Parenthetical Intrusion...thoughts on Haiti
I just got back yesterday from Haiti, and my body is still in protestation mode, so I don't think I'll be doing much today either. It sure is good to be home!
Talk about a grueling endeavors. I'm not sure I remember when I've been this tired before. Yet, it's a "good" tired; the kind of tired you have after surfing. I'm so glad I've had this experience, and I have so much to process and try to articulate. Brad and I shot a ton of tape that is going to be very useful, I believe, for the Latillades.
I'm thinking that Brad and I will show a few movies (short ones), and share about our experiences this Sunday. The challenge of that is to not bore everyone by being detail intensive. Just an overview...and maybe provide an encouragement to deeper involvement.
I'm sitting here and reading over a few thoughts I jotted down while over there. I'll finish this post up with a few of those.
I wonder who I am in Pastor Joel's eyes? I know who he is in my eyes...a giant. Not physically, of course, but in relation to all that he faces and all that he does, I'm nowhere near his peer. He's thin, like everyone else around here, and almost sixty. He wears the years in the slump of his shoulders and the lines on his face, yet his eyes have a piercing...something about them. The barriers of language keep me from communicating with him like I want to. I want him to pray for me, that I could have a heart like his. I watch him flash at a young ruffian who tries to move ahead in line at the clinic, and then turn and place his long fingered hand so softly on the shoulders of a young mother holding her child to guide her up the porch. He displays that universal Jesus incarnate, that all good leaders seem to possess. I want him to pray for me, so that I could have it too.
A word to describe Haiti is oppressive. In climate, in government, in spirit, all is oppressive. The heat is inescapable; there is no air conditioning to run for. It presses on your shoulders like a sweaty giant leaning on you.
The dust...the dust makes this a different world than the one I come from. The everpresent atmosphere of dust and dirt is something you swallow with every breath, so that every breath is suddenly a part of your thinking process. You breathe reluctantly, through a closed mouth, and even then, you get the crunch of residual grit between your teeth. You breathe through your nose to stem the choking tide and your greeted by the smell that says "welcome to Haiti".
These are flexible people. Even physically, the way they sit or lean on their legs. But mostly they are flexible in soul. They have to be, things go wrong here constantly, and plans are subject to change with the suddenness of a striking snake. They roll and move with inconvenience and are unfazed by it.
I am an embarrassed man, and I have a lot to repent for. I complain way too much at home. I have nothing to complain about. Nothing. The simplest of tasks here is a monumental effort. The things I take for granted and end up despising embarrasses me now. The dentist had no anesthesia, local or otherwise. He had a small drill he would twist with his fingers, and he used this to dig into the cavities of the people here. I watch them with a mixture of empathetic horror and awe. I never saw one of them flinch. These people live with and in pain daily. Life is hard from beginning to end. Pain is life, life is pain. I am embarrassed.
The hope of Jesus is universal. The message of the Gospel transcends this life and points toward a life to come. This is the truth that a people like this must have, and what, I believe is the appeal. Give a man hope, and he can do anything. If a man has no hope, all he wants then, is something to do. Pastor Joel embodies that hope, and he accomplishes wonderful things, albeit, on a small scale. But "small" is relative. What is small about a child who's name has been written in the book of life?
Only a hope that arches above this present life can provide hope for these people. But that hope itself changes this present life and lifts it. What a cool, divine circle.
Talk about a grueling endeavors. I'm not sure I remember when I've been this tired before. Yet, it's a "good" tired; the kind of tired you have after surfing. I'm so glad I've had this experience, and I have so much to process and try to articulate. Brad and I shot a ton of tape that is going to be very useful, I believe, for the Latillades.
I'm thinking that Brad and I will show a few movies (short ones), and share about our experiences this Sunday. The challenge of that is to not bore everyone by being detail intensive. Just an overview...and maybe provide an encouragement to deeper involvement.
I'm sitting here and reading over a few thoughts I jotted down while over there. I'll finish this post up with a few of those.
I wonder who I am in Pastor Joel's eyes? I know who he is in my eyes...a giant. Not physically, of course, but in relation to all that he faces and all that he does, I'm nowhere near his peer. He's thin, like everyone else around here, and almost sixty. He wears the years in the slump of his shoulders and the lines on his face, yet his eyes have a piercing...something about them. The barriers of language keep me from communicating with him like I want to. I want him to pray for me, that I could have a heart like his. I watch him flash at a young ruffian who tries to move ahead in line at the clinic, and then turn and place his long fingered hand so softly on the shoulders of a young mother holding her child to guide her up the porch. He displays that universal Jesus incarnate, that all good leaders seem to possess. I want him to pray for me, so that I could have it too.
A word to describe Haiti is oppressive. In climate, in government, in spirit, all is oppressive. The heat is inescapable; there is no air conditioning to run for. It presses on your shoulders like a sweaty giant leaning on you.
The dust...the dust makes this a different world than the one I come from. The everpresent atmosphere of dust and dirt is something you swallow with every breath, so that every breath is suddenly a part of your thinking process. You breathe reluctantly, through a closed mouth, and even then, you get the crunch of residual grit between your teeth. You breathe through your nose to stem the choking tide and your greeted by the smell that says "welcome to Haiti".
These are flexible people. Even physically, the way they sit or lean on their legs. But mostly they are flexible in soul. They have to be, things go wrong here constantly, and plans are subject to change with the suddenness of a striking snake. They roll and move with inconvenience and are unfazed by it.
I am an embarrassed man, and I have a lot to repent for. I complain way too much at home. I have nothing to complain about. Nothing. The simplest of tasks here is a monumental effort. The things I take for granted and end up despising embarrasses me now. The dentist had no anesthesia, local or otherwise. He had a small drill he would twist with his fingers, and he used this to dig into the cavities of the people here. I watch them with a mixture of empathetic horror and awe. I never saw one of them flinch. These people live with and in pain daily. Life is hard from beginning to end. Pain is life, life is pain. I am embarrassed.
The hope of Jesus is universal. The message of the Gospel transcends this life and points toward a life to come. This is the truth that a people like this must have, and what, I believe is the appeal. Give a man hope, and he can do anything. If a man has no hope, all he wants then, is something to do. Pastor Joel embodies that hope, and he accomplishes wonderful things, albeit, on a small scale. But "small" is relative. What is small about a child who's name has been written in the book of life?
Only a hope that arches above this present life can provide hope for these people. But that hope itself changes this present life and lifts it. What a cool, divine circle.
posted by rob at
6:36 AM
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