Elections

I'm writing this from my kitchen table. Outside the sun is just setting, the temperature has dropped to a comfortable 80 degrees, and the sound of a man yelling on a microphone is drifting into my windows. His staccato speech is occassionally interrupted by smooth waves of cheers.

To be honest, in some ways it sounds a lot like a Sunday morning church service here where the worship leaders yell out phrases which the congregation echoes. But this isn't church; it's a political rally. Apparently one of the candidates is holding an event in the center of town. There's a crowd of people gathered in the sqaure, and political posters all over the walls in the middle of our city.

With elections only 9 days away, it's safe to assume, the whole country is covered with political preparations. It's definitely interesting to see campaigning in a country with limitted electricity (and therefore limitted televison/campaign ads). Last week we heard a band playing and a large crowd of people cheering and singing. We peeked out the gate and saw the crowd moving down the street, singing all the way. Apparently this too was a political candidate. This kind of campaigning feels a lot more lively than the endless advertisements we see on American TV.

Unfortunately election times in Haiti have also historically been a scene for unrest. With so much corruption in the government, times leading up to elections can become a little more unpredictable with high emotions and political protests. The country dodged potential unrest earlier this fall when Wycliff Jean was denied presidential candidacy, but since then there have been several protests happening in Port Au Prince over other issues.

During the next few weeks leading up to the elections (which take place November 28th), please pray for this country. Pray God would raise up the right leader to rebuild the governement and country. Pray that God's hand would be on all political events, and that his peace would reign. And pray that God would miraculously begin breaking the strongholds of corruption in Haiti.
(written Friday November 19, 2010)

Surprise Students

My first day back after being sick I had four surprise students show up in English class. Because my class is small, and I wasn't sure if new students had registered while I was away, I let them stay for one class, planning to kick them all out the next day.

I worked on a little "you're kicked out" speech and returned to class that Wednesday evening. When I arrived, however, I discovered that only 2 of the 4 had stayed. And after asking a few questions, I learned that one of them had been moved to my class from a lower level.

3 down 1 to go.

I turned my attention to the remaining surprise student, who was sittting straigt up in his chair notebook in hand, eagerly awaiting class. "Having him around won't hurt anybody," I reasoned, and backed down from my kick-em-out strategy.

A few days passed, and this student continued to arrive ealier than all the other students, armed with his pen and papers. So I started to ask him a few question. Where are you from? How is your family? General conversational English stuff.

I soon found out that this guy, who had heard about my class from the mayor, had been a university student in Port Au Prince last year. He had been visiting La Gonave when the earthquake happened, and when he tried to return for schooling found that his home had been destroyed.



Since then, he has been living on La Gonave, trying to find a way to return to Port Au Prince for University. And in the mean time, he's attending my English class. Though I'm very sad he has had to hault his education, I am so thankful that we can offer him an opportunity to continue studying at least one subject and that we get to have him in our program.

Summer Video Update

Back in August, we did a video for fundraising. It turned out great and is a good overview of my vision for Haiti. Here it is the link to youtube if you want to check it out.

Just Click on the title of this post, or copy and past this link in your browser: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dc6ofXrPicQ

Thanks Ken DePeal for all your awesome work on it.

Snapshots of my Spiritual Journey

This year has been a challenging year for my faith. At times I’ve felt lost, frustrated, angry, and defeated. I’ve been learning a lot, but in the last few weeks some of those lessons have finally culminated into truths I can cling to. Here’s a little snapshot of my journey.

In the midst of feeling sick for the 7th consecutive week, I kept coming across verses about victory.

"The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to His heavenly kingdom." 2 Timothy 4:18

"But the Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen and protect you from the evil one." 2 Thessalonians 3:3

"They will fight against you but will not overcome you, for I am with you and will rescue you, declares the Lord." Jeremiah 1:19

"...no weapon forged against you will prevail, and you will refute every tongue that accuses you." Isaiah 54:17

Lying in bed in a house in Florida while other missionaries covered my English classes and I watched my time in Haiti tick away, I felt anything but victorious. Yet these are the verses I read. These are the words people prayed over me. Could I possibly be winning even though I feel defeated? Can victory in Christ look like 2 months of bed rest?

I read a devotional by Oswald Chambers. "Have we come to the place where God can withdraw His blessings and it does not affect our trust in Him?"

Hmm. Can I trust Him? Do I trust Him? Again, having an unknown illness that made me too weak to fix my own breakfast was not exactly my idea of safety. Then again losing four friends in a year and living through the craziness of an earthquake weren’t on my list of life under God’s protection either. But they happened.

Was God still good through all that? Is God still good now? Who is God anyway?

I read the whole book of Job.

I read about Paul’s sufferings.

"Rather, as servants of God we commend ourselves in every way: in great endurance; in troubles, hardships and distresses; in beatings, imprisonments and riots; in hard work, sleepless nights and hunger; in purity, understanding, patience and kindness; in the Holy Spirit and in sincere love; in truthfulness of speech and in the power of God; with weapons of righteousness in the right hand and in the left; through glory and dishonor, bad report and good report; genuine yet regarded as imposters; known yet regarded as unknown; dying, and yet we live on; beaten, and yet not killed; sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing and yet possessing everything." 2 Corinthians 6:4-10

I read 2 Corinthians 11:23-12:10.

These two men, giants of faith, still clung to God’s goodness, preached God’s goodness. They lived honorable lives yet experienced terrible things. They served God yet they suffered. And ultimately they still saw God as all powerful and as loving.

Who am I to question God? What do I know about goodness?

I read the last two books of Job

"Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation? Tell me, if you understand. Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!" Job 38:4

and some verses in Psalms.

"He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul." Psalm 23:2-3

He must be good. He has to be good. Whether life stinks or life is awesome, I have to believe He is good.

I read another devotional by Oswald Chambers.

"Faith by its very nature must be tried, and the real trial of faith is not that we find it difficult to trust God, but that God's character has to be cleared in our own minds...Faith in the Bible is faith in God against everything that contradicts Him--I will remain true to God's character whatever he may do." Oswald Chamerbs My Utmost for His Highest

Illness and Identification

Sun poured into my kitchen windows, pushing the temperature in my house to tripple digits. A fan overhead hummed. A diesel generator outside moaned, and I turned over on the couch. A day before I'd discovered that if I lay on my right side, with my back toward the oscillating fan, the air might cool my neck long enough for me to catch a 20 minute nap.

And if it didn't work, I knew that if I just stayed still for the next 3 hours, the worst part of the day was over. So I'd lay there, listening to the hum-moaning and wait.

I did this off and on for 2 full weeks as my body fought off whatever little protozoa or bacteria had intruded into my intestines. And as I lay there I thought. Sometimes my thoughts were less than spiritual bursts of self-pity. "This really sucks. I hate this stupid country. Why can't I just sleep in an airconditioned house. I wish I could destroy that dumb generator."

But on other days, my thoughts walked out my front door and crossed the street to the Wesleyan Hospital, where on any given day 30 to 40 patients are lying in rooms much hotter than my living room, with nothing but a warm wind to blow on their backs. Is this what they feel like all the time?

I thought about their dirty sheets and the warm water they must drink, since most people don't have the luxury of a freezer or extra ice for drinks. These thoughts often led to self-depracating comments like, "Justine you're a big baby," and "You have no idea what suffering is."

They also led to prayers. "God comfort those people in the hospital. Heal their bodies. Guide the doctors and nurses. Help them know how to treat them." I wish I could say that living across the street from a 3rd world hospital leads me to pray prayers like this daily. I wish I could say I think often of the suffering of those who are always battling bouts of giardia, dengue fever, malaria, typhoid fever, and dysentery. And those who have no American haven to retreat to.

I wish I could tell you that I knew how extended sicknesses like this impact the income of already impoverished families and how lack of income leads to lack of food which leads to lack of strength and extended recovery time. I don't.

But during my bout with tropical illness, something amazing happened. I stopped pitying the poor and instead identified with them. "It's not fun to feel this weak. Boy I bet it's tough to earn a living if you're constantly battling sickness. Wow! I wonder if the people in the hospital actually sleep when it's hot like this." Though this alone isn't enough to change anything else, it is enough to change me. And that's a start.

Nouns and Adjectives

C.S. Lewis when describing the Fall of man in The Problem of Pain,writes, "They wanted to be nouns, but they were, and eternally must be, mere adjectives." He's speaking of our desire to be God when we are and will forever be man. But I love the analogy he uses.

Adjectives, as we all know have one main function: to modify or describe a noun in the sentence. They cannot stand on their own. They cannot be the subject or perform an action. Their single purpose is to describe the noun, to show us more about what the noun is like.

And the noun. The noun is the meat of the sentence. You can't have a sentence without a noun or pronoun. There can be no story or subject or setting if there is no noun. The noun is the point. There need not be adjectives if there is no noun.

Isn't this a beautiful picture? Our single purpose or role on earth is to describe the Noun. Show the world what He is like. We need not try to be the Subject of the story or the sentence. We can never be. The story would not make sense if we tried to make an adjective the subject. It breaks the basic laws of grammar.

Nor would our story make sense if we tried to make ourselves and not God the subject. It can never be about us. That would break a basic law of the universe.

So instead of pushing awkwardly into a grammatical place that does not belong to us, our role as believers is to be the best, most wonderful, beautiful adjectives that we can be that others might know more about the Noun through us.

Ezai's Going Home

It was Saturday afternoon when Diane Busch (the PA here) popped into my house with the biggest smile I've ever seen on her face. "Justine guess what! They found Ezai a home!"

I have tears in my eyes now as I remember that moment. Ezai has a home! The thought took a while to sink in. He'll have clean sheets, and pants to wear. He can eat every day, and he'll have a great family to love him.

Having spent the last several years of his life in the poor house in town, Ezai has never had the luxury of having more than his basic needs provided for. The poor house, which is aptly named, is home to about 18 people who live in two or three, dirt floored rooms and cook food in a pot on a fire outside. It is run by a sweet Haitian man with few resources, and most of the residents are elderly.

When you visit the poor house, Ezai, a 14 year old orphan with Cerebal Palsy stands out among the crowd. He is tall and thin, and his left foot is severely crippled. When he walks he kind of hobbles along, the front part of his ankle touching the ground, while his foot, bent awkwardly foward, follows behind. But the first thing you notice about Ezai isn't his handicap, but his smile.

Almost every time a visitor comes, Ezai races across the yard yelling happy sounds, and giving the newcomer the biggest hug ever. Though he cannot speak very well his smile says it all. Ezai is full of joy.

But his life is about to get much better. This year, after volunteering several times at the poor house, Diane Busch developed a special place in her heart for Ezai. She could see that this boy could not get the care he needed amongst the other residents at the poor house, and started to worry a bit for his health.

Then one day, on a plane ride to the US, Diane met a woman who had been working with an group home in Haiti for kids with Cerebal Palsy. She got off the plane with the woman's contact information and a renewed hope for Ezai. Now, less than two months later, the orphanage has contacted Diane to tell her that they have a place for Ezai!

God is sooo good to take care of his children! Pray for Diane as she works out the details for Ezai's big move. And pray for Ezai as he makes this transition. And praise God for the incredible way that He looks after widows and orphans.

She's Haitian

Today I walked to the bank with Merline. Motorcycles and rickety old trucks rumbled by on the dusty roads as we walked. In the span of our half mile walk, we stopped at least 4 times to speak with friends shaking their hands and giving hugs. This friendliness and built in social time may be one of my favorite parts of this culture.

We were both smiling as we started approaching the bank, and Merline looked at me and said, "Justine, you are very popular. Everyone wants to see you." We laughed, as Merline added, "You are Haitian."

About a second after she said that, a stranger sitting on the ground in the shade of the 2 story block bank building. Yelled, "Blanc! Blanc!" (white white) In an attempt to get my attention. Almost every time I walk down the street I hear this words which are almost always followed by a request for money or sometimes a vulgar comment.

It's not that being called white is offensive by itself. But the way it is used in the street often feels direspectful. My Haitian friends would never call for me like that, nor would my students, or the people attending the church. They may describe me as blanc or as the blanc which I don't mind, but they would never just say "White told me to do this." They would use my name.

Because of this, I generally don't respond to these calls and often times block them out entirely. This may sound silly, but being called Blanc in the street is one of my least favorite things about living here. It is also one of the things I have the least power to change. So I try to let the words roll off me every time.

But today, as the woman yelled these words at me, Merline turned to her and said, "Li pa blanc. Li se Aytian." (She's not white. She's Haitian.) What a neat compliment! Though she had just said the same thing to me seconds before, it meant a lot to me to hear Merline telling a perfect stranger that I am Haitian.

Why Running?

I have a confession to make...My recent post about running, wasn't entirely about running. You see this whole summer while I was training, I kept thinking of spiritual parallels for my running endeavors. In Haiti, I was (and am) pretty stuborn. I don't like to "quit" or "slow down" or walk uphill. I'd rather run the whole time because I am after all on a run or as the Apostle Paul says in a race.

When Jenny told me I'd burn myself out if I ran up all the hills, I had flashbacks of myself in Haiti, scheduling up my free time and trying to go to every church service, youth group, prayer event, while teaching an english club for women and one for nurses...All this was my time off, and I wondered if Jenny's advice could apply even there.

On one of my favorite running routes, I start out going up the biggest hill of the course. Once at the top, I feel like a champ and know I can take the rest of the course just fine. But a lot of times when I run this course, I find myself on mile 5 with cramps in my legs and thoughts of quitting in my head.

The same thing happens when I start into a ministry. I want to do something awesome and huge right away so I can feel like a champ, but when I get to the end of my 11 month term, I have spiritual cramps and want to quit. What would it mean for me to take Jenny's advice, and walk uphill so I could make it to the end strong and steady?

"You have to eat and drink while you run," my little sister advised me as we talked about doubling my distance. It doesn't take much to make the connection between water and trail snacks to the Living Water and Bread of Life. If I run without water or a little snack, I can go pretty far (assuming I ate and drank enough before taking off), but if I eat and drink little bits while running, I can go further, many miles further.

I love this idea of refueling while running...A lot of times I'm great at preparing for ministry, reading the right books, listening to sermons, asking people to pray. And I'm pretty good at refueling afterwards, hiding out in my house, singing worship music, praying. But what would happen if in the midst of the ministry race I ate and drank the fuel I needed? How much further could I go?

Speaking of going further, there is an African proverb that says "If you want to go fast go alone. If you want to go far, go together." I've done a lot of running alone, and to be honest, I'm pretty good at it. I am self-disciplined and self-motivated. But it wasn't until my little sister ran with me and said, "You can go further than you think," that I really started to stretch myself as a runner...I went from a 6 or 7 mile personal record to 13 miles in just 3 months. Why?

My little sister didn't run with me every day. She didn't tell me what to do. She just encouraged me, and every once in a while ran beside me. There's something to be said for not doing it alone (it: running or life). And yes, sometimes it took a little longer for us to get going together than it would've taken alone (on the day of our big run Jenn waited 20 minutes for me to get out of bed), but in the end we both went further together.

How do I carry that concept of community into ministry? How do we carry that concept into life? Running beside those who are tired, encouraging those who are discouraged, teaching those who are stuck?

So I guess my recent post about running, wasn't really about running but it was all about running. I hope that I run the race well.

The Bubba Run

My little sister, Jenn, says for every mile you run (in a long run) it takes your body 1 day to recover. That means my body will be back to normal in 13 days.

Jenn and I took off this morning at 6:20 with the goal of going on my longest run ever. Just 3 months ago my PR for distance was 6.1 miles, and running 13 miles sounded both overwhelming and ridiculous.

At about 4 miles my knees and hamstrings would start to ache a little and by 5 I would fix my thoughts on making it home.

But one day, Jenn and I decided to go for a run together. We talked as we ran, and when we reached the corner I normally take toward home, I turned to her and said, "Do you think we can go further?"

We did. We went about 8 miles that day. I felt awesome.

When we ran together, we did a couple of things differently than I had done them on my own. For one we carried water. "You lose so much water when you run," Jenn had told me. "If you want to go far you have to carry water."

Jenn, who had also completed a 35 mile in the race also confronted my stubborn insistence that we run uphill. "Sometimes you have to walk or you'll burn all your energy right away," she told me. I'm sure I rolled my eyes the first time I heard.

On her 35 mile run, Jenn and all the other runners stopped frequently at feeding stations to grab a fourth of a peanut butter sandwich, some fresh fruit, or crackers. When we ran, we reached into Jenn's pockets and pulled out gummy snacks and pretzels. These few calories gave us enough of a boost to add on the extra miles at the end.

After we finished our 8 mile run I had asked Jenn what she thought about running to Grove City, a town about 13 miles from our front door. Cooly, and with the confidence of a seasoned athlete she agreed to do the run some time this summer.

Running this course became one of my personal goals for the summer. So each week I ran 3, 6, 8, and 10 mile routes,paying attention to what foods fuel me up for a run and which foods I crave after running. I pushed myeself to run further faster and ran til my big toes got callouses.

After 3 months of mostly solo training, Jenn and I took on the bubba route this morning. Running along a country road past cornfields and cow pastures and to my dad's office, we pushed through butt cramps, aching ankles, and sore knees. And in just 2 hours and 38 minutes we had done it. Downing some water and stretching my calfs out on Dad's filing cabinet, I thought to myself, "I bet we could go further."

Overwhelming Generosity

This morning I went to the dentist again. This was my 6th visit to the doctor since I returned home last April. And this is the 6th time that my bill was generously and miraculously covered. You see my insurance in the US isn't great, so when I have to go to the doctor, I usually put it off and save up, then I go in and pray every procedure is simple and cheap.

But every time I have done this, someone else has insisted on covering the cost. It's humbling, overwhelming, surprising every time. To think that so many people would find me worthy of their generosity, and would invest in my health at their own personal expense makes no sense to me.

I cry every time it happens.

By this point, I estimate my summer medical bills somewhere between 1000 and 1500 dollars, all covered. And on top of that, I've had people do everything from treating me to coffee to buying me new clothes to helping with school loans. I wish I could say that I've kept tabs on it all and have a repayment plan all set up. I don't.

And maybe that's not the point. You see accepting generosity and grace isn't something that comes naturally to me. I come from a home of two hard-working parents who would help us kids when we needed it, but ultimately expected us to work for what we need.

So when I found myself in a position where I was working (as a missionary) but my work wouldn't cover my own need, I looked for ways to work more, earn more. Still what I could do on my own wasn't enough. No matter how hard I worked, I needed Grace.

The spiritual parallels are incredible. How silly of me to plan and strive and scheme and think I can do it on my own. And how tender, loving, and generous of God to raise up people to take care of my every need. Though I still wish I could pay for my own appointments, I appreciate the fact that each time I visit the doctor I'm overwhelmed again by the generosity of the cross.

Funny Little Things

This past week I was out in Indiana when my check engine light came on the car. 7 hours away from home and having only a basic knowledge of cars, I normally would've freaked out. But this time when it happened, I wasn't alone. I was out with an awesome missionary couple (Greg and Heidi Edmonds) and their little girl, and they ever so sweetly looked out for me. Greg checked the oil while Heidi used my GPS to find the closest Autzone. The two of them helped me get it looked at and made sure I was safe before I drove away.

This isn't the only time that I have seen convenience in the midst of car trouble. Last year, when my wheel bearings were going bad, I happened to lend my car to a mechanic who heard the squeeling bearings and volunteered to fix them for me for free. Another time last year my timing belt broke, the car waiting to totally shut down until I made it off the interstate and into the safety of a Taco Bell Parking lot.

And just last week, the car I was driving lost power steering and all the lights came on when I was again in a parking lot. Had this happened 5 minutes later I would've been on the side of the interstate sitting in the rain. Taken as isolated incidents this stuff seems like a stupid coincidence. But when you look at it together, I can't help but wonder why my car always breaks in the most convenient of manners.

Let's Be Honest

Let's be honest, when I first got back from Haiti this past April, I was a mess. I often found myself in social situations unable to speak or engage in conversations. My mind blank. Some days I was having trouble getting myself out of bed. What's the point? I often asked myself before I forced my feet out of the covers and onto the floor.

And the hardest thing about it was I didn't understand why. Sure there was that thing about living through an earthquake in Haiti. But being that broad wasn't helpful. The whole world seemed to be grieving the earthquake, yet still I felt so alone in my emotional funk. What was going on?

One of the first times I realized my problem was during my first week at home. I went to visit my sister and brother-in-law in Detroit. And after a should-have-been-fun day at the museum looking at mummies, I was withdrawn, speechless. When people die, their bodies rot or turn into grotesque paper machet-like human pinatas, otherwise known as mummies. That is our physical fate, if we are lucky.

These thoughts passed through my mind as I looked out the windows of the car at the abandonned buildings on nearly every street corner. It's here too. Haiti, the United States, the world is filled with poverty, pain, and brokennes.

After a few days in Detroit, I headed to my parents' house only to discover friends having huge family problems. And a few weeks later, a 26 year-old friend of mine was hospitalized and died after a 4 year battle with Lukemia. He was my fourth friend under the age of 30 to die in a period of 4 months.

God what is going on? The world is horrible. Numbness and depression were starting to turn into frustration and anger. I thought God was good? Why is life so bad? I wanted to throw God out. Be ticked and forget about the faith all together.

But something in me couldn't. Even in the midst of feeling confused and hurt, something in me knew that leaving the faith and calling God a jerk would be a denial of Truth. I still don't know how to describe it, but it was like in the midst of HUGE tragedies, I still saw God's goodness in tiny intimacies.

For example, I thought about how after the earthquake I was running into people who'd lost 3, 7, or 9 family members and were themselves suffering from post-traumatic stress. I saw 5 new kids show up at the local orphanage after losing family members. And yet in the middle of that I saw God make sure I got fresh green beans: a visiting team unknowingly going to the Dominican Republic and buying fresh produce that would satisfy my exact craving the very day I voiced it to the missionaries.

Or how on January 14th, just 2 days after the earthquake, I got word that I would be able to attend a women's conference in Colorado that I'd been wanting to go to for 5 years. And the same week of my birthday, the only birthday I've ever passed without receiving any cards from family or friends (mail was impossible in Haiti at the time), I found out I'd recieved a scholarship to the conference and would pay only $25 instead of the impossible price of $375.

And just in case I was going to miss these connections, at the women's conference in April one of the speakers said, "Jesus name is like a kiss on an earthquake." His intimate love and tenderness toward me were undeniable. So I found myself trying to reconcile two seemingly exclusive realities: God is an intimate and omnipotent lover and friend, and God sometimes allows terrible pain and tragedy on earth.

How is this? A friend of mine, when listening to my grief said, "You know Justine, I just have to believe God's love is bigger than that. It's bigger than the death of my husband and bigger than an earthquake." This idea is all through the bible. I've been reading lately in Romans 8:35-39 how NOTHING can separate us from God's love. And to be really honest, I still don't get why horrible stuff happens. But somehow I am beginning to believe that God really is good even in the middle of every human tragedy.

Prayer Update (e-mailed 5/18)

Hi again friends,

I hope you all are well and enjoying this spring. Thanks for continuing to pray for me these past few weeks in the States. So far things are working out according to plan.

What I'm doing
Most of my Sundays are scheduled up. I'm waiting to hear back from one church, and then every Sunday from now until July 11th is full! Yay God! I am looking forward to reconnecting with a lot of the churches who've been faithfully praying for and financially supporting me this past year.

It is awesome seeing some of you in human form instead of in text on a prayer list. Teachers may know what I mean. It is a lot different getting your class list, and then seeing your students in the classroom. Nothing beats seeing people face to face. As I see you all it is exciting and encouraging to remember how many people are a part of what God is doing in Haiti through this ministry.

I'm also using a good bit of my time doing administrative work, like writing thank you notes, scheduling meetings, coordinating small Haiti projects, and answering e-mails. To be honest, it has been difficult to find a good work rhythm these last few weeks, but the to do list is steadily getting smaller.

What I'm learning
And in the midst of all this, I think I'm learning a lot about who God is. As I've had more time to reflect on the last several months, including the times since the earthquake, I am finally starting to see how God was there all along. And I'm starting to see how tenderly he loves me.

For example, one day in Haiti I started to crave fresh green beans. We don't get many fresh green vegetables there, so I hadn't had any in weeks and the store I used to buy green vegetables from was destroyed in the earthquake. Well that very day after expressing my craving to my friends, a team came in carrying supplies for the hospital. On their way they had picked up vegetables in the Dominican Republic for the missionaries. And their bags included, yes, lots of green beans.

It sounds almost silly telling you now, but who else knows our desires that intimately? I keep seeing little things like this both from my time in Haiti and now in my time in the States. Someone recently reminded me that God's love is bigger than anything that can ever happen: an earthquake, a friend's death, a sickness. He is bigger. That's been a really comforting thought to me these last few weeks.

How you can pray
- Keep praying for wisdom and His leading as I speak.
- Pray for His provision both financially, emotionally, and spiritually
- Pray that I continue grieving in a way that honors God.
- Pray that I'd obey God in the day to day things and I'd follow His schedule.

Thank you again for everything. Please let me know if there are ways I could be praying for you as well. (I really do like it when I can know how to pray for you.)

take care,
justine

College Graduates

This past weekend I attended my little sister's college graduation. It was kind of weird for me to be back on a college campus and to look at all the students and professors from the outside in.

It made me think back on my graduation 2 years ago. What was I thinking? What did I hope for? What did the speakers tell us?

Even though it hasn't been that long since I was wearing that robe, so much has changed. I think of my own naive optimism. I left college feeling confident. I understood God and the world, and knew what I was going to do to change everything. The students there had that same look on their faces as they watched the speaker or shot silly string at one another.

They seem so young and innocent. I know many people probably look at me and still see the same things inside. But where I am now feels worlds away from where I was as a college graduate.

I had no idea how difficult ministry really was or how hard it is to apply perfect book theories to a broken reality tied up with the messy strings of history. Sure, work overseas, empower nationals, always create self-sustaining ministries, sounds good. But how does that work in a country with one of the worst economies in the world? And how does that work when the parental ministry of missionaries 50 year ago is still strongly influencing the population of today?

I know...I'm learning change is a slow slow process, and people are changed by people not policies. This is a lot harder than it sounded in intercultural studies classes.

I also think I'm learning a lot about God. I knew God was good in college because mostly everything in life was good. I loved my classes, my friends, chapel, my job. Not that there weren't hard times, but it was easy to believe God was good in such an awesome environment.

But what do you do with your good God when there is a huge earthquake, you lose friends, a whole nation is grieved, and an already impovrished country is left with a wreck that would take the United States years to recover from? Is He still good?

I'm starting to believe again that He is, and starting to see that He never left and never changed. But it seems like sometimes I have to trust His goodness rather than see his goodness.

I heard a quote at the graduation last weekend that was something like this, "Greatness is not determined by how much money you make or how successful you are in your work. Greatness is determined by what it takes to discourage you. Don't ever quit." I think this makes more sense to me know 2 years out than it would have 2 years ago.

At 24 there are so many things I just don't get. I am starting to get glimpses of how hard life is and can be. (I know anyone over 40 is probably saying just you wait.) And I'm starting to see how ideals aren't so easily translated into reality. But I wonder if there isn't something beautiful about the naive optimism and hope of a college graduate that starts to slip away as we step into disillusionment. I don't want to ever lose that feeling I had when I graduated that our God can do anything and will do awesome things. This is still true.

What I'm doing in Haiti

This April, I finished my first year of living in Haiti. During that time, I was able to teach 2 English classes to adult professionals. I was also able to introduce my highest level students to research writing, which was really fun. Classes, however, along with everything else were interrupted by the earthquake on January 12th. After that point, I temporarily shifted my focus from teaching English to working with other missionaries to coordinate relief and host short-term teams.

Though this shift was necessary, it was difficult. And becuase of this break, my students andI are anxiously awaiting English classes which will resume in September. This year, I hope to find a new curriculum, raise the standards of the program, and start taking steps to prepare students for the TOEFL tests.

In the long-term, we would love to see our English students go on to become translators, to take Master's courses online, or to pursue degrees at the university we hope to start on La Gonave. Though I am not sure if I will be in Haiti to see the university become a reality, all the other missionaries working in education and I are committed to teaching our students with the university goal in mind.

Through English classes, computer courses, and the use of the WISH library (which is currently under construction), we are equiping our students to pursue further education in Haiti or around the world.

Big Bags

On April 6th, 2010, I flew back into the United States. Inside my suitcase, I carried a couple of full journals, some faded skirts, and Haitian coffee, a load much lighter than the one I'd carried in 11 months before.

As always, I was happy when the luggage guys took my bag from me and tossed it into a pile. It was nice knowing I wouldn't have to think of it again until we reached Ft. Lauderdale. It and all my stuff would ride safely along until I got to the next airport, where I would again let the airport attendants stow it away.

I guess I just take it for granted that all my stuff will be safe, never even glancing inside my bag until I reach my final destination. It's easier that way because then when I get to it, I'm so excited about seeing my family that I don't care that there are coffee grounds in my tennis shoes or that the lotion broke open on my new skirt. And besides that there's no baggage tosser around for me to scold unnecissarily.

But this particular time, my luggage didn't make it through. After waiting for 45 minutes or so, we finally filed a report with the airline asking them to ship the luggage to my sister's house in the next day or so. Now call me sick, but something in me was strangley satisfied to walk out of the airport with only a backpack.

Maybe I get a strange pleasure out of simplicity, or maybe it's because I had packed a change of clothes in my carry-on and knew we could pick up toothbrushes at Walgreens...either way, I wasn't worried. And I had no problem letting my luggage be someone else's concern. I hate carrying big suitcases and all that stuff anyway. If I let my inner simpleton win out over the worrier, I think travel everywhere with just a back pack or with no luggage at all.

It's possible that I'm just a little crazy and hate carrying luggage. But is it also possible that this reflects some spiritual truth?

Becoming a socially awkward American

This evening I was talking with a pastor when I noticed a mosquito on his face. I immediately reached up and gave his face a small smack to ward off the malaria-carrying insect, to which he quickly responded, "Merci."

Earlier this week, I broke the same American social norm when I stuck my finger out to wipe flour off the face of one of our cooks. Thinking about this tonight, I wondered if after spending time in Haiti, I'm becoming a socially awkward American.

Here are some things that are now normal to me:
1) touching someone's face (see above examples)
2) carrying everything in a bag when I go out (a pair of shoes, a can of soup, anything)
3) close-talking
4) asking "how is your family" every time I talk to someone
5) touching while talking (generally putting an arm around the other person's back)
6) shaking hands at the end of every conversation
7) paying by handing crumpled up money to someone else with a closed fist
8) close-sitting
9) talking loudly to others across the room
10)arriving fifteen minutes "late" to everything
11)close-standing and generally just being too close

So if ever I reach up and hit a mosquito off or your face or insist on shaking your hand every time I leave your living room, please forgive me. I am now a socially awkward American.

God Can Do Everything

They were both squatting down on the cement slab, large metal wash basins at their knews, as they scrubbed clothes and towels and asked me their usual twenty questions of the day. "Ki le ou prale peyi ou?" (when will you go to your country?), Mme. Ovner asked in a sing songy tone.


When they heard my answer "Avril," both the wash ladies gasped a surprised, high pitched oh. We've had this conversation at least five times, and the response is always the same. How long will you stay there, will you come back, when will you come back, nap priye (we're praying).

This morning, however, it went a little different. When they asked if I'd come back, I decided to explain my financial situation and how I can't come back without the help of the churches. I then asked them to pray God helps me come back. Maybe I did this to try to break the stereotype here that all Americans have unlimitted resources. Maybe I was just worrying about fundraising again. Or maybe it was a little bit of both.

Either way, their response blessed me. They both emphatically committed to praying for God to help me. Then they said to me, God can do everything. Mme. Ovner even started singing, "Bondye ka fe tout bagay, tout bagay, tout bagay." (God can do everything, everything everything.)

And as she did, I looked down at her. This stick-thin mother of three, who was wearing the same faded orange t-shirt and navy blue skirt I saw her wearing yesterday outside her two-room house in the poorest part of town, was looking up at me with a reassuring smile. I watched her hands scrubbing back and forth over the clothes, knowing how much her forearms must ache when she finishes work each day, and wishing I had her faith.

Images of Destruction

Yesterday I made my third failed attempt to get to the epicenter in Port Au Prince. By failed, I mean my insistent requests for transportation to the center of town were denied in favor of more important things, like medical shipments and airport runs. Though I had traveled over 3 hours to get to Port Au Prince for this very purpose, I again had to accept that it just couldn't happen. I couldn't see the heart of the damage.

And it made me cry. Not because I didn't get my way, but because something inside me needs to see the crumpled palace, impassable roads, and piles of rocks where buildings once were. Something in me needs to see these images of destruction.
I'm not sure why. I've been seeing images of destruction ever since the quake. But the images I'm seeing are not the same as those that filled the screens of televisions in homes across the world.

No what I'm seeing are the blank faces--eyes on the floor, lips straight--of friends who talk again about the family they've lost: hurt. I'm seeing the little dance our laundry lady does when she asks me if I felt the latest tremor, and she alternates stomping her feet and shaking her fists back and forth: fear. And I'm seeing it in the wet cheeks and trembling chins of the men who pass in front of the church on Sundays: brokeness.

Though there aren't fallen buildings and tarp cities on La Gonave, these other images of the earthquake are forever etched in my mind. I will never forget walking into Merline's house and seeing her whole family lying on blankets under a tarp, hardly talking. And I'll always remember the faces of my English students as our room started to shake and they scurried under tables, one of them on his knees hugging a door frame.

But still something inside me is begging for more proof. Did this disaster really happen? Is it as bad as they say it is? In spite of all I know and have seen, part of my heart still will not accept it. I want to deny what I know is a reality, which may be why I'm longing to see such overt images of destruction.

Nomads, a Frenchman, and Earthquake Relief

This afternoon, I found myself sitting across the table from a French man and listening as he told stories of a tiny village in Niger where he helped finance a tree planting project. He talked about the school children who each cared for their assigned tree and explained a demi lunair water irrigation system.

As we talked we ate Haitian food with a Canadian pastor, I thought back to scenes from the movie Second Hand Lions. A couple of crazy seeming old men sit on their front porch, guns in hand, and tell stories about their adventures in remote places. Then I looked back at the Frenchman. He's tall with gray hair and a carefully groomed mustache. He was wearing a yellowish brown button up and speaking accented English, and talking to us about Africa.

This man, a nurse, had shown up on the mission station unnannounced. Somewhere between his adventures in Africa and his time with his wife he had managed to make friends with a Haitian and arrange a 3 week trip to Haiti to work at the hospital.

People like this really exist? This is real? There are really French men who know and work with desert nomads in Africa. Nomads who paint their faces, dance, and build irrigation systems. I had to laugh a little bit as I answered my own rhetorical question.

This is my life. It is real. I really did wake up this morning and watch part of an 80,000lb. food shipment move into our guesthouse and I did hear that our 3000lb shipment of hospital supplies was delayed in England because of a bomb threat. And I did share lunch with a Frenchman telling stories about nomads in Africa.

Complexities of Cross-Cultural Giving

At around 8:00 this morning I walked out of my front door expecting to hear the normal morning bustle of wheel barrows, laundry buckets, and young men with machetes talking as they start work. Instead what I heard was an indistinguishable rumble of several voices, a choir of requests occasionally reaching a crescendo when one voice rose above the others. I looked for the voices, expecting to hear news of some recent event in the street. What I saw instead was a crowd of 40 to 50 people, hands stretched out over our compound’s small metal gate. Also lining the gate were 8 to 10 of our workers, walking back and forth, talking to the crowd, and making waving motions.

“Sak te rive (what happened)?” I finally asked, a little nervousness showing in my voice.

Quickly and casually my friend replied, “Yo vle kek ti radio (They want radios).”

This is not good, this is not good, was all I could say in response.

The people had come because they had heard that people from the compound had been given little radios. These radios, which came with a crank flashlight, were given to us yesterday by a team. We had given them out to our workers and the hospital workers, then sent some of the workers home with boxes to discretely share with their friends. But somewhere our plan had gone awry, and word had gotten that there were radios at the Wesleyan compound. Hence the mini mob.

Fast forward two hours. I was at the airstrip in town, which is really a large, clear dust path usually covered in goats. Three North Americans had just arrived with plans to respond to a distress call they’d heard in the States, and we had gone out to give them a ride. They loaded their bags into the bed of the truck while a crowd of 15 or 20 kids mostly under 25 stood nearby watching in the shade of a tiny block building. Once all the stuff was loaded, a single box of water bottles, left intentionally, sat on the ground in front of the group.

There was a moment of stillness.

Then before I knew what happened, pieces of cardboard had been flung in every direction and the crowd of kids were now entangled. Pushing, pulling, and wrestling, they grappled for the bottles. When all the bottles had been snatched up, the group separated, leaving behind 4 flat chunks of what had been a box.

In the midst of it, I had backed uncomfortably into the truck and pulled the door shut behind me. As we pulled away from the airport I shivered. This is not the Haiti I know, but this is the second time I’ve seen this new face in one day. I’m not telling you this so you’ll fear for our safety or be afraid to give. If anything these stories reinforce the fact that people here are in need.

Giving in a desperate place, however, is more complex that I ever realized. It takes networking and discretion, wisdom and shrewdness, which we hope will characterize our daily distribution efforts. We get it right much of the time. But sometimes, on an atypical day like today, we’re reminded again of the weight we carry by having resources in this culture.

earthquake

Today is the second day after our world was literally rocked. The people here on Anses-a-Galets have remained mostly safe from the physical harm, though a few reports of injuries and structural damage have been reported. However, no one seems to remain safe from the emotional impact of Tuesday's earthquake.

Families all over the city are still waiting to hear from loved ones. Today I watched about fifteen Haitian men and women load onto a boat to find their missing relatives. One passenger searching for a school aged son, another in search of his wife, and several more searching for 3 college-aged siblings who have yet to be found.

One lost child is enough to make a whole town weep. We do not have enough tears for those who are still missing.

Each moment that passes hangs heavier on the shoulders of those of us in Haiti. And occassional aftershocks make it impossible to pretend that our world could be normal.

Last night was one of the eeriest nights I've yet passed in this country. The usual loud music and yelling from the night clubs was strangely absent. The silence a sickening reminder of the silence so many are experiencing as they still wait for news from their families.

And in the morning, as I rose, I heard roosters yelling all over the town, but my sleepy heart was almost sure it was the sound of my neighbors crying.

Walking in the Dust with Us

For several months now I've been going to youth group at the Wesleyan Church here. It's been a funny experience as I've listened to Creole lessons on the etiquette of hosting or being a guest, and have fumbled through my song book to keep up with their hymns and asking everyone around me which bible passage we're reading.

Most of the time when I go, I don't say anything. I just sit and listen. Every once in a while the pastor will call on me for an answer, to which I almost always respond "M pa konnen." (I don't know). I haven't been what I would consider an avid participant or contributor.

But last month, just before I left for the States, the pastor said something that surprised me. "Thank you Justine for walking in the dust with us." He was referring to the 2 times I've gone to prayer and walked through the dusty streets which I walk through all the time anyway.

I didn't think this was a very big deal until my friend Merline explained it to me. "Sometimes Haitians feel a little bit under everyone else. And it is very rare to have a young missionary who comes to youth group."
(just for the record, Zach attended faithfully while he lived in Anses-a-Galets)
"So when you come and listen and you come and walk in the dust with us, we consider that a great honor."

I'm not sure if I got teary or not, but at the time I was trying to express to my friend what a privilege it was for me to go to youth group. I had seen how accommodating they could be, they'd switch from French to Creole bibles just so I could understand and they'd re-explain things if they knew I was confused. And I honestly felt like more of a burden than a blessing. But apparently God was doing something I couldn't see.

I've been wondering if Jesus felt the same way when he came to walk in the dust with us. I've been thinking a lot about his life and how he literally left heaven to come live amongst us. What an awesome sacrifice!!

Over Christmas, when I was living with all the privileges of the US (hot showers, Starbucks, paved roads, and English worship), I found myself resenting the sacrifices God's been asking me to make in Haiti. If other people can live with this stuff, why can't I?

Then, through the prayer of a friend, God brought my mind back to the truth of his sacrifice. Not just that he died, but that he lived here, among us. He left the golden streets to walk in the dust with us! What an honor. And what a challenge.