it was going to be like that, she assured me it probably wasn't. I asked my dad to show me the pictures of the place we would live in, and I realized it wasn't a straw hut. I was pretty bummed out because i was starting to look forward to having my own place! Another big question on my mind was schooling. I had always wanted to be home-schooled because the idea of no homework sounded awesome. I again was wrong. My parents told me that i would probably go to a school called Quisqueya Christian School. I had pictured a room about 20x20 feet all around with completely Creole speaking kids led by a teacher who also wouldn't speak English. I was way off. Quisqueya Christian School is pretty much a school for all of the rich people in Haiti. Most of the kids in my class have a smartphone and/or Ipad. For once in Haiti, I was the poor one! 

My Trip to Haiti

Now I know that most have you have heard what happened in the airport from my parents point of view but this is my point of view of possibly the most stressful moments of my life:

I woke up at about 4:00 am. Wow I thought, Today, I will fall asleep in Haiti! I got out of bed and realized that everyone else was awake. I saw  the bowl of oatmeal on the counter and devoured it. I helped my dad pack up the trailer with our suitcases and then  hopped in Mr. Degier's truck. I surprisingly didn't fall back asleep! I guess I was nervous. When we got to the airport I noticed how long some lineups were. I also noticed a short Irish woman barking out orders. When we got to the front of the line to get our bags weighed, an Asian lady  was arguing with my dad. I was pretty confused, and my dad looked stressed. My dad turned around and told us we could only take 10 of the 12 bags we had. Immediately, my moms face grew into horror. My dad insisted that we had checked the website 20 times over (Which was probably true.) Then the asian lady called over her manager. By this time, the people behind us grew impatient. I heard the insults coming from their mouths and i continually told them that we were sorry. They were getting more frustrated by the minute. I didn't understand. The manager said that she had a compromise. That we could put stuff from our 4 bags that couldn't come, into our other 8 bags and she would mark them as overweight.This next part could have been in a cheesy comedy movie! In Haiti, toilet paper isn't cheap so half of our bags were filled with rolls of toilet paper. Next thing you know, toilet paper is flying everywhere. We did manage to get rid of 4 of our suitcases. It was now about 6:30 and our plane departed in an hour. Then we had another issue. Long lines. I'm sure you have all read the other version of the story but i gotta say, I was pretty scared when the manager wheeled my mom in on a wheelchair. My dad explained to me that handicapped people got wheeled to the front of the line so mom was pretending to have hurt her leg. As we ran down the terminal, we heard our voices called through the intercom. We stepped on the plane about half a minute before it took off. And you wont believe what came on the tiny T.V in front of me. A commercial for american airlines. All I remembered was this. "And with american airlines, we assure you a no stress, no hassle, flight. Have a good day." I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I decided laughing would be best on a plane loaded with people. We stopped in Miami on our way to Port au Prince. There, we waited for about 3 hours. I told my mom that i wished we could've evened out our times at the airports. In Toronto, we didn't have enough time whereas in Miami, we had nothing to do for 3 hours. But at least we knew we would make it to Haiti, unless the plane crashed (Which it almost did). We arrived in Haiti mid-afternoon and met Mr. Zachary King. He drove us to the house we would be living in until the Kings moved out. I was in Haiti.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3e0WSiBti8

- I'm pretty sure this is the commercial that was on the airplane :)

A Day In The Life of Me

My mom wakes me up for school at 6:45 insisting that i am going to be late for school. Groggily, I get out of bed, grab my towel and hop in the freezing cold water of the shower. I get changed into my QCS school uniform, (I didn't even know schools still HAD uniforms!) and went downstairs to eat my oatmeal. Then I hop in the car and drive down my street, into the big rut at the end of it, and drive on one of the few paved roads in this country! We stop at the Krul and Luths house because we usually carpool with them to school. When i get to school, i run onto the astro-turf soccer field to play soccer. I go through a regular american/canadian school day. When I get home I don't even jump anymore at the 4 lizards on the wall. I feed the dogs, occasionally see a rat, and go read a book somewhere. Then its time for supper. I love haitian food! Usually we have "Diri ak pwa" which is creole for "rice and beans". We also sometimes have Greyol which reminds me of Canadian bacon!

After supper I either get out of dishes by volunteering to play music, or I do the dishes with my siblings. Then I go to bed. Repeat...

WTH

Most of you interpret WTH as an abbreviation for a bad sentence. Likewise for our family. I would say that daily I or one of my parents will say "WTH" after someone rants about Haiti. Allow me to explain. WTH is a new sentence that I made up meaning "Welcome to Haiti" ex:

Dad: So then he arrived 30 minutes late when he was supposed to come early!

Me: WTH!

This has occured several times before and occasionally it actually lightens the mood. WTH everybody.

~Nathan Vanderstoep, a kid in Haiti.

A Day in the Life (it was a long day, so this is a long post, pour yourself some tea)

Wednesday, October 22, 2014
5:00 am.
My alarm went off and I headed down to the kitchen.  On this morning, uncharacteristically, I would be up before Carol.  Normally, she has already made the pot of oatmeal and the pot of coffee by the time I get up, but this day I have a long day ahead and I am starting early.  While the water for the oatmeal and coffee is boiling, I fry a couple eggs, thanks to our chickens who yesterday left us six fresh ones.  I go to one of the charging stations (because our electricity gets turned on and off and has spikes, we only plug electronics into surge-suppressors) and retrieve my tablet and laptop, eventually to be put in my bag for the day, but initially to spend some time in "Seeking God's Face," a great prayer guide that I am trying to work back into my routine after watching my devotional discipline get inconsistent through all the transition of this summer.

After eggs, oatmeal, one cup of coffee, a shower, and all my allergy and breathing medications, I am standing outside our house but inside our compound, waiting for my ride, slated to come for 6:30 am.  At 7:00, my ride arrives, 30 minutes late being no big deal in a country where traffic and fatigue wreak havoc with schedules.  I take the wheelchair which has been in my front hall for the night and place it in the back of Nelson's 4x4 pick-up truck.  Lunise and Nelson are in the front buckets.  They both work for World Renew; Lunise is the head of the team and Nelson does his work primarily in the Leogane region, for those who remember: the epicenter of the earthquake almost five years ago.  I squeeze my 6'1" frame into the back of the Nissan quad-cab.  It's going to be a long 3-1/2 hour drive, though we will only cover about 80 kilometres (50 miles).  At 6:30, the temperature is already 25 celsius and the heat index by afternoon should be in the low 40's.  Mercifully the pick-up truck has air conditioning.  As a bonus, it seems to be working.

We wind our way through the craze and maze of streets that is Port-au-Prince.  Since the city is built against the side of a mountain range, there is no shortage of steep grades.  And where the roads are not paved, you can bet that rain storms have carved crevices into crevasses, making a backseat passenger wonder how we will get down (or up) the next hill.  This will prove to get even more interesting as we near our mountainous destination in a few hours.

En route to our destination we make our way through the downtown of Port-au-Prince, including a massive street side fish market, jammed with a sea of antiquated rusty residential freezers and broken camping coolers, holding the catch of the day, or week, or month.  It's hard to know.  There is no packaging or code dates.  Rather than meat inspectors and butchers in white coats, there are vendors, mostly weathered women with vacant stares, sitting on boxes, blocks, or crates.  Fish aren't the only things for sale today, or any day.  Among the many products splayed out on sidewalks each morning are charcoal bricks, phone chords, jeans, t-shirts, mangos, papaya, avocado, plantains, bread, sneakers, propane, bags of water, and a host of other things.  One person commented the other day that Haiti is the only place you can buy a goat and a prom dress from the same vendor.  Information overload is starting to set in after just an hour and all I am doing is looking out the side window.

Looking out the front window produces considerably more stress.  Sometimes the stress is because of oncoming traffic.  The road is usually 2 lanes, one each way.  I say usually because the meandering width of the road is reminiscent of the lines on my lawn when I mow absentmindedly.  Sometimes the road is exceptionally wide; other times and it is clearly not wide enough to accommodate oncoming traffic.  So, the view through the windshield often looks frighteningly similar to what one would imagine a head-on collision might look like just before the collision.  In addition, Nelson is a confident driver, willing to pass on a curve, up a hill, pretty much anytime, including times there IS oncoming traffic.  For that he lays on the horn and creates the third (center) lane that becomes our safety zone.   Other times the stress comes from wondering whether the truck in front of us will lose its load.  At one point we were trailing behind a flat-bed truck carrying bags of rice, seven layers high.  The first four layers looked to be tied down with ropes from the bag and sides.  The top three rows of rice bags though were simply loaded on top.  In addition, there were half a dozen people sitting up top of the rice bags.  While travelling behind a load like this, you can't help but make mental contingency plans of what to do if the whole load comes loose, even if you are sitting in the back seat.  My heart rate imperceptibly creeps higher.

In Carrefour, the city just west of Port-au-Prince on the north shore of Haiti's southern arm, we stop to pick up Paste Ernst.  Ernst works for PWOFOD, a ministry which does diaconal development.  Ernst is a man I met a few days ago as we began this week-long evaluation of MDK, an impressive leadership development network that is proving itself through tangible results.  When I met Ernst, still practicing my Creole, I asked about his work and about his family.  He spoke slowly so that I could string together what he was saying.  Most of the words, I was finding, were actually within my vocabulary.  However, one sentence, though I could understand the words, was packed with more meaning than words can contain.  I had asked about his wife, wanting to know what she does.  He replied, "Li kraze nan tranbleman de te a."  "She was crushed in the earthquake."  At the time Ernst and his wife were living in Leogane, the epicenter of the January 12, 2010 earthquake which snuffed out 200,000 wives, husbands, daughters and sons.  On that day five years ago, I was with a team in the Dominican Republic, building a trade school.  Ersnt, a pastor and father of five children, the youngest being three, was doing what too many people were doing: grieving and trying to move forward.  Now, here he was five years later, not only raising five children but working with PWOFOD to raise up deacons and giving a week of his time to help evaluate a ministry that is raising up other leaders.  Though only 6' tall, he is a mountain of a man, despite what mountains of rubble have done to him.

Ernst and I sat in the back seat of the truck.  As far as I could understand, we were at capacity, maybe beyond it with our knees digging into the seat backs in front of us.  I continued to look through the front windshield to ensure we would miss yet another head-on collision.  The air was often clouded with dust from the street or pitch black smoke from a truck that hadn't had an oil change in decades.  Dogs, vendors, school-children in bright pink, yellow, or green uniforms darted through and alongside the traffic.  The view out the side window reminded me of the old Flintstones cartoons when Fred would be running through the house, repeatedly passing the same couch, same window, same table, then couch, window, table again.  We passed an unending series of lotto shops (often with names like "Grace of God" or "Eternal Father"), meat vendors, soda markets, deep friers, shoe and clothing vendors, and dust-covered homes, often with someone out front doing the daily morning chore of sweeping the loose dirt off the packed dirt front step.  Each scene was washing into the next with sights that three months ago were jarring and today were calmingly familiar.

About two hours into our trip, we were passing a gas station when a man shouted out, arms raised, "hey!"  It was another member of our evaluation team, Jean Brenor, whom we had thought we were meeting at our destination.  Here he was, waiting with another man along the side of the road, waving us down for a ride.  Without even considering sardining themselves into the cab, both men, bags in hand, hopped into the back of the pick-up and sat on the side walls, holding onto a frame above the cab.  Moments later we were again making our away along the sea-side road, although because of the shacks along the road blocking the view, the only hint of sea was the smell in the air and the occasional peak where a home had been demolished but not yet rebuilt.

We were on our way to Meye, a remote community in the mountains, halfway between Leogane and Jacmel.  Meye is one of many towns in Haiti not only not on any map, but barely on any road.  We began our ascent into the mountains along a main road, it was even paved.  Winding its way up and around corners, our ride, mostly in low gear was a series of blind corners, horn blaring, and at least one back seat passenger in prayer.  I envisioned, naively, that once we got to the top of the mountain things would level out and we could relax.  I was wrong.  The adventure was just beginning.

We turned off the main (read: paved) road and began our way along a dirt road.  Now dirt roads in Canada are often flat, at least smooth, roads.  Sometimes they have fresh gravel and sometimes they are two tracks.  Maybe after a bad rainstorm they are 'washboarded' meaning they have bumps a few inches tall, lasting sometimes as much a few hundred metres when it is really bad.  Canadian dirt roads would be luxuries here.  Dirt roads in Haiti are exactly what you might expect in a place where road construction graders are virtually non-existent and where torrential rains carved new ditches - right down the middle of the road!  This dirt road, though, made every other dirt road I had seen before look like a superhighway.  Not only were the ruts in the road deep enough to make us continually stop our 4X4 to scout a route through much like a whitewater canoer would approach a set of Class IV rapids,  but these rutted roads were narrow and winding around the edges of mountains with sheer drop-offs and no guard rails.  All that would be enough to bring up breakfast, but to add to the fun, every once in a while there would be another 4x4 coming the other direction, sometimes forcing us to "take the outside lane" also known as the edge of the cliff while we passed one another. And again, just as we had seen them in the dusty streets of Port-au-Prince, so also along the remotest stretches of mountain edge road:  children in bright school uniforms, the little girls amoung them sporting large white hair braids.  Later that night, these sights would haunt my sleep as I continually dreamt I was falling off a mountain or into one of the ditches in the road.

Finally, we arrived in Meye, a tiny mountain village with a church and a Christian school right across the road from one another.  We were there to meet with local leaders who had participated in a leadership training program, MDK (Ministry of Development for Christians).  We were evaluating MDK as a ministry partner, wanting to be stewards of the funds God allows to flow through our hands en route to his purposes.  To evaluate MDK, we were going out to the communities MDK was serving, asking questions like, "What did MDK teach?  What do you remember?  What did you put into practice?  What obstacles did you face? and What has grown out of your implementing what you learned?   There in the Meye church building, it was a joy to see 12 local leaders, 2 of whom were women, all actively taking part in the discussions.  Using large white sheets of paper, they drew pictures of ways they have connected with other organizations.  They were laughing and slapping one another's backs and when it was all done and we were ready to go, they were asking if we could leave the large pieces of white paper behind to help them dream and plan.  We were all smiles.

The chart on the left categorized what was learned, how they applied it and what resulted.  The Venn Diagram on the right depicted the leadership development network (only 2 years old in this village) and its relationship to many organizations including churches of multiple denominations, Christian schools, government, and businesses.  It was inspiring!

Our smiles, however, paled in comparison to the smiles of one little girl in the village.  I wrote above that I had put a wheelchair in the truck.  It was for someone in Meye.  MDK had initiated a ministry to serve many post earthquake victims who had lost legs, feet, or the use of either.  They call the ministry, "Ban m' yon pye" which translates "Give me a foot."  Not wanting to crowd around the girl, one of us, Jean Brenor, presented the girl with her new wheelchair.  While she wouldn't be able to take it around town for lack of sidewalks or smooth surfaces, she would be able to use it around her home, at her church, and at school.  It was powerful to see this tangible affect of MDK's work.  MDK is developing leaders and those leaders are initiating and carrying out ministry and we were the privileged observers of the end result.

Another tangible result of the leadership development group was a bridge.  Just down the hill from the village is a gulch.  Gulches are the dry beds of what become raging rivers in raining season.  While the gulch was walked through regularly by many going to and from the village in dry season, rainy season was cutting these folks off from their community, their church, and their sources of income.  The leadership development network spawned an initiative that built a bridge.  It's funny, in ministry I have often talked about building bridges, but they were always metaphorical -- between the church and community, between people who aren't connecting -- but here was a group literally building a physical bridge to connect people in a meaningful way.

Before we had left, the one long-term missionary in the village, Anelise, asked if we could bring her three empty propane cylinders back to Port-au-Prince to be filled.  The propane cylinders were at least four, maybe five, feet long.  The two who had been sitting in the back on the way up were glad to have these cylinders in the back of the truck with them since they could serve as seats to sit on as we made our way back down the mountain.  Let's just say that it made the ride back down the mountain, at faster speeds going down than on the way up and now with three large propane tanks and just as many open air passengers, much more interesting than the ride up.  Here's a few photos of the view on the way down.

Heading north down the mountain toward Leogane.  The Gulf of Gonaive is in the distance.

The picture doesn't quite capture it, but what the camera shows as a grassy hillside is actually a very steep drop-off.  Notice the absence of guardrails and proximity of the edge.   Then multiply it by 20 kilometres.  Yeah, it was that kind of drive.  

A few conclusions or learnings from my day:
1. Leadership Development, when done well, leads tangible results as evidence of the Gospel propelling people to compassionate action on behalf of others.  The wheelchair and the bridge are just two examples.  I am inspired by my Haitian brothers and sisters to expect tangible results from leadership development.  Though I am working on my doctorate on this same subject, I learned from these humble mountain-dwelling farmers.
2. Four-passenger Nissan Quad-Cab pickup trucks can hold seven people and a whole lot more.
3. Mountain driving can inspire both prayers of praise (for the incredible sights) and supplication (that you don't fall off the side of the mountain).
4. Missionaries need 4x4's.  I can remember thinking before as an American and Canadian pastor, "Why do missionaries need 4X4's?  Isn't that a little excessive, expense-wise?"  Just a few months of experience here is teaching me that not only do missionaries need 4x4's to do their work, but that for a 4x4 to survive these driving conditions for any length of time in mileage or age is a small miracle in itself.  It will be easy to give to missionary vehicle fundraisers in the future :).
5. Haiti is a beautiful place.  Yes, it is jammed with poverty and chaos and too many ugly results of both, but it is a place of natural beauty, of a resilient, passionate people, and of church leaders who expect to not only speak the Gospel but to live it out for the sake of others.

Thanks for sending me here.  It is my privilege to bear witness to what I see.

Time to put the empty tea-cup on the counter and get on with my day.  

May I Rant?

Kob.  It is the Creole word for money.  In the Creole Bible, Jesus talks about it a lot.  So does Paul.  Some have pointed out that no single subject receives as much attention as money.  So, it should be no surprise that money has to be part of our life, even, or maybe especially in a place where there is so little.

My rant, today, is how Kob changes relationships.  Let me give a few examples.  Last Sunday, I had the opportunity to preach at Jacquey Christian Reformed Church, the congregation pastored by the overworked Executive Director of the CRC in Haiti - Pastor Romelus.  It was a wonderful morning.  Their singing nearly raised the concrete roof.  Their attentive listening, to this English preacher and the Creole interpreter, and their joyful disposition:  all memorable.  Unfortunately what was most memorable was the four English words a young Haitian boy strung together at the back door as I was greeting worshippers on their way out.  The boy couldn't have been more than five.  His bright eyes and wide smile matched the inviting expressions I had witnessed all morning.  And then he uttered those four words, hand outstretched, "Give me a quarter."  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to cry.

The next example was later this week at an inspiring Timothy Leadership Training event at the Ministry for Christian Development.  There, 70 congregational leaders had gathered together for three days of training, going through lessons with one another, holding each other accountable for growth and action plans, and sharing and praying with one another.  At the end of one small group session, we got together in pairs to share ministry plans with one person and hear their feedback.  A young man selected me as his partner.  He shared his vision that all of his village would hear the gospel, just the kind of faith-inspiring big vision that makes a person smile.  I asked him how he planned to share the gospel with his whole village and he told me that he planned to show them a movie, "the Jesus Film" in French.  My smile turned to curiosity, wondering why a black Haitian would want to show his black Creole-speaking neighbours a movie with a white, French-speaking Jesus to introduce the gospel to them.  My question to him was more mundane, asking how he would go about arranging to show the movie.  That was when it became obvious why he had chosen me as his partner.  He explained that he would buy a projector, a sound system, a laptop, speakers, and a screen -- and that I could provide the funds.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to cry.  Instead, I told him he misunderstood my purpose as his partner, and no, I would not give him my email so that he could send a funding request letter to me.

I could tell more.  I could tell you the sheer volume of times I've had homeless children stop my vehicle to wipe it down for the equivalent of 12 cents.  I could tell you about the time my daughter was sitting in the traffic eating a cookie and a grown man tapped on her window to ask for the cookie. This morning at church, the pastor pointed out that five members of the worship team hadn't eaten in two days.  Two weeks ago our housekeeper attended the funeral of her brother, coming back with a request for us to pay for the education of her dead brother's grand-daughter.  Our house staff, paid more than average, have each asked us for raises multiple times, even though today only marks two months that we have been in this house.  These and other examples demonstrate the way Kob affects relationships here.   It's not easy being rich in a place where everyone is poor.

Don't get me wrong.  I understand our need for generosity, for doing as Jesus did and looking out for the least, the last, and the lost.  And following the lead of those who sent me here, I will look for ways to be generous and experience the joy that gives.

What I mourn though, is the way Kob shrinks relationships.  What could have been a nice exchange between a preacher and Haitian boy at the door of the church was sold for a quarter.  What could have been two Christian leaders collaborating about how to share the gospel was reduced to an unanswered plea for funding sound and video equipment.  What could have been a sharing in the mourning of a staff person in the death of her brother was shrunk to a plea to finance an education.  What was a wonderful time of being led in worship by exuberant singers is now a constant reminder of the inequalities of this earth, wondering which of the musicians has eaten and which has not.

I suspect, as much as I want to simply rant, that the healthier response is to mourn, to mourn in a way that draws me closer to those in need rather than repels me with disgust and fatigue.  I suspect that if I am to grow in the coming months I will only do so by staying in the Kob-induced struggle of constantly seeking the line of careful compassion between the obvious ditches of careless giving and uncaring selfishness.

I suppose that is a road we all travel, no matter where we live.

End of rant.  

Followers Welcome

When we came to Haiti, we left Canada.  Not permanently, but for a year.

Leaving the people you love and who have formed you is a painful thing, even when you have something good to go to.  So, when we moved here on August 6th (Carol, the boys, and me) and 29th (Meghan and Erin), we brought some pain of loss, a void, and though we wouldn't have named it as such, we had a need for community.

Since coming, we have been welcomed into community in so many ways, and in each one, I can feel the love of One greater.  Through this, I have found my own desire to welcome others increase.
It started with the staff of Sous Espwa.  In our first visit to the office, they not only had a big welcome banner and an equally big cake, but they added meaningful sentences of welcome, including World Renew's Lunise Cerin-Jules who said, "Thank you for coming.  It means a lot to us simply that you have come here to live among us and to know us."

Our co-worker, Larry and Tracey Luth, not arriving until mid-August, welcomed us to use their home until the Kings, who were leaving mid-August, vacated theirs.  The Kings - Zach and Sharon - bent over backwards to make their home ready for our use and to show us around, orient us to laws, locations, and customs of our strange and chaotic home-nation.

Our first Sunday, we attended Quisqueya Chapel, an interdenominational congregation serving to help English-speaking Haitians and ex-pats advance the Kingdom of God in Port-au-Prince and beyond (words from their mission statement which I found clear and inspiring).  Their worship team quickly welcomed our children to play and sing and within a few weeks we were sharing a meal with the pastor and his wife -- Bobby and Magalie Boyer.  Since then, Bobby and I have gotten together three times, as colleagues and new friends, for mutual encouragement.

Quisqueya Chapel became a place where many other new friends were introduced.  It has become the place the girls can go for their twice-weekly "Cross-Fit" and where, increasingly, there are familiar faces we can greet during the extended time of welcome at the beginning of the service.
We've also been welcomed into friendships, which is a wonderful thing.  We've been to a number of folks' homes for dinner -- Randy and Karen Lodder, Will and Judy White, Jason and Wilhelmina Krul, Larry and Tracey Luth, Lunise Cerin-Jules, Zachary and Sharon King.  And we have been welcomed into a small group with five other couples to study Kyle Idleman's "Not a Fan."

In small group this past week, we reviewed chapter one of "Not a Fan."  In our review, we talked about the distinction between being a follower of Jesus versus simply being a fan.  A fan is one who knows all the lingo, identifies themself as a Christian, maybe even enthusiastically, but whose life gives no real evidence of actually following Jesus, to carry the metaphor, of "being in the game" with Jesus rather than on the sidelines.  We talked about the ways we are tempted to shrink back from Jesus' example.  Like when he was drawn toward people with pain but away from people of status.  Like when he resisted the temptation to win arguments so that he could instead win followers.  Like when he hung around with people who dragged his reputation down instead of padding his resume and facebook friend collection with all the folks in high places.

As I reflect on all the welcoming that has been extended to us, it is clear to me that the welcomers are followers, and because of this, we have felt the love of the One who has gone ahead of all of us to welcome us.  This is both gift and calling.  It is a gift to know and experience the true and greater love of God through tangible expressions of real people who could have easily had better things to do or decided that investing in what would turn out to be a short-term relationship just wasn't worth it.  This gift, when any of us receive it, is a grace, an unexpected breaking in of something we cannot earn or contrive.  All of this welcoming we have received is also a calling.  The welcoming others have done has pointed us to the one whom we are following, and in so doing, called us to, as followers, also welcome others.

Tomorrow is another day.  Another opportunity to meet folks and make decisions about whether to live an insulated life or a welcoming one.  In my heart, I know which one I will choose.  Only time will tell if my actions will follow.  I hope they do, because as much as we can see that God was using this place (Haiti) to help us grieve the loss of where we've been (Cambridge), we also know that he is using these days to prepare us for what he has planned for our future.  And my desire, and I believe God's, is that I would use all the things I am learning today for whatever he has planned for our tomorrow.    

Stephen's Child-like Dream

Stephen is 8.  When you are 8 and your family moves to Haiti, it is a confusing adventure.  On the one hand, it is exciting.  Stephen finally has dogs (sure, they are guard dogs).  Stephen's school classroom overlooks a soccer field he plays on before and after school.  Haiti means wearing shorts all the time, collecting chicken eggs, feeding fish, being nearly the only white person in his school classroom, and having his big sisters around all the time to play "Skip-Bo" with him.  Haiti is Sunday mornings with Dad home and having either a pancake or french toast breakfast all together.

On the other hand, Haiti is confusing.  Haiti is seeing poverty as we drive back and forth to school and church and shopping, and then seeing affluence among classmates whose parents drive them to school in Porsches and Lexuses (Lexii?).  Haiti is living in the natural beauty of a tropical mountainside but having to block out much of the view with 8'-barbed-wire-topped walls.  Haiti is colour and chaos.  Haiti is seeing broken down vehicles -- every day, and broken down streets all the time.  Haiti is seeing devastating poverty decorated with more Lottery shops than you can imagine.

Tonight as I was tucking him in, he was talking about what he missed about Canada (mostly because he was really missing his sister Kristin who is still in Canada in school in Winnipeg until December).  As he shared what he missed, he talked about the way he used to play with Matthew across the road, or how he didn't see all kinds of poor people all the time.

Somehow, we started talking about heaven, about a place/time where/when everything is good all the time, not a dream but a reality.  Like how in heaven there won't be barbed wire or locked gates at the ends of our driveways and we can go down the street and play with anyone.  Like how in heaven there won't be anyone poor or anyone feeling bad or anyone not kind.

Then he said something profound, the way only an eight-year-old can.  "Dad, I wish that whoever invented money would have thought to share it better around the world so that there wouldn't be places with too much money and there wouldn't be places where there wasn't enough."

Yeah, me too, bud.  Me too.

That would be heaven.  Until then, it is all of our job to spread a little heaven until one day, there will be no more room for hell on earth.

Fog

If you look over my shoulder on a clear day, you'd see the Port of Port-au-Prince and a mountain range beyond that.  Today, whether it is pollution or cloud, there is a fog blocking the view.  I thought showing that would give a visual for thoughts and emotions which have been swirling inside of me over the last few weeks as my heart has been drawn toward and saddened by too many pervasive realities of Haiti.

The other night we had friends over and they asked the question, "So, how are things going?"  It is a reasonable question, in fact it is the question I am asked the most by friends and family back home.   At first the answer was simply, "hot" as we adjusted to a daytime heat-index averaging 45 degrees celsius (about a billion fahrenhuit) and the experience of drinking 4-6 32oz bottles of water and feeling it convert into just as much sweat in seconds as the heat drew it from our bodies.  Then, as we began our linguistic transition, we stopped saying "hot" and started saying "cho" (the Haitan Creole simplified version of the French "chaud" meaning "hot").

As we continued to adjust to being here, each adjustment framed our answer to "How are things going?"  We'd say, "We learned to drive this week and figured out how to get to the grocery store" or "We are getting settled into work and volunteer roles."  In other words, each response to the "How are you doing?" question was able to uncover some small level of success and we were able to answer with something positive.

But there I sat on Friday night, the question, "How are things going?" was hanging in the air.  I didn't have a "new thing" I had learned that day or that week to frame my positive response.  In fact, thought, I had learned a new thing, and it wasn't positive.  It was a learning that is coming (I say, "is coming" because I am still working it out) as a result of what actor Sean Penn has said about Haiti, that "Haiti gets a hold of you."  Haiti, in all its adorable frustration, was getting a hold of me.  So I knew how I had to respond to my friends.

"How are things going?  Things are pretty hard.  Things are frustrating.  Haiti makes me sad."  There, I had said it.  I had boarded the plane in Toronto two months ago with loads of hope and idealism; now, I felt it was all unpacked and messy, transformed to frustration, hanging in the conversation.  Graciously, our friends helped me unpack the ways in which Haiti makes me sad.  It wasn't so much that I was complaining about Haiti, or expressing regret about having come here.  I was that, perhaps because Haiti is beginning to "get a hold of me" that Haiti was making me grieve.

In an effort to help you enter this fog of conflicted hopes and emotions, I will describe some things that are broken about Haiti.  In doing so, I may sound like I am complaining or being critical.  I am not.  I am mourning.  I mourn the effects of generations of poverty, tragedy, injustice, and a disempowered people striving to eek out an identity while being regularly emasculated by the world's wealth flooding them in a shower of pity.  I mourn the brutally low expectations that hang over this city like the fog that clouds out the mountains and the sea.  I mourn the simplistic reduction of relationships between NGOs and local community leaders that devolve into discussions about money.  I mourn the fog itself, that as much as I can name what is broken, "solutions" are, at best, obscure.

First, Haiti is poor economically.  "Poorest country in the Western Hemisphere" was a title thrown around before the January 12, 2010 earthquake that snuffed out 230,000 fathers, mothers, and children.  The annual GDP amounts to just $2 a day per person.  For the 30% who are employed, a minimum wage hovering around $5 a day sets them well ahead of the average, yet at a daily rate any Canadian high school kid wouldn't accept for 30 minutes of flipping burgers.  But these are just numbers.  I mourn the poverty represented by the tarp covered homes I see in my neighborhood, by the naked children I see playing in the provinces, by the grown man I see sitting in a pile of gravel all day crushing rocks with a hammer as a meager way to put food on the table, assuming he has a table.
Second, I mourn the way Haiti's impoverished economic reality has created a host of welfare-state reflexes among those who would be leaders.  The other day I was sitting at an outdoor restaurant sharing lunch with the pastor of the congregation we have been attending services at.  As I finished my meal, I noticed a boy, couldn't have been more than 7 years old.  He had saucer eyes that locked onto mine as his little hand extended, palm up, begging for money.  He wasn't the first child I had seen trying to eke out a living, but his face was hauntingly familiar, as was the posture of his palm.  I had seen that face before, on ministry leaders here, willing to reduce their relationship to Christian Reformed World Missions to an exchange of dollars, to filling their outstretched palm.  Don't get me wrong, some of the things World Missions is doing are vital and encouraging, but the economic disparities between Haiti and Canada/USA are a set-up for our being viewed as benefactors even if our title is "ministry partner."

Third, I mourn the way the chaos and economic disparities create conditions where isolation from community is the norm because it is safer.  Around our property here, we have an eight foot tall stone wall with broken glass on top and then a row of barbed wire above that yet.  We have two guard dogs.  We have not, and likely will not, have occasion to walk down our street.  I have no idea who is living across the street from me and don't expect to find out.  I do know both of my neighbours on either side of me, but in the six weeks we have been in this home, we have only had occasion to even see each other less times than can be counted on one hand.  Evenings, though peaceful, are spent locked into our homes, away from our neighbours, relationally disconnected from being able to foster community.  Beyond that, even those we do see regularly -- our house staff -- are forced by their circumstances to not only see us as employers but as potential benefactors, stripping away the likelihood of true community.

One author I have read since getting here suggests that things will never change, that because "poverty is Haiti's most lucrative export," they have an economic incentive to remain impoverished and with their hand out, either to the international community or to the flesh-and-blood visitors who bring in 20% of what is spent in this country in their pocket change.  It saddens me to think that the broken reality I long to see healed has a self-pertpetuating incentive to remain as it is.

For some, all this fog provides just enough incentive to diagnose that "nothing can be done" except to book a ticket home.  For others, these griefs draw them in like the wounds of a puppy lure a child into taking him home.  For me, today, the fog simply tells me where I am.  With you, on mission, in Haiti.
All this makes me wonder about the fog Jesus had when he was growing up.  Luke 2:52 tells me that Jesus "grew" and therefore wasn't fully developed or fully knowledgable right out of the gate.  He "grew in wisdom and in stature and in favour with God and people."  As he came knowing himself to be the Son of God sent to save the world, he entered into the fog of joining the mass of humanity, and not everything was clear to him from the get-go.  He knew our poverty in every way and the chaos and isolation it created.  And yet he came, on mission, into the fog of the world, for us.

Tomorrow morning, I plan to allow Haiti to, just a little more, "get a hold of me."  I plan to take up my fog, and follow him.

thanks, again, for listening.