Goat herder

Good evening from Haiti. So much for the cool weather! Today things heated right up, in more ways than one, but that is Haiti. One thing I never miss yet when I leave here to go home is the rooster’s crowing at 3:00 am. It’s not bad when you can block it out with fan noise, which works more often than not, but then there are nights that are the exception, like last night. I guess I get now why Haitians like chicken so much, it’s a staple you have because you have to kill them to silence them! On to bigger and more important things though. Kelly, Rob and I hit the road early this morning to see about starting our well machine and getting it under the cover of our new building. We were successful, even though we encountered nasty biting ants, huge spiders and their webs, and a big hornet’s nest. They will be pouring the floor in our building next week and that will give us a much-needed equipment storage space. Another early morning blessing was the opportunity to engage with the orphans when they were just getting up and around. Their energetic hearts were a treasure to experience. I believe this has been a necessary trip to reconfirm these beautiful lives that have been placed in our care. Several are at challenging ages, and this country is anything but kind to hopes and dreams. This has been a great team to redress the needs of their young hearts. It’s particularly tough when they go a whole year without us. I am constantly reminded this mission is nothing if not about the hearts we are meant to touch and change by being that loving hand of God extended. As I type away on my computer, they are all staying with us at the Mission House tonight, enjoying popcorn, Kool aid, and Peter Rabbit. A room full of their laughter, and one might imagine how Monster’s Inc. actually became a thing. One by one they will drift off to sleep, cherishing this moment in the brave history of their lives. Swept along by the complexity of the mundane, they must at some point own this life, or die trying. As I bump along their dust laden streets, the drift of a unique smog all their own grays the sky, I wonder at the stories they could tell. The child whose father breaks rocks to make gravel every day for a living. He doesn’t come home and kick off his shoes, turn on the TV and crack a can of beer. He comes home to a dark hut without electricity and running water, with something called a door, he sleeps tired and hungry with his children on the floor, to die and be buried in a nameless tomb, no epitaph, just the fact that he was here, and now he is gone. I think about these things because that is something of the story line of the lives of our orphans. For most of these kids their history has been erased, they have fake birth certificates, the only sense of belonging is the one they get a few days of the year when we show up. Don’t get me wrong, I think our staff and director are some of the best people in the world, but even Robinson confessed to me he didn’t ever know love until he came to the United States. The harshness and brevity of life here border on a stroke of evil almost too much to comprehend. To this darkness we are called, and to this calling we try to remain faithful. Apparently, I will get the comedy award of this trip with the Haitians. There were two goats at the orphanage that are a part of a birthday feast for the kids this weekend. As we were leaving the house and bringing all the kids to the Missions house to stay, the goats could not be left behind for fear they would be stolen. As I was trying to leave one of the kids handed off his charge to me. And I happened to have the stubborn one of two. I led out on a determined mission not to have anyone else have to deal with this feisty little creature. As the Haitians tell it the poor goat never had his feet on the ground. That is not true, because for most of the way I had to drag the poor little guy along. He would jump into the air and land on all four feet set dead against me, but I kept walking. By the time we arrived at the Mission house I wasn’t sure who was most tired, me or the goat. But he immediately started head butting the other goat so I figured he had fared better than myself. I have never seen Robinson laugh so hard at the telling of the story. I guess I will live on in infamy as the bizarre American goat herder! I guess I’m grateful to have brought some comedic relief to an otherwise repressed culture. One other point of clarification, you experience some of the greatest joy people can live in while here in this country. But the markings of deep sorrow and hardship are carved upon every face as they carry added weight to the normal burden called ‘Time’. A disappointment to our day was that after spending several hours at the dock today, we still don’t have our trailer. Now it will be a bonus if it gets out before we leave. Time to lay a new plan for our setbacks, and finalize what this trip was really about, and in case you’re wondering, no my voice has not returned. I’m beating out my frustration on my computer keys. I hope this post is not overdone! Blessings to all from a heated-up St. Marc.