Distant

Normally Sunday in Haiti after church is over I drop into a lower gear, slow down, and begin a general shift in the homeward direction. Not that we are going home yet, but settling in with the fact that the trip is quickly coming to a close. For some reason today was radically different. First off, here in Haiti the time changed and few knew it. We’re not connected to cell towers so our phones aren’t showing a time change. But it did never the less. When we arrived at the church it was the biggest Sunday morning crowd I have ever experienced. Halfway through the singing the borrowed sound system conked out. When I announced to the church that I had a new sound system in our shipment, they clapped and cheered with joy! One of the themes of this trip for me has been patience. Watching these people deal with all kinds of crazy stuff and never get edgy is just incredible to observe all over again. Many had to sit through the service this morning, not even able to hear what I had to say, and yet they sat there, attentive, relaxed, and content. I confessed to the people in my message this morning that my American blood runs cold and slow with patience. I could fill this post tonight with all the other things we managed to pull off today, but for me the most important moment came unexpectedly. I confess I am a pusher, and I find it hard to sit still. So my connection with our orphans has been much more distant than let’s say Beth, or Krystle. As I came though the house this afternoon, Vanessa caught my eye, she and I have connected more deeply this trip, I smiled at her then paused beside her to give her a quick side hug and continue on my mission, which now I don’t even remember because as I pulled her up and bent over to give her a kiss on the forehead she folded right into my side. Normally they push away from me on their own missions to play or fulfil some task they have been given, I stopped, feeling her boney little back touching my arm, I lifted my arm and began to massage her neck and then her back and felt her muscles relax. Haiti is such a hard land, so unforgiving, so rough, I could feel the Haitian clutch upon her. In that moment nothing else mattered, she needed to feel the salve of my love, not someone else’s, mine. This trip has been more relational for me than previous trips, heaven knows how much I love these people, but I have loved Robinson most of all, and dedicated my energy and time trying to follow the God vision he has, and in turn that I have, to bring the Gospel to these people. But in this serene moment, vision was not what Vanessa needed, she needed to feel a father’s love. The tenderness of her melting into my embrace I can still feel tonight, several hours later. We shouldn’t want the chapters of the books of our lives written about what we accomplished, what we acquired, or how famous we were, but what lives we touched in being God’s hand extended. In Haiti where its President has laid out the five problems the country has: corruption, corruption, corruption, corruption, corruption, we serve out heaping platters of love, love, love, love, and love. It could be argued that love alone cannot change a country or corruption, but tonight, as I sit here pondering the day, and a beautiful little soul named Vanessa, I’m confident that the love of God alone can actually change a nation. Our text from Psalm 33:13-22 actually lays out that fact quite clearly.  So we labor on in love today, steadfast love. Tomorrow promises to be a big day, lots on the agenda, including hopefully seeing access to our goods at the dock. But tonight that still remains in second place to the larger agenda of spreading love out in thick and unreasonable measures. We have so appreciated the comments and encouragement from home. We pray we finish well. Blessings always from St. Marc.