Foreign Affairs

Two days ago, I stepped off American Airlines flight #971 to Port-Au-Prince Haiti. In a just a short couple minutes the din of American politics, business as usual, dinner plans with friends, and the next sermon took flight of my mind. I steadied myself and sought my sea leg balance for this culture again, and by the time I exited the airport I was snapped to attention and geared for the clanging and striving of pure poverty. It met me before I arrived at the door but slammed me in the face as I pushed out of the building.

I have never found the words to conduct my thoughts to paper in such a way as to paint the graphic picture a third world country brings to a being. I know there are those out there who fluidly swerve back and forth between cultures with hardly any effort at all. Not me. It’s more like careening, awkward, and ill performed at best. I want to think the years and experience have softened my approaches internally, and perhaps to one degree or another they have. But still, the gentle caresses of a plush culture are deeply woven into the fabric of my being, and my soft underbelly lacks stomach for the harsh and brutal ways of the impoverished.

I tell my teams not to rush to judgement, but it’s hard. Staring awkwardly in the vacant eyes of a child who you will only be left to wonder what will happen to them is a tsunami of the soul one cannot pen, nor tongue tell. It is a grief you will carry to your grave, and a theological question that will play with the soundest theologies of God and men should you possess a true soul for the unfortunate and the forsaken. I am not one to shake a fist in the face of the Almighty, but this place is a true test of my endurance and faith!

Soon enough I am confident this land will swallow up my work of flesh, devour it and spew it out on the ground like refuse. Gratefully, the work I do is not for flesh alone. Seed planting is what we do, and when we are gone, and the dust has settled, and the rain comes…new life will be found pushing up through the harden soil, life of promise, and hope, and change. Good will grow, that is my prayer.

When I walked out through the parking lot, and got in the car with Robinson, I couldn’t help but notice the full airport parking lot. A very different site for me. He said it was a sad day in the country, it seems there is a gas shortage. As it has played out, it’s a yearly struggle here. It’s quite a site to pass the gas stations and see 50-100 motorcycles strewn throughout the parking area by the pumps, all waiting for one thing, fuel. Almost every motorcycle taxi you see has a one-gallon jug tied to the back fender, dangling on a piece of rope, a sign of the prepared. Rob has headed to the gas station at 4:00 am each morning to make sure he can have enough gas to get his American friend around and run a generator at night for a fan to keep him cool. What are the odds?

Yesterday we pulled a miracle, we setup and stood up our new big tent at the project. It takes an army of guys to lift 1150 lbs. of fabric 21’ in the air! I can tell you, I was there! Our first try failed, and I was ready to call it a night. It was pitch dark under the fabric and we had my pen light and a couple phone lights trying to see what to do, did I mention that I don’t speak Creole? And I have a couple good translators, but when they don’t have a clue what you’re up too, it become a real fiasco. We did succeed, and then I raced around tightening a few places on the tent to steady it overnight…

I was walking to the bathroom for my shower late last night when I heard a terrible racket. I was momentarily confused, and then a shutter went through my frame…rain! My tent was up, but still needed tightening for water flow off the canvas, when they are not tight, they pocket water, and water is 8.3lbs per gallon. Robinson cannot remember a time it has rained in January in his lifetime! We fought to get it up, and another force tried to get it down. When we got back to the property this am, I was greeted with what I feared, a huge pocket of water threatening to tear our new tent down, I raced…no…I plodded through deep mud to where the canvas was groaning under its uncomfortable load, released two straps, dropped two poles and called for a bucket. It took ten minutes of bailing, and unsettled panic inside me, before the strain was lifted and I tightened up the canvas to safe proportions. Did I mention how good God is.

I wrote to a friend this morning that I don’t quite know why I find myself in such foreign affairs. I’ve never arrived at a place and been there very long before I have found Him already there. I know He could just go on without me, but he seems to keep pausing, looking back over His shoulder and saying: “Are you coming?” What are you supposed to say to that but ‘yes Lord’? And so I go, finding myself embraced by the most unusual arms of God, an orphan, a widow, a pregnant mom due any moment, concern deeply etched on her face. There will be no NICU for her baby, barely any proper medical care for herself.

When you can’t teach the people to fish, you better know how to break bread like Jesus did! You better know the power of the one who fed 5000 with two fish and five loaves of bread. This morning I packed a little extra in my lunch bag. Two little boys spotted me getting into the Toyota and came on the run. I gave them each a snack, and they asked for one for their sister. We told them to go get their sister, for hungry bellies cannot be trusted! It was as I suspected, older sister…and little brother came on the run…but I had enough.

Robinson forgot about a wedding he was supposed to do at 4:00 today, so it has left me with a little writing space. The clouds are threatening rain again tonight, but I am not bothered now. Actually, it has worked out quite well because the rain has exposed a few other issues that needed to be addressed at our new property. And better while I’m here to see, than trying to explain it on the phone.

Paul says to be content in whatever circumstances one finds oneself, I am still learning what that means, and over time, finding out it means a lot more than I initially conceived. Here’s to all being content tonight, trust me when I tell you that you have it far better that you can imagine. I know we have some big mountains to climb in our country, just remember though, we have climbing gear, imagine what it would be like if you had a mountain, and nothing to climb it with. I suppose that would be the time have the faith to cast the mountain into the sea, this is the culture and burden I find myself immersed in tonight. We stopped in passed the old church property before noon today, there were a few people there, gathering for noon prayer. As I walked to the front of the church, I was struck to see a young girl already on her knees praying. Great desperation or great faith on bold display for my afflicted American eyes to see. I paused, and looked up to see God looking back over His shoulder again, the question hanging between us… “are you coming?” I’m on my way!

Blessings to all from St. Marc.

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