It's the small things

Mom and Dad have been asking when I would start posting about my most recent trip to Haiti and I think I'm finally ready. A few years back a fellow missionary who went to Africa with me said that when people ask about our mission trip that we should keep our responses brief because otherwise we are likely to have diarrhea of the mouth from our own excitement. It is true, the excitement and wonder start to well up in a way that causes one to be quite verbose. This most recent trip is nothing short of that. So, I will try to write several short posts about what happened in Port-au-Prince. My words, however, will be insufficient to capture the true delight of being a part of this team and God's calling to Haiti.

When I travel on mission my senses are on their highest alert and my heart and mind are on constant search to hear God's voice say, "this - this is what I want you to do." He has always made it quite clear and in just the right timing. This trip was no exception and His voice was loud, clear, and right on cue.

One of the projects that we worked on was restoring a home in Delmas 2. This is a region of PaP where the Salvation Army is stationed. It is the former location of La Maison du Bonheur where we worked last year reclaiming anything we could from the earthquake. The Salvation Army complex also has a school (College Verena - more on that later), a medical clinic, playgrounds, and the church (also demolished with the childrens' home). It is a haven in a rough part of PaP. Outside the confines of the Salvation Army complex are tightly packed neighborhoods lined up and down alleys covered with potholes. The sights are invigorating - bright colors everywhere. There is laundry hanging from every building, painted signs on the walls advertising local businesses, raw sewage flowing, chickens, and dogs everywhere. The people, though, bring the neighborhoods to life. Creole is being spoken at every volume level possible; a mother whispers to her child to move aside as a vehicle speeds by; a group of men clash and clang their voices in a heated home-brewed game of roulette; children's voices are laughing and squealing as they play with found objects; and even the sizzle from the roasting meat of the street vendor seems to be saying "manje mwen" (eat me) in Creole. The smells are indescribable - food, people, and sewer find a new combination with every step we make into the neighborhood. And as we pass through on our umpteenth trip to Rony's house, we still hear "blanc" or "hey you" from the children. I remember thinking to myself how much I wanted to just stop and take a million pictures right then and there. I refrained because it would be a bit like having a stranger in your own home taking pictures of you as you headed into the shower: awkward in the least. So I said to myself to just take pictures with your mind and that I did.

Rony's house had been marked with yellow spray paint after the quake. The house was not safe to live in but could be repaired. Thankfully the mark wasn't red but it certainly was not green. Nine to ten people living in two bedrooms of this cement block house; there were only 2 single beds. It just didn't add up. Our priorities there were to replace the cement ceiling that was continually falling down in one of the bedrooms, repair the corrugated zinc roof over the "shower" and "bathroom," and repair the structural cracks of the cement walls. When we arrived the first day we knew that those priorities were just going to make a dent. Over the next week we employed several of our Haitian friends who are dependable and skilled tradesmen to work on rewiring the electrical since it was completely exposed and open to the elements (aka live wires) and to replace the cement ceiling (the Haitians are masters at this) . Alan and Drew removed the zinc roofing and built a frame so that the new roof wouldn't fall apart like the previous had. They repaired the shower (just a hole in the ground, no running water - just a bucket), hung privacy dividers, and transformed the yellow mark into green. Two of the sisters who lived there were high school students. I had the privilege of meeting them the girls the year before so I was excited to see them again. They are twins, one who is dying from AIDS and the other who has been spared. Their brother Rony has been taking care of the girls ever since their parents died from AIDS. The girls were so thankful that they would have a safe bedroom, but just this one thing would make it so nice, they garnered up the courage to ask if we could find some beds. It was perfect timing and we heard God say, "This - this is something these girls need." So along with my friend (and translator, navigator, comic relief, extraordinaire) John, we were able to purchase 2 full sized beds which would accommodate 4 - 6 people (all together). They were expensive but God had sent us with just enough money from our supporters to make sure these girls had a place to sleep. Their faces beamed when we brought the mattresses into the house. Their shy voices uttered over and over again "Mesi" (thank you).

It is the small things, however, that seem to catch me by surprise and stir my heart the most. As I entered the house that time, I saw Alan bent over with cement on his tools. He was smoothing out the layer over a beautiful brand new pipe that ran from the shower out of the house to the street. I could feel my eyes filling up over this pipe. Yes, a pipe, I cried about a pipe. I didn't know it was in the plan and it made me so glad to know that the shower water would no longer be traveling through the hallway and kitchen. It is such a small thing but can you imagine all of your own dirty shower water running through your hallways and your kitchen? I loved that Alan and Drew had seen the importance of this little detail and they took care of it without a thought - it was love in action. This small thing was not so small indeed.