Heavy Heart

I'm sure that many of you have been checking my blog to read updates on how teaching has been going this week. For now, all that I can say is that it has been going great, my students are absolutely adorable, and I am loving every second of teaching. I would love to write every detail about my students and my class, but my heart is burdened to write to you about something else.

Here I sit alone in my apartment reflecting on the things my eyes have seen, and I am heartbroken yet again. I just got home from a small group. It is a group of Haitian teenagers (plus myself and Kez). We meet twice a week to pray, worship, hang out, read the Bible, and grow closer to God. It is very low key, and we try to go where the Spirit leads us. Today, we went to visit a family nearby.

I don't know much history about the family. All I know is that they are extremely poor, but they trust God to take care of them. So, our group of about 15 people walked from the church to their home. Their house is along a road that I have driven on at least 100 times or more. I have never taken notice to their house before. In fact, I don't think that I even realized it was a house.

When we arrived, three young girls came out to greet us. Despite the fact that their hair was orange from malnutrition, their clothes were dirty and full of holes, and the youngest of the three didn't have a stitch of clothing on her, they were all smiles, and they had the most beautiful light brown eyes. Their mother followed quietly behind them. She was shy as she greeted our large group. We explained that we wanted to pray for her. Before letting us inside her house, she went inside to clean up, just as any of us would do for a guest. But, there was something different about her house...

It was a small concrete structure. I have seen tents here that are actually nicer than this house. Their house is directly beside a road where vehicles are frequently passing by. Their house is MUCH smaller than most garden sheds in the US. In fact, one of my closest friends has a “shed” that is three times the size of their house and much nicer, too. In order to get inside, we had to walk over rocks and broken glass. Then, we squeezed between a wall and a broken down vehicle. The door into their home was nothing more than a dirty worn out tarp that we ducked under.

I have been in quite a few homes here in Haiti. Most of them are heartbreaking, but something about this house in particular hit me harder than most. It was roughly a ten foot by ten foot room (maybe smaller) with a single light bulb dangling from the tin roof above. There were a few magazine pages tacked to the wall in an attempt to beautify the dull gray cement. The floor was uneven and damp. The only furniture in the room was one full sized bed that the family of 5 shares. The air inside the room was stuffy.

Half of our group stayed outside to play with the children while the other half of our group when inside to pray and sing with the mother of the family. I was part of the group that went to pray. The mother was so quite and humble as she let a group of strangers into her tiny home. We packed inside and stood in a circle holding hands. Sweat began to run down my face and it mixed with the tears that I could not contain. I literally felt a pain in the depths of my heart for this family. We prayed, each in our own way for God to bless and provide for this family. My Haitian friend, Ruth, lead us in worship songs. We sang: Savior, He can move the mountains. My God is might to save, He is mighty to save. Forever, author of salvation He rose and conquered the grave. Jesus conquered the grave. Then, we sang: You're the God of this city. You're the King of these people. You're the Lord of this nation, You are. You're the light in this darkness. You're the hope to the hopeless. You're the peace to the restless, You are. There is no one like our God. For, greater things have yet to come, greater things are still to be done in this city. Greater things have yet to come, and greater things are still to be done in this family. Although the mother did not understand the words we were singing in English, I could tell that she felt our love for God and for her. It was a holy time, a humbling time, a heartbreaking time.

So, what does one do after experiencing something like that? I certainly cannot leave there and do nothing. As I sit here in my apartment interceding for them in prayer, my heart is burdened. Lord, you have called me to something that is so much bigger than me in Haiti..something that is so far beyond my abilities. I know that I cannot continue without you. Bondye, help me to help them.