Two Fingers

Children crawling on laps. Mamas trying to listen. Alex saying both languages. One lady swatting at the flies. Another lady fanning herself with the handout. The sun penetrating through the iron bars. Creole Hallelujahs offered up and a loud Amen in the universal Amen language at the end of prayer.

Women's Bible study has been a vital connection in my life lately. How do I really know what's going on in the community. An example is given ... the what ifs are the what happened. Now I read between the lines and know who's saying what to whom and how it keeps 'em from entering inside the church walls. I learn the struggle of hungry children and sick parents. I ask where one lady is and find out baby #6 has been beaten by daddy at school for a lesser grade. Prayer request time and one dark hand goes up with a plea for money to send a child to school. Another says work. The dark hands fold in some laps with hopelessness. One white-haired figure comes in with joy and a greeting to all. The chaos is not chaos. It's a messy life of joy and hurt and need and gratitude all mixed into a time together on Mondays. We talk about integrity and goodness and consistency. What is consistency when meals and money aren't? I hear hearts beating for basic needs ... not the ones North Americans think. Not things to hold. Needs to know God hears. Needs for shelter, food, clothes. Needs for bones to stop hurting and opportunities to work and needs for barriers gone and families whole again. Needs for shame to turn to confidence and despair to turn to hope. At the same time I hear their praises in their requests. I hear ak Jezi and a chorus of He Lives. It's all mixed together for all of us isn't it?

The last few days have been challenging because I'm learning so much. It's almost too concentrated to absorb. I wanna water it down to swallow. As I round the corner toward the end of an extended fast I see newness. Eyes opened to new revelation. God shows me so much when I want it. I see it when I look for it.

I have to brag on Charles. Farmer man draws more respect through an aisle of corn than anyone I know. He takes a hard lick this week and stands taller than I've seen him. He aches through the challenges but does not back down. Haitians ride with him in the truck and admire him. He is so well esteemed here. I am so grateful for the relationships he forms with so few words and so much life. He listens well and hurts with many. He visits those in need. I have never been so grateful for his humility as I was this week when I saw it shine in a dark place.

We had a few hard conversations this past week that showed me so much about my own sin and my desire to change. Isn't it so good of God to show us our own faults at the faults of others. Humility. Wisdom. As I read through the Bible this year I happen to be in Proverbs now ... and again, humility. Wisdom. Reign on my tongue. Consistency. Sincerity. Oh I'm learning. I teach the women through the Fruit of the Spirit and I teach myself. I am surprised by my own words. Convicted I can't live up to what I teach. I teach integrity is wholeness. Inside and out. Same in the house as out of the house. When one watches and alone. It takes a long time to establish and seconds to destroy. I wish I could decide to be consistent, wise, humble, discerning today and that be enough but I have to decide it every day. Even in the hard minutes. Absorbing hurtful words sheds new light on my own words. How they linger and can't be taken back. How they hang on people half unwanted and half believable. How does one push off man's word to believe God's?

I walked on the hill where our little community is with Alex yesterday and saw the painted homes that house the ladies I want to know better. Children crying. Women cooking over an open fire out back. Four little painted walls and a tin roof with a dozen people inside. Lay my hands on some to pray. I see the hurting, poor with my own eyes and want to help. I want to fix it. I admit I want to fix it so I don't keep seeing it. I want to fix it so I don't walk back into my air conditioned house beyond the walls with armed security guards and feel guilty. I want to know simple life but not feel the ache in my own heart. I am rereading a book When Helping Hurts that discusses how often North Americans have their idea of helping the poor that is not consistent with what the poor need. It lends itself to how the poor see themselves and how we as North Americans see the poor and the gaping hole between the two. It's so interesting reading it and seeing it at the same time. I see the shame and embarrassment on their weathered faces when they need something. I see the low self-esteem and the complicated web they are stuck in. I also see us trying to give clothes, give medicine, give food. The book's perspective is relationship - mentoring - discipleship ... people are more likely to come out of a place of poverty being when they form meaningful relationships that give them confidence to succeed in something and make changes in their life. I'm still thinking on it though .. how do we fix it all ... I'm still up at night wanting to know the answers.

Yesterday I drop the team off at the work site and greet our Haitian co-worker and friend. He has his own staff. Charles notices one staffer who has caused problems and was fired. "He still working for you?" Charles asked. Our friend says in so many words ... he just hangs around ... I told him we are not enemies and he is welcome to hang around here. He goes on to say we all need forgiveness ... "who else will show him Jesus?" I love that he gets it. Our friend gets it. I tell him we're working on that at the Hope Center too.

I noticed in church last week a dear Haitian lady didn't take communion when it was passed around. Then I noticed another Haitian friend this past Sunday passed without partaking. I asked a third friend why he and the others who we know know God would pass. I hesitated because I know that is personal. But his answer surprised me. He said that Haitians take a baptism class that explains more in detail what baptism is along with other Christian practices. He said that Haitians are only likely to participate in communion after they take the class. That made some sense to me although it seemed that Scripture never mentions a class. I went farther and asked if our local church or others often give the class, when it's offered, etc. He said that our local church hasn't offered a class and therefore the only people who partake are the ones who took the class before they joined the church. I asked if he has taken it, he said no and I asked if he would if it was offered, he said, "I'm not ready." It took me by surprise that a well respected Christian we know is waiting until he's "ready" to take a class not offered before he ever experiences communion. The end of the conversation was when he said, "It's just a white Christian's thing." Totally new perspective for me.

One of the highlights of my week was going to Port Au Prince Fellowship Church this Sunday. We worshipped in English. Eyes closed. I knew the words. I could hear my Haitian friend next to me singing in English with a Haitian accent. A little sliver of Heaven. Black and white together singing. Hallelujah. Oh Precious is the flow that makes me white as snow ...  the tune came bursting out of me as if I couldn't have sung it without a church and worship band. Ava on the hip of a Haitian and song coming from her mouth. Amen. Hallelujah! Lilly files out with all the children and comes back from Children's church telling me the story. The David wins story. Ava clasps hands with Miguelson and asks to play on the playground as the front of church overflows with conversations of the week. A lady stopped me and asked if I was new. New, yes. She noted my email. We swapped stories of Haiti life. She has six kids, home schools, moved here to work with a local church. Pastor was corrupt. The story is common. Sigh. She invites us over. I get in the truck and Charles asks if I have a new friend.

We ate lunch with friends. Three Haitian friends. We cross a big street, one holds both girls. He turns to me and says, I'm not letting them cross the street with just my hand. Does that mean when I give them two fingers to hold it's not enough? I look at the friends and think, wow, protective.

Big pizza. Smiles around the table. It's been a rare thing here to have a friend. We become friends with team members who come for a week. We are friends with the staff by default but it all happens inside the Hope Center walls. It was so refreshing to be outside the walls and at the table among friends. I am so grateful for that. I wish there are words for how Sunday filled my spirit.

On the way home Alex leans up against Ava's carseat. Ava cries because she is scared. No good reason why. (Except Haiti traffic is different. I'll stop there). From the car seat Ava says, "hold me, Alex." Ava puts her arm around Alex' arm and in minutes her eyes close and she is dreaming. I look back. White hand on black arm and Alex and I swap smiles. I captured it on camera. I am immeasurably grateful for friends and not just friends but in a foreign country to have godly Haitian men who serve as friends and protection to my daughters and tell me a hand isn't enough and to see arms linked in the back seat, it is a word I don't know but it is stronger than grateful.

That night Ava says her prayers ... "thank you for my Migueslon, my Alex, my Vladimir...."

Alex and Ava have lunch at the kids table

 Ava's Alex

 Ava's Miguelson

 Bible study

 My friend Sarah Lloyd sent 5 Jesus Storybook Bibles in Creole. This is me with Mensia who is one of the only ladies in Bible study who can read so I gave her one. She was so excited!

Bible study with the ladies