To Haiti, With Love

My dear friend gave me a copy of Mitch Albom's book, Finding Chika, for Christmas. I was one page in when the tears started to fall. At page 11, I gasped, closed the book and sobbed. The title character, Chika, was born on January 9, 2010 in Haiti. I was born on January 9th, too. Exactly fifty years earlier. Two days after her birth, the earthquake hit. Seven months later, I stepped off a plane in Port au Prince for the second time in my life. I was there on January 9, 1976 - my 16th birthday. So many coincidences. So many memories. All tied to this tiny, impoverished half-island.

The first time, I traveled with my youth choir. We sang in churches at night and worked at an orphanage during the day. I remember painting the cinder block rooms where the children lived. I remember lizards scampering up the walls of our hotel. I remember eating bread and butter and rice all week because everything else was too unfamiliar to this naive teenager. I remember the Iron Market with baskets and carvings in one hall and food vendors in another - by food vendors, I mean piles of produce along with live animals, all for sale. I was wandering through with a couple of friends when we happened upon a very old woman lying on her side just outside an entrance. She was staring intently at a bug crawling in the dust just in front of her. Then, with surprisingly quick reflexes, she snatched it in her gnarled hand and popped it in her mouth. We ran. But that scene was emblazoned in my mind and rises up when I think of the abject poverty and need that has defined Haiti for much of its history.

Thirty-four years later I sat in a meeting and heard there was a medical team headed to Haiti to help with earthquake relief. Even though I have no medical training, I turned to Steve and said, "I have to go." Plans were made, supplies collected and suitcases packed. The Haiti of my youth was unrecognizable but the smell was exactly the same, a mix of diesel exhaust and cook fires. I cannot express the disastrous effects of the earthquake. I'll not even attempt to. Instead, I'll tell of some encounters with the resilient people we met.

My job was to interact with the people who were waiting in line to see the doctors, nurses and physical therapists. I had an interpreter with me. On the first day , I squatted down beside an older woman and asked if I could pray with her. She enthusiastically agreed and before I could get a word out, she laid her hands on my head and started to pray for me. For me. She. Prayed for me. I crumbled at her feet and wept. She carried on with a loud, unbroken prayer and the interpreter repeated her fervent pleas on my behalf. When she had finished, I raised my head, looked into her eyes, and said the only words that came: The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you. The Lord lift his countenance upon you. And give you peace. Line by line, the interpreter prayed the blessing from Numbers 6. This was to be repeated over and over during the week. I would go up and down the line, praying and weeping over the dear souls waiting patiently always ending with The Lord bless you and keep you.... Only in heaven will we know how those prayers were answered.

There was a man whose right foot was crushed and subsequently amputated. He was carried to our clinic by a group of young men who picked up his plastic lawn-type chair and brought him to us. The physical therapists evaluated him and began to brainstorm among themselves. They asked if he could come back the next day. He and his carriers agreed and thanks to some brilliant engineering by the PT team, he walked out of the clinic the next afternoon with a prosthetic foot made from a donated tennis shoe, some tube socks and cotton padding and a pair of mis-matched crutches. It was like something straight out of Scripture... friends carried him in and he walked out. An unforgettable sight.

And then there was Mirielle (Mir-ray) Constant. She was employed by the mission group based in Haiti who organized the teams who came to volunteer. She was with us for the whole time we were there - staying in the women's bunk room. She had a bright smile and a disposition to match. Over the week we learned bits of her story. She had been living with an aunt prior to the earthquake - her only relative. Their home was destroyed and her aunt was killed. She was given permission to live in a storage closet at her church. Her bed was a small folding cot and she had plastic buckets of water for washing and drinking. The bathroom was around the corner - just a hole in the concrete floor. She had an odd assortment of things she recovered after the disaster; a single shoe, a chipped bowl, some clothing - all stored in a few plastic trash bags. The last clinic was held in her church and we brought along some of the bedding we had - bright sheets and a pillow. We worked to organize her things a bit, fashioned a closet of sorts with bungee cords, set up a mosquito net. She was so surprised and happy that we thought of her. Looking back, I think we were sadly mistaken as to who had helped whom. She was way ahead of us. One morning at about 4 a.m. I got up to use the bathroom. I opened the door to find Mirielle sitting there with her Bible opened. I backed out and she quickly jumped up to let me in. I asked if she hadn't been able to sleep. No, she told me. She always got up at 3 a.m. And prayed until 6 a.m. Every. Morning. 3 hours of prayer. In a storage closet. With all her possessions in trash bags. It still humbles me to think of her and her faith. Constant. Yes. Her name was a perfect fit.

Here I sit on the brink of a new decade, a milestone birthday looming on the horizon, and I'm reminded that there are people in this world who suffer in ways I will never know. People who scratch in the dust for every morsel they eat. People who have so little, and give so much. And I am shocked that I get to live the life I live. I pray for greater appreciation for the scandalous blessings I've received. I pray for the beautiful people of Haiti. That they will be granted mercy. That they will be spared further disaster. That the faith of the Christians there will continue to shine in the darkness. And I offer this prayer for us all: Seyè a beni ou, kenbe ou. Seyè a fè figi l 'klere sou ou, epi se pou w gen pitye pou ou. Seyè a leve figi l 'sou ou. Epi ba ou kè poze. Amèn. And Selah.