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.
Monday, September 6, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, August 13, 2010
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."
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."
Monday, August 2, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, June 21, 2010
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.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
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.
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.
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