Marathon Thank You from Sarah VanderMolen on Vimeo.

When I first heard about my church’s annual trip to St. Martain, Haiti, I felt an immediate tug on my heart to go. I knew deep down that God was going to do something great on this trip. At first, I had the typical Christian mindset – I was going to go down there and God would use ME to speak to these people. But while I was in Haiti, God blew my mind! He used every single person I met to touch MY heart and teach me something. There is no possible way for me to put everything I felt and learned into one summary – it would take a year to read! So without further ado, the three big things that I learned in Haiti were 1) don’t worry, just trust 2) love strongly and 3) give your all.

One of the first things I noticed was that the people of Saint Martain trusted God with every fiber of their being and it showed in the way they live. They rose when the sun came up and worked, without complaining and while giving their best, until the sun set. They went about their day knowing that God would provide. Some people I met were sick. Some had children, friends, or relatives that were sick and they were caring for them. All these people were honest in saying that they did not know why this was happening. Not once did I hear anyone’s lips part to complain or say “why me?” They gladly welcomed prayer and stated that they knew God had it under control. One particular visit to a home stood out to me. We came across a godmother who was taking care of her goddaughter. The goddaughter had dementia among other problems. The godmother told us that her dementia “just happened and they didn’t know why.” Toward the end of our visit we offered to pray and sing a song with the two ladies. I was amazed as the godmother went into her hut and came out with a covering that the young lady with dementia specifically used for HER prayer time to the Lord. Thousands of thoughts rushed through my head. I couldn’t believe that in all she was suffering the goddaughter remembered to spend time with God and give him thanks and praise. After the prayer, her caregiver said something that stuck with me. She proudly stated, while looking at her goddaughter, “This is a test that the Lord is giving her and she is passing, she is passing.”

Second, these people know how to LOVE! I can’t begin to describe to you the amount of love I felt upon my arrival to Haiti. After 24 hours of non-stop travel we were having difficulties reaching the village in a timely manner. So many wonderful people pitched in to help get us to the village of St. Martain. At one point in our journey there, the pastor of the church in St. Martain left his home (after dark) to come looking for our group. He was worried because our group had not reached the village. I thought it was so amazing that a man we had never met could and would care so much. To top it all off, when we finally reached the village way later than expected almost half of the village was waiting for us at the “little river crossing”. They were there to welcome us and make sure that we would get across safely. At this point I knew without a doubt that traveling over 24 hours to get there would be so worth it. These people know how to love others because they truly love God. On our first day in St. Martian, one of our translators pulled a couple of our team members aside and began passionately talking to us about the love of Christ and asking if we would trade Christ for anything. You could clearly see that his heart was for Christ, his word, and his people. I fought hard to hold back tears. It was just so refreshing to see someone who had been walking with Christ for so long express his love for God as if he had just found it!

Lastly, these people give their all to Christ and to their brothers and sisters in Christ. Their ability to give is amazing. They have few material possessions but their spiritual wealth is great. The community is helping raise a little boy named Emmanuel because his mother is not able to properly care for him. On Sunday morning at church, I watched as several people not only gave their offering to the Lord but placed money in the basket for little Emmanuel. I immediately thought of how many times I’ve tried to get around giving my all to God (spiritually or financially). Even though I don’t make much by U.S standards, I’ll make more than some of those people ever will. Yet, their heart for giving is great. It is to be treasured and to be learned from. How could I be so selfish in the way that I love and give when I’ve been so blessed?

During my time in St. Martain, God showed me things about myself – about what still consumes me and insecurities that I have not fully given to Him. He showed me how I should love (like Him), with my whole being. He showed me how I should give, putting others ahead of myself at all times. He taught me how I should trust – all the time no matter what the circumstances are. God showed me through Haiti H2O, the translators, and the people of St. Martain what it looks like when everything revolves around Him and you make Him the center of your life.

If I could leave you with anything it would be this: These people live like we wouldn’t dare to live – with great fear of God, great love for God, and great faith in God. They put God’s Word into action and they cherish it. Let us first look to Christ where all great love comes from. Then let that love seep into us so that others might see it, feel it, and be compelled to change their ways. This love changed me in St. Martain and it is this love that is going to change our world.

Tee shirts packed.  Gatorade powder – packed. Bug spray – packed.  Passport –ready to go.  While I was packing for my trip to Haiti, a country known for its poverty, political turmoil and devastation caused by a recent earthquake, I kept thinking about the Wedding Feast of Cana. That’s the story in the bible when Jesus tells the wedding servers to fill six stone water jars. The jars could hold 20 – 30 gallons each, so the servers gathered  180 gallons of water! When the head server tasted the “water” he ran off to find the groom wondering why in the world he hadn’t served this crazy-good wine earlier. Basically, he says to the groom, “Why are you wasting this seriously delicious wine on all these drunk people? They won’t even know how good it is!”

So why was I drawn to this story before leaving for Haiti?  What did this seriously delicious wine have to do with the mission of our outreach trip?

It is hard to summarize our group’s 10-day trip to Haiti. There is too much to tell.

About how we all could still laugh and sing after 24 hours of straight-up travel.

About all the great projects we did – building forms and mixing and pouring a cement front porch for the church, adding earthquake-proof mesh to the walls of the school, painting two lovely murals, planting 100 tree saplings on a barren hillside.

About our hilarious struggle to learn some Creole by turning it into a game show complete with Haitian judges and audience. Someone say “WHEEL!…OF!… CREOLE!”

About the adorable baby named Emmanuel that the church community is raising because the mother is incapable.

About the tropical paradise of a cove we swam in everyday.

But for me, my favorite part was the Haitians. They were so gracious and welcoming, fun and hope-filled. On our late-night arrival, the worried Haitians– all ages – gathered at the beach crossing in the dark to make sure we could get through safely. They ran back to the village chasing our trucks. The next day, the children grabbed our hands and asked us to follow them through the coconut and plantain trees to their homes. Then they pulled out chairs for each of us and offered to get us coconuts. Every day fifteen cooks made us delicious traditional Haitian meals. They really put their hearts into it, serving us something a little different now and then as an extra treat.

I fell in love with these gorgeous people. They take pride in their appearance but are not prideful. They probably wear hand-me-down clothes, but who could tell? They look wonderful. While we were there it was Holy Week. Every night there was a service. The church filled up with lots of young people. One highlight was the ten young adult men from the congregation who got up front in matching burgundy dress shirts and sang. Everyone was clapping along and the young men were smiling, obviously having a blast. The song went on and on until it felt like the rafters were shaking. After it was over, everyone clapped and passed a hat to gather donations for the singers!

We were all there together – Haitian or American, rich or poor, sick or well, tired or rested, fed or wanting more, living in a hut or a three-bedroom house. But also there was this stop-you-dead-in-your-tracks wine that was being poured out for us. It was something too deep for us to fully realize. And definitely too good for our drunk, thick-headed selves! Later, as I was reading one of the devotionals that Jeff had us read, I realized that whether we understand this wine right away, or later, or maybe not at all, the delicious wine-filled Hope that we are called to as Christ-followers is always there – 180 gallons of it! That is more than we could ever need.

Who knew we would experience such thirst-quenching Hope in Haiti – described by some as “the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere?” I think the 16 of us who went on this trip would agree: Haiti has wine that tastes expensive and while we were there it was generously poured for us all.

Reflection by Anne Melnyk

 We returned from our challenging journey to Haiti on Sunday evening and we sensed and felt your prayers every step of the way.

This year we went under the auspices of Haiti H2O, an organization in Pittsburgh that has been working in Haiti for some time. Our son, Doug and another close friend of his, Jeff VanderMolen, lead teams to 3 different areas in Haiti but this time, both of them were with us. The fact that they both know Creole, is a great asset that helped tremendously.

 From the get go, this venture was different from all the others we have been on to Haiti and elsewhere. The primary objective was building relationships with our dear brothers and sisters and this was done in a variety of ways.  Rather than we coming down with a program to be executed, through Haiti H2O we earlier found out what the pastor and peoples’ vision was and came along side to help them meet that vision.

 When we arrived on Saturday, February 25th…we had gotten settled in and had a team meeting, covering a fair amount of cultural material and how we would be working during the week. When we were about to break up and hit the sack, our host, Pastor Voltaire asked if someone would like to preach the following morning. Doug gave me the nod and said it would be appropriate for me to take the assignment if I would be willing. Quite frankly, I had not brought any material with me…but accented to the opportunity. The next morning the two hour+ service had already gone an hour and a half when I was asked to come to the pulpit.  Dear friends….your prayers were sensed in an unmistakable way and my interpreter, brother, Jules and I were in wonderful sync. 

 On our scouting trip back in November we had learned that they were interested in looking at dehydrating fruits, herbs and vegetables so Cindy searched the web and found that a wonderful Sun Oven would be helpful in doing that and much more. 

Long story short, the ladies learned how to use it to make bread, cookies, full meals and numerous other items without having to use charcoal…and freeing them up for other responsibilities while the food was baking by the sun’s rays. They have some neat plans for baking items that can be sold and securing funds for some much needed items for the church.

 We were encouraged to visit in the homes of Haitian families and were treated to fresh coconut milk and the soft white lining at one place where the family consisted of 6 boys, 3 girls and mom & dad.  Another visit was made on a home where three young ladies were out in the front yard braiding one another’s hair.  After spending some time getting to know them, the gospel was shared and the 25 year old aunt prayed to receive Christ.  We went back a couple of days later with one of the Church’s deacons who presented her with a bible and encouraged her to begin attending their worship services.

 Normally when we’ve taken reading glasses down, Bev has usually done the fitting of same and given them the appropriate strength.  This time, she trained two of them to do this ministry and the glasses were left with them to carry this out through the church as a helpful outreach on a regular basis.

 The Haitian sisters work very hard in the kitchen to prepare our meals.  One morning one of our college gals came along side and through one of the female translators indicated that she would like to do a pedicure for each of them. Over the next four hours Meighan washed their feet, cut their toe nails, massaged their toes and the bottoms of their feet, then applied oil….and had them pick out the color they wanted and painted their toe nails. All the time, she was watching their eyes and the expression on their faces to make sure she wasn’t causing them discomfort. It was a beautiful application of Matthew 25:14-16.

 The men, including several translators, helped strengthen the walls of the school through application of a mesh material that Larry researched and found would be helpful. It was brought down from the states.  Sand was dug from an area behind the school, sifted, mixed with cement and water and then applied to the walls. This was followed with the mesh material being attached to it and another layer of cement put on.  Four Haitian masons did the application while others did the measuring, cutting, sifting, etc. Three of the five rooms were done and money was left for them to complete the two remaining rooms prior to another team coming down at the end of March. When they arrive, a goat project will be initiated that the church has been planning for some time.

 We were able to take down with us over a dozen wedding dresses.  Six were left with this church to loan out to Haitian brides when they are getting married and the remainder were given to another congregation in Cayes that oversees this work along with a number of other congregations.

One day Doug, Cruz and the old guy, along with a translator went to the location of a bee keeper about an hour away.  He showed us his hives, some 250 in number, most of them housed in two foot lengths of hollowed out logs….and we compared methods used in our respective countries, as well as tasting each other’s honey.  A very interesting time, to say the least.

 There is much, much more to share but I am running out of space. We praise God for all that He accomplished. To HIM be all the glory and honor.

 Bob & Beverly Bradbury

She has become pregnant three times. Whether some man took advantage of her physically or she just didn’t understand what she was doing, we don’t know. But we know that she has left two of the babies that she birthed under a tree to die. During the third pregnancy the church people made sure they knew where she had left the child, and rescued it.

Two families have taken responsibility for caring for the child but the whole church has committed to raise the child. Each week they have a dedicated offering for the congregation to give money for the child. This morning I watched as old ladies, children, men and women with families of the own come forward to put a few gourdes or a dollars into the basket. Pastor Voltaire told us later after the service that the child’s name is Emmanuel, “God with us”.

The Goat Project is off to a wonderful start! The committee from Baissin Caiman sent three members on a motorcycle taxi to a town two hours away because they have the best goats! They walked with 12 goats through the night back to Baissin Caiman. A goat is a wonderful investment and savings account for people in the countryside. Their investment grows as the goats have litters of kids. The families that are selected for the Goat Project receive a goat for three years. Each time the goat has offspring, one goat is given back to the Project and the family keeps the rest.

My soon-to-be-friends were overflowing from the bed of the pickup truck in front of me as we drove along the perilous mountain roads in southern Haiti. In a cramped, non-descript white van, we followed the truck towards the small community of Plain Matin, where I, along with three other Chatham students, a few CMU students, and three students from Philadelphia would be spending Spring Break.
Lexi Ribar, Caitlin Moss, Ebony Williams, and I were introduced to the idea of the mission trip in July of 2010, and we made the final decision to go in October.  A few months and several short flights and long layovers later, we arrived in Port-au-Prince on March 4, 2011. I remember walking outside of the airport and trying to take in everything: the landscape, the devastation, the language, the culture. Before I left, I had not imagined what Haiti would look like; I had no idea what to expect. After surveying the airport parking lot, we piled into a 70’s style, western looking van and headed south-west towards Les Cayas, Haiti’s third largest city, and eventually Plain Matin.
The van acted as our American bubble as we maneuvered through the roads of Port-au-Prince. We drove through the city as if we were quickly walking through an exhibition at a museum seeing glimpses of Haitian culture; however, we were separated by our soft, leather seats; the cool air blowing from the vents; and the thick, tinted van windows. During this first car trip, most people on my mission team sat quietly, entranced by the scenes of Haiti surrounding us. Forgotten trash lay in thick bands on either side of the road as we passed tent cities, which housed families, friends, and enemies all living closely together under small tarps. Vendors, animals, and children waded through the trash as they walked through the city completing their daily chores. No smiles. No laughter. And we sat comfortably in an air conditioned van.
After a short break in Les Cayas, we transferred vehicles and began to follow the pick-up truck up the precarious mountain road. Finally, we reached our destination in Haiti: Plain Matin. We arrived after sun set, so we had no visual response to the community. Stumbling out of the pick-up truck and the van, we were directed towards a cinder block building.  Using rocks as steps, we climbed into the church and walked towards the center of the uneven concrete floors. I was surprised that this concrete building, the one with holes for windows and bigger holes for doors, was the community’s church. As our group gathered together in a circle, we were introduced to the Pastor of the community. Standing together, the Pastor instructed us to hold hands, and he began to pray for us. Tired and overwhelmed by the stark and strange surroundings, we were comforted by his prayer. Though the Pastor only spoke French and Creole, we were able to understand the essence his prayer.
Pastor finished his prayer, and looking up, I noticed that my eyes had adjusted to the dark. I surveyed the inside of the church, and I began to see children piling on top of one another to look inside the windows and doors. As I walked over to say “Hello”, they all began to touch me, and speak to me in mixed French and Creole. I have taken a few semesters of college French, so I was able to understand and answer their questions. They were enamored by my ability to speak their language, my white skin tone, and my very presence in their isolated community. The people were so grateful that we had even made the trip to their small town. Living in the remote mountains, they often feel as if the world has forgotten that they exist. The people of Plain Matin were thankful for our simple visit to their home.
My group had planned to help the community build a cistern behind their church. Before we left, we raised enough money and sent it to Plain Matin, so that the community could buy the supplies in anticipation of our arrival. When we woke up on the morning of our first full day in Plain Matin, however, we noticed that the community had already built the cistern with the money we had given them. Setting aside our initial intentions, we began to realize that the trip would be more than just laying bricks for a small community. As the week passed, my experience did became more than the quick glimpses from the initial car ride. By spending time in Plain Matin, I was able to interact with the Haitians in a unique way. Though we had barriers of language and culture, we were part of a family in Christ. We could pray, sing, and worship together, transcending our respective countries customs. We shared in moments of heartbreak, joy, and thankfulness.
My time in Plain Matin, however, did not erase the images of poverty and destruction; rather, it added a layer of meaning. The images I had seen were short segments of an actual Haitian’s life, and my time in Plain Matin added a background and a personality to the snip-its. I observed that the people of Plain Matin do live in poverty, but they are capable. They may not have access to the same education that I do, but the people are smart. Our mission trip to Plain Matin demonstrated the importance of relationships between people and between nations. During the rest of the week, I learned that these relationships depend on an understanding of the other’s needs, and that they require a realization and an acceptance of the other’s culture. My mission team built friendships with the people and acted as partners, who worked side-by-side depending on one another. In that week in March, we solidified our identity as a family, as children of God, and as a segment in each other’s lives.

Part 2

by David Bigbee

Our final night in Plain Matin ended on a grim note.  As our heads were running with ideas of what we would do for this community when we got home, our minds were jolted back into the present by the story of Pastor Farril’s wife.  She told her story of how she was persecuted by the community and her family.  She told of sickness, and having to turn away people who asked for money.  She told of contemplating suicide.  Our fairytale ending was shattered.  It’s easy to think that the life in Haiti is all that the people there know, that they are used to it, and that they are happy.  My first trip to Haiti, during a visitation we did with villagers, we asked a woman, “What is your favorite part of Haiti?”  Her reply: “Nothing.”

There were going to be no easy answers, no quick fixes, and no simple, clean solutions.  Problems in Haiti are complex, nuanced, and interconnected.  The suffering is intense and real and suddenly our visions for the future were daunting tasks.  There is just too much hurt to cover.  I know my heart breaks at that thought, and I’m sure all of yours do too.  Not a whole lot was said between us as we went to sleep that final night.

Our trip back to the United States went according to plan.  I love the experience of the Haitian marketplace in Cayes.  There is so much art, culture, food, people, and fast-talking salespeople all crammed into such a small space.  It’s Haitian overload.  We bought souvenirs, coffee, and art.  I was very happy to restock on Haitian coffee.  I like it extra strong, just like the Haitians make it.

A van ride, walks through baggage checks, customs, and a wait at an airport gate later, we were headed back home.  Our brains, as well as our skin, were fried, so there wasn’t a whole lot to say on the plane rides home.  Our trip was over, and before I knew it, I was back in my own bed.  Thoughts of Haiti swirled in my head as I drifted to sleep.  I missed it already.

After experiencing a place like Haiti, I think it’s impossible to really return to my everyday life.  Thoughts, ranging from faintly hopeful to despondent, dreams and even nightmares claw at me constantly.  The temptation is to view all this as negative.  It doesn’t feel good; it doesn’t feel comfortable.  It’s taxing, emotionally and spiritually to think about Haiti.  After a few days, I always find myself thinking How can I forget? But that’s asking the wrong question.  Forgetting doesn’t love, forgetting doesn’t transform, forgetting doesn’t help.  I will have had the experience, but missed the meaning, as Jeff often says.  The real question I should be asking myself is “How do I respond?”  It’s not an easy question to answer, especially with the dizzying array of pressures and obligations that surround me in America.

I’m trying to readapt to my “normal life”.  It seems so much less comfortable now. It’s very eerie to drive around in a luxury car with ignorantly smiling friends, listening to song after song about materialism (that admittedly, I really enjoy and listen to a lot), wearing nice clothes, eating deliciously prepared food almost instantly. And then to have a thought hit me about Haiti. While I go about my life, my friends in Haiti are going about theirs. My initial response is guilt. Here I am carrying things in my pocket worth more than what a Haitian family makes in a month.  I don’t deserve to have these things, especially while such amazing people suffer.  But guilt, I’ve learned, isn’t very conducive to action, to loving, to change. Guilt is paralyzing and causes people to dig their heels in. Why would I return to Haiti or respond to Haiti if it just reminds me of this guilt? Guilt is the first step in forgetting.

The braver option, the right response, I think, is to recognize that working through the hell that is Haiti is worth the heaven that will come through that effort and through that interaction. I’ll never get to see the whole picture of the Kingdom, not while I’m alive at least. I’ll likely never even get to see Haiti come anywhere close to realizing its potential. The political and economic forces that keep Haiti down are not going away anytime soon. But as we worked in what felt like hell, we got to see heaven too. I remember distinctly the night that Pastor Paul surprised us to celebrate Jeff’s birthday.  It was simple.  We sang and ate cake.  But something special happened that night. Here we are: 18 people from America and maybe 12 Haitians packed into a shack the size of my bedroom—8 sticks in the ground with a tarp wrapped around them and a tin roof. There’s happy conversation, smiles, high fives, slaps on the back, laughing. Amidst all this terrible tragedy that our minds can hardly process, we’re laughing and eating birthday cake. For a brief moment, heaven burst a hole right into hell. Haitians, Americans, with nothing in common but their common creation by the Lord, laughing together uncontrollably. I look at Dave, and he’s looking around desperately for someone to listen to him, and he meets eyes with one of our Haitian interpreters, Lukener. He’s extremely excited, and he says exactly what we were all thinking but didn’t have the audacity to say. “Lukener! This is what Heaven is going to be like!”

Looking back on that moment, I know that’s the one memory I want to latch onto from this trip. That moment made it all worth it. Weeks of planning, a day of travelling each way, the nightmares I still have. But I wouldn’t trade this trip for anything because I wouldn’t trade that moment for anything. What Dave said was true because we did experience a little bit of heaven that night. We had laid a brick in God’s Kingdom. Good hearts, good people; the Good Lord had won, if only for a second. When I’m dancing in God’s Kingdom with my Haitian friends, I can look at the walls and say, “Hey! Do you remember when we laid that brick there? And that one! And that one!” It will be the most ineffably joyful moment.  I can’t even think of the words to describe it. I know that moment will happen because I’ve experienced a little bit of it already. That’s what motivates me. That’s what is most important.

Is guilt logical? Easy? Justifiable? All yes. But it’s not transformative. So even if I feel guilty, the solution is not to avoid it and hide, but rather to move past it because it’s insignificant in the perspective of the joy I can share in and experience through working in rhythm with the Lord.

Regardless of your response to this trip, I hope you know that through your service to the Lord hearts were changed.  I hope you remember to approach life with open hands, and that you keep the men, women, and children of Haiti in your prayers and hearts.  You could have gone anywhere for your spring break.  Heck, you could have stayed at a swanky boathouse in Fort Lauderdale.  You didn’t.  Instead, you followed Jesus.  You saw it through, and you didn’t blink.  I’m honored to call you my friends.  Jesu renmen ou.

Part 1

by David Bigbee

I opened my eyes slightly as I woke up, and immediately my mind flooded with questions: Is that sunlight?  Where am I?  Was that day of travelling just a dream?  Instead of birds chirping, I heard voices speaking quickly.  In Creole.  Oh yeah—I’m in Haiti.

The day before, we had traveled from the United States to the building we now occupy. After our plane touched down in Port-au-Prince, we eagerly, yet nervously worked our way through customs and baggage claim.  I tried to act like I knew what I was doing.  I didn’t want to be the stupid American that makes a mistake and gets stared at—as if a group of 18 Americans huddled around baggage carts in the middle of a Haitian airport doesn’t draw enough attention.  As of this point, we had not left our nice, comfortable American bubble: we had transitioned from an airplane, to an airport, to an air conditioned bus.  We were all tired, but much too intrigued by the world just beyond our windows to sleep.

Have you ever noticed that a car window looks a whole lot like a TV screen?  Watching the scenes outside my window, I could distance myself from the people on the other side of the glass as we rode through the streets of Port-au-Prince. Immersed in the usual comforts of air conditioning, American music, and English speaking people, I felt as if the Haitian people just feet from me might as well have been a thousand miles away on some video about Haiti I had seen a million times. Some of us described this car trip as depressing, hopeless, and overwhelming.  We saw tent cities, rubble, garbage—no smiles.  We saw a presidential palace still in ruin: a haunting confirmation of the ever-present feeling that no one was really in charge.

The bus took us to Pastor Paul’s house, which had electricity, couches, and great food—fairly similar to our American lifestyles. From there, we took trucks up to Plain Matin.  We saw some Haitians as we got our stuff moved into the church for the night, but we didn’t get to shake their hands, or learn their names, or see their faces, or hear their stories.  Which brings us to this morning.  We all woke up and began to realize that our American bubble was about to be burst: it was the beginning of a great adventure.

A combination of roosters, sunlight and Haitian morning chatter woke me up. My green cot creaked as I sat up to check my unfamiliar surroundings.  I rubbed the sleepiness out of my eyes and was greeted with sheepish, confused smiles by the people I would soon be calling my friends. I decided the first thing I wanted to do was journal.  I pulled my notebook and pen out of my backpack and began to write down my thoughts.  “Day 1: Boy, it was cold last night!”.  I didn’t anticipate it being as cold as it was up in the mountains of Plain Matin, but it seemed fitting.  In the past 24 hours, I had gone from Pittsburgh weather, which was cold enough that I could see my breath; to the muggy, permeating warmth of the Haitian sun; to a brief, but torrential downpour; to a cold night curled up in my sleeping bag.  The weather foretold of the experiences that awaited us.  Haiti is a nation of extremes: extreme poverty, extreme suffering, extreme beauty, extreme perseverance.  In just a week’s time, we would see and experience each of these extremes for ourselves and step foot back on American soil with a new heart, a heart that was repeatedly broken and restored as we witnessed the realities of life in the Haitian countryside.

From that point, whether you jumped in or you were pushed in, you were immersed in Haiti.  We were told to leave our expectations at home, but undoubtedly they came along with us.  Just as undoubtedly, though, those expectations were left trampled like the garbage under a tap-tap with fifteen Haitians in the back.  Hm, I wonder if they really do eat spaghetti for breakfast turns pretty quickly to Uhh, a bug just landed in my spaghetti.

Our first real interaction with the Haitians in Plain Matin came that morning, as the church building was seemingly flooded with curious children.  Shockingly, word had gotten out that a bunch of blans were in the community.  A few “Sak pase?”s and “Ki jan oule?”s later, we all seemed to stand around, unsure of exactly what to do.  What to do with a bunch of adorable Haitian kids that we can’t really talk to?  Thankfully, someone’s babysitting instincts kicked in.  Bust out the crayons and coloring books!  I was watching one boy as he started drawing.  After a few moments, he realized I was looking over his shoulder, and he turned and said something to me in Creole.  I’m not sure of the exact translation, but considering the look on his face, I’m pretty sure it was something to the effect of,“What the heck are you looking at?”  Classic.

It was a great way to start our trip, but we were in Haiti for more than feel-good moments and photo-ops.  We piggy-backed onto a program with the Croix Rouge, which is the Haitian version of Red Cross.  They were sending volunteers out into the countryside to inform people, in light of the recent cholera outbreak, of clean water handling, cooking, and sanitation practices.  They passed out posters, soap, and water sanitation tablets.  We journeyed out into the countryside that day in groups of three accompanied by interpreters.  This was the first time I truly appreciated the fantastic view we had in Plain Matin—rolling hills that seem to go on forever paths winding every which way, dotted every once in a while by a small house made of sticks, tin, and mud.  After much yelling from hill to hill, an impromptu meeting of Haitians seemed to form out of nowhere.  While the volunteer explained the information and handed out the soap and posters, I wondered to myself how it was possible that they didn’t know this information already.  Sanitation practices seemed second nature to me.  But these people are subsistence farmers.  They work tirelessly just to feed themselves and their family.  When would they have time to learn and organize these things?  As I shook the people’s hands as we left the meeting, I realized how hard those hands had worked, how much these people persevere in just their daily lives.  It is saddening, and left me feeling helpless, especially considering the dubious sustainability of passing out soap and water tablets.  After we repeated the process a few times, we headed back in for lunch.  Fittingly, it rained.

That first morning is a perfect microcosm of our time in Plain Matin.  We laughed.  We felt the joy of seeing kids just being kids, regardless of the circumstances they live in.  We felt the heartbreak of seeing the poorest living conditions in this hemisphere.  But it always came back to a communal table.  Haitians, Americans, sharing the love of Christ, eating, talking, engaging.

Our second day was a Sunday.  Dressed in our Sunday best, we entered the church weary of what to expect.  A common observation was how nicely the Haitians were dressed, how clean their clothes were.  “Chapel Dan” shared a message of how Americans and Haitians had come together, and despite distance, language barriers, and cultural barriers, we had one voice.  His message was only further driven home as, in addition to clapping along with the Haitians, we were able to recognize a few hymns, so that we could sing along in English.  Our common thread is our creator, our Lord, our Savior and our desire to praise Him. Two groups that could not be more different both praising God. The same God who somehow managed to put them both in one place.

The next three days were work days.  In comparison with the spiritual transformations going on, our actual “work” almost seems to blend into the background in retrospect.  Heck, when we got there, the Haitians had already built what we intended to build.  We weren’t really necessary.  We carried buckets of water, applied stucco to the outside walls, built up concrete block in the space between the walls and the roof. But Haitians could have completed those tasks themselves.  Friends here in the U.S. point this out and say, “Why didn’t you use the money you used for airline tickets to just give to them?  Wouldn’t that have been better?” But our purpose for being there is far beyond the material.  By being present, working with the Haitians in solidarity, their cause becomes our cause.  We now have a vision for what is possible in Plain Matin, a vision that would not have been possible if we had simply sent money.  We have relationships, memories, and ideas that will eventually build this community up beyond what simply money could.  Our presence was invaluable.