Construction Zone

For the past three months, my block has been a construction zone.  When I moved into this apartment in August, there was an empty lot next to our building.  At the beginning of December, construction started to build a small hotel.

This new building is just inches from my house.  I can touch it from our windows.  Once the second story is added, it will completely block the windows on the east side of our house which means no more light and no more breeze.

This construction has meant waking up nearly every morning at the crack of dawn to the sound of shovels scraping the road as they mix cement, pounding of hammers, and men singing, yelling, and arguing as they work.  The sidewalk and street in front of our house is perpetually muddy.  There have been giant piles of rocks and gravel covering our sidewalk and half of the street since they started working in December.  Just when we think the pile will soon disappear, a truck comes and unloads more.

The worst problem is the dust.  Building cement block homes means lots and lost of dust.  We sweep the house daily, and daily we have a huge pile of dust.  One day, we even had mini "dust dunes" forming on our tile floor.  It is impossible to keep up with cleaning.  There are quite literally clouds of dust blowing so thick that it sometimes looks like fog.  I wonder why we even bother to wash our dishes after using them because we have to wash the the dust off of them before we can use them again anyway.

The crew of men was working on cementing the second floor of the hotel this week.  That meant waking up to men looking in our bedroom window saying, "Hey, come look at the white girls sleeping!"  They also began slopping the cement without warning us to close our window.  By the time we realized, Keziah had cement splattered on her bed and desk.  They are not the most conscientious workers to say the least.

Thankfully, after Kez spoke to the foreman, he personally cleaned her window for her.

Just when we thought that we'd had enough of this construction, it got worse.  Directly across the street from us, a family decided to add a second story to their one story home.

That means, construction beside us and across from us.  Could it get worse, you might ask?  Yes...yes, it can.  Someone also decided to tear down a building catty-corner from our house.

We are surrounded!  One can only hope that they won't be rebuilding that house any time soon.  I don't think I can handle much more construction or piles of rock everywhere.  Soon, we will have to wear hard hats just to leave our house.

Small Things with Great Love

Despite the extreme poverty in Haiti, appearances are incredibly important to the majority of Haitians.  This is especially true when it comes to going to school.  All schools in Haiti have uniforms and if your hair is not done or your uniform is not perfectly washed and pressed, you simply don't go to school.  So, it is not uncommon for me to occasionally have a student stand outside the school in dirty clothes and refuse to come inside.

Today, that was Stanley.  He was wearing jeans several inches too short for his legs and a dirty uniform shirt.  He showed up at our classroom door but refused to come inside.  When my class saw me talking with him encouraging him to join us, they stepped up.

Instead of making fun of him (which is typically the response to such situations), they grabbed his hand and pulled him into the classroom all the while encouraging him not to be embarrassed.

It was quite the "proud teacher moment" for me.  Just when I thought I couldn't smile any wider, my kids surprised me yet again.  Daniel, seeing that Stanley was bare foot, took off his own sneakers and gave them to Stanley to wear.  Daniel spent the entire school day bare foot in order to make Stanley feel better.  He did all of this quietly without drawing attention to himself, and it wasn't until school let out that he asked for his shoes back.

Philippians 2:3

Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.

Walls

Brick by brick we build walls - walls meant to protect us, shelter us from hurt.  Each brick has a name: disappointment, manipulation, sadness, fear, abuse, heartbreak, lies, neglect, depression, injustice, deceit, the list goes on.

We painstakingly cement these bricks in place as we build a fortress around ourselves.  In our minds, we tell ourselves that we are being smart - that we aren't going to make the same mistakes again.  We think, if we could just add that one specific brick to our wall, we will be safe from that hurt in the future.  But there is a problem with walls.  You see, they don't just keep out the bad.  They keep out the good things in life, too.  What was created to protect us now becomes our prison.

Deep down, we want the good that we can see just over the wall.  We consider it.  We pick up our sledgehammer and we start to swing.  But, the cost of taking down that wall is too high.  Instead, we try to just yell through the wall.  We think, "I can stay here safe inside and still experience some of that goodness that I see."  We climb ladders and yell over our walls to our loved ones on the other side.  They ask us to join them but our list of excuses is just too long.  Some loved ones give up on us. Frustrated by the barrier, they walk away.  Others care too much to do that.  Day after day, they come back to meet us at our wall.

Life seems pretty good for us.  We become comfortable with this safe routine.  Until one day, we we hear a noise.  It's our loved ones tapping away with a hammer attempting to break through our fortress.  They want more of us than we are willing to give!  We panic.  We aren't prepared for this!  We run, arms full of more bricks and we make that wall thicker and taller.  Breathless - heart racing - we work until our wall is so high and so thick that we can no longer see those who love us.  We shut them out completely.

Slowly, we start to forget them and what their love and friendship meant to us.  To us, they aren't even real anymore.  Just shadows - distant memories.  We are so trapped by our bricks of pain, grief, disappointment, and insecurity that we don't see how our actions hurt those around us.  Because we've shut everyone else out, all we can see is ourselves.

Still, we can hear them faintly on the other side of our wall tapping with their hammers - chipping away slowly and persistently.  We know that we won't allow them in, we don't want them to break through.  We won't give them that chance.  But yet, we don't want them to stop.  The sound of their hammers is comforting.  It means that we aren't really alone, not yet.

But, our friends can only take so much, for they are after all only human.  Realizing their efforts are futile, their chipping away stops.  They put down their hammers, brush the dust from their sandals, and they go with sadness and loss in their hearts.  Some may even take one or two of our bricks with them in order to start their own wall.  As the dust settles, we are finally alone.

Lord, 

you are the friend and the Father who never tires of chipping away at our walls.  Day and night you work to fix what is broken in us.  Work in the hearts of those we love, those with impenetrable fortresses.  Speak to the people who hurt us by shutting us out, that they may know they are not alone.  Help them realize how much we love them.  Crash through their walls with your perfect love that casts out fear.  Replace their pain and hurt with unspeakable joy.  May your light shine through the cracks in their walls and chase away the dark shadows in their hearts.  Help them to break down their own walls in order to be closer to your holy light.

Creative Writing: If you could do anything you want, what would you do?

"I would turn into a queen and I would give everyone what they need.  If I saw people doing bad things, I would have them arrested."

"I would make a house out of blocks instead of mud, and I would let people come to my house"

"I would build a school and I would become a pastor and praise God."

"I would plant trees in Haiti, and I would live in a fancy house."

"I would make food.  I would give everyone food."

"I would make food and call all of the poor.  I would have them come eat with me at a big table.  Then, I would give them all clothes and shoes."

Survival Purse

My parents came to visit me here in Gonaives about a month ago.  It was a great week spent showing them around the city and introducing them to all my students, friends, and neighbors.

We climbed the mountain...

We shopped in the market, spent lots of time in Jubilee, and took a dusty motorcycle ride to the beach.

We made some great memories and had a wonderful time together, but there is one event from their trip here that I will never forget.  One day, we decided to take a motorcycle ride about an hour into the countryside to another "city" called Ennery.

I drove my mom on the back of my motorcycle while my dad borrowed a friend's moto.  As we were leaving the city, we realized there was a gas shortage.  My tank was already full and my dad thought he had about a half tank so we weren't concerned about making it there and back.

Little did we know, the moto my dad was driving had a gas leak.  We made it the resort in Ennery and we stopped to walk around the grounds and have a coke.

As we were sitting, my dad mentioned that he had felt gas dripping on his leg while he was driving.  Bad news.  The gas station in Ennery had no gas either so our only choice was to hope for the best and head back to Gonaives immediately.

We left around 3 PM and made it about two minutes down the road when my dad's moto ran completely out of gas.  I talked to some men on the road and asked for their help in transferring some gas out of my tank and putting into my dad's tank.  Of course, neither men had anything we could use to siphon the gas.  Our only option was to use a crusty dirty water bottle that they found on the ground to drain gas from my tank into the bottle and then pour it into my dad's tank. Until it was all said and done, it took about twenty minutes for this process.

It took a while to get my dad's moto started and we decided to drive as fast as possible so all the gas wouldn't have a chance to drip out before we made it back to Gonaives.  That plan didn't work because we made it only a few more minutes down the road before my dad broke down again.   Gas in Haiti is bad and very dirty.  Over time, the junk in the gas settles at the bottom of the gas tank.  So, when you run out of gas, that junk clogs your carburetor.  Our problem was more complicate this time.

There we were on the side of the road basically in the middle of nowhere.  Thankfully, a moto taxi driver past us and asked if we wanted help.  I explained our situation and he pulled out a bunch of tools and right there on the road started taking the moto apart.  Thirty to forty-five minutes later we had somehow attracted a small crowd of men all attempting to offer their two cents on our problem.  All the gas that we had transferred from my tank had leaked out.  I didn't have much money on me.  I bought half a gallon of very questionable gas from a random man at outrageous price.  And the leftover money was just enough to pay the man for helping us.

For the third time, we attempted to drive back to Gonaives.  The moto seemed to be running well for about half a mile until it broke down again.  At that point in time, the sun was going down and we still had at least 45 minutes to go until we reached Gonaives.  Being stranded after dark was not something that I wanted to deal with.  I did the only think I could think of in that moment.  I emptied my purse (that was made by men and women in Jubilee) and transferred my belongings into my mom's small backpack.  Then, we looped my purse around a bar on the front of my dad's motorcycle.  My mom with Herculean strength, held her arms behind her back (all while sitting on the back of my moto) and gripped the purse as I drove and towed my dad.

Now, doing that in America would be a challenge.  Here in Haiti, we were dealing with giant potholes, gravel roads, and goats and pigs to dodge.  There were mountains to go over, too.  My little green moto did the best she could, but I could only pull my dad about one third of the way up the mountain without fear of my mom flying right off the back as she tried to hold onto the purse for dear life.  So, he and my mom jumped off and pushed his moto up the mountain and I met them at the top.  Thankfully, that meant that we were able to coast for as long as possible as we went down the other side of the mountain.

Three hours after leaving Ennery we made it to Gonaives just as it got dark. It was truly a miracle that we made it back in one piece!

Shout out to 2nd Story Goods for their amazing quality made "survival" purses!  Everyone should have one of these bags in case of emergency (and because their are beautiful, too)!

Sixteen years old and living on the streets.  No family that she would speak of.  That is where we found her.  She was bleeding, feverish, and so weak she needed my support to walk.  She was shy, but explained to us the horrific story of how she was gang raped.

I helped her into the truck and held her hand as we drove to the hospital.  We were turned away and told to go to the police.  The police sent us to the court house.  The court house sent us back to the hospital again, but the doctor was already gone for the day.  We drove to a second hospital.  They wouldn't help her unless we paid someone off.

We took her to Jubilee and helped her shower.  We gave her tylenol and clean clothes.  She wouldn't eat.  We could barely get her to drink.  She spent the night with a family in Jubilee and the next day we returned to the hospital.  The doctor was arrogant and rude.  He called her a liar in front of everyone in the room.  There was no privacy.  Women in labor were all around us.  Blood was on the floor of the exam room.  He wasn't compassionate or gentle.  I held her hand and begged her to cooperate with him for her exam.

They did a pregnancy test and and HIV test.  It confirmed my fears.  She was HIV positive.  Thankfully, not pregnant.  The doctor pulled me aside and told me the news.  Me, not her.  I just met the girl the day before, and I was suddenly in that place being given news that would change her life forever.  I had to go outside for air and to let the tears come to my eyes.  Then, because I had no choice, I pulled myself together and went back inside with her.

We were sent to an HIV clinic where she was verbally abused in the waiting room.  Vile disgusting words were said to her until I finally had to have security remove the person from the waiting area.  We met with a counselor for the clinic, but he couldn't put her in the program because she didn't have a permanent address.

We left, feeling defeated.  She was weak.  We found a place for her to stay for the night.  But, we didn't know where she could live.  I called the orphanages that I knew of, but no one could take a 16 year old with AIDS.  The next day, my Haitian friend took her to a Sisters of Charity hospice care facility outside of the city.  By the Grace of God, they admitted her despite the fact that they were already over crowded.  

We visited her regularly and saw her starting to gain strength and weight.  She was going to her HIV appointments at the hospital regularly.  Things were looking up.  We even found a place in Port-au-Prince where she could live after she left hospice.  She said she wanted to change her life.  Get off the streets.  Things were looking up.  

Until one day we went to visit her and she wasn't there.  The nuns said she ran away, the other patients said she was kicked out.  They had our phone numbers but hand't bothered to call us.  She had been gone for five days already.  We searched Jubilee, we asked around.  We couldn't find her.

Two weeks later, she appeared at school and came running to me a smile on her face.  I barely recognized her because she appeared to have gained almost 20 pounds.  She looked healthy.  We sat in the school library to talk.  She explained that after she was sent away from the hospice care, she came looking for me at the school.  However, it was a Saturday so I wasn't there.  She had no where to go.  No one to stay with.  So, she traveled to St. Mark a city about an hour away from Gonaives.  There, she stayed with her friend, a prostitute for two weeks.  She said she missed us and remembered how we helped her.  She said she realized she didn't want that life like her friend so she came back to try and find us again.  

One of our Haitian teachers, offered to let her stay with his family for a few weeks until the home in Port was ready for her.  Again, I thought things were looking up.  But, each day she lived there she caused problem after problem.  Fighting, flirting with neighbor boys, trying to sneak out at night, being disrespectful.  It began to cause major problems for my friend and his family.  My friend was very patient trying to do his best to help her, but it was too much.  His family wanted her gone.  The last straw was when she threatened to poison his friend.  He had to ask her to leave.

After he sent her away, she stayed with a family in Jubilee.  She came to me crying the first day after she was kicked out of his house.  She had nothing to say.  She just looked at me.  I think she knew what she had done.  I tried to explain to her how hard I worked to care for her and find places for her to live.  I reminded her of the times she promised me that she would do her best not to cause problems.  I knew that deep, deep down she wanted to change her life but she wasn't ready to actually do what that requires.  We both knew that until she was ready to do that, there was nothing I could do for her.  She had to cooperate.  No one else could force her to change her lifestyle.  But, she's only sixteen.  A baby having to grow up too fast.

It killed me.  Kills me still.  I want so badly to make her see her worth, her value.  I ache for her to know just how loved she is by me and by her Father.  Knowing that she has a disease that will eventually kill her if it goes untreated, is a weigh on my heart that I cannot explain.  

Over the weekend, she disappeared again.  I have no idea where she is, and I try not to think about what she must be doing to survive.  All I can do is pray.  

I think of her every time that I hear one of my favorite songs because I wish so badly she could know this Love:

Try to stop your love and you would wage a war

Try to stop the very thing you gave your life for

You would come running you'd tear down every wall

All the while you're shouting my love you're worth it all

God you pursue me with power and glory

Unstoppable love that never ends

You're unrelenting with passion and mercy

Unstoppable love that never ends

No sin, no shame, no past, no pain

Can separate me from your love

No height, no depth, no fear, no death

Can separate me from your love

Creative Writing: What would you do if someone stole your toy?

"I would tell him not to do that again because my mom says stealing is bad.  God in Heaven sees everything good that we do and everything bad that we do, but he still loves us.  I would tell him if he sins, he should tell God sorry."

"I would say, "If you stole my toy, you can just keep it."  I would ask my papa to get me a new toy and I would tell my friend not to take the new toy.  I would not say curse words to my friend because I'm just a kid and I go to school."

"I would just let it go, but I wouldn't let that friend come to my house again."

"I would talk to him.  I would tell him, "God doesn't like when people steal." Then, I would pray for him to not steal again.  I would encourage him.  If he asked me for anything, I would give it to him.  I would love him a lot, and I would tell him, "You better not steal again!  When you steal from people, they will want to cut your head off.  If someone cut your head off, you would be sad."

"I would get a dog and have the dog chase him.  Then, he would drop my toy and I would take it back.  I would tell my mama what the person did and my mama would whip him."

"I would turn into Superman and go find him.  I would tell him  not to do that again!"

My Valentine.

One of my students is incredibly socially awkward.  We don't know what exactly is going on with him. But, we are certain we can attribute his issues to the fact that his mother abandoned him at a young age, and he is being raised by people that mistreat him and rarely give him food.

Despite the fact that he is the oldest boy in my class, he is the smallest.  This year, I've seen him come out of his shell more and start to find his place among the other students.  It has been an exciting change to witness, but the best moment of all happened this week.

Everyday after school, Biolan stays late to eat some extra rice.  When he was finished eating and walking away, I called after him.  When he turned around to look, I flashed him the "I love you" sign in sign language.  I had taught it to my class the week before.

When he saw that, his face lit up and he signed "I love you" back to me.  I asked in English, "Biolan, do you remember what that means?!"  He smiled again with a cheeky grin and said in English, "Yep.  I love you." This time in Creole I said, "It's true? You love me?"  Yet again, he smiled at me and just simply said, "Yep" as he turned to leave.

I couldn't ask for a better Valentine than that.

Cast Out Demons

I was unfazed when one of our school cleaning staff sent word that she was ill and would not be able to come to work one Friday in January.  A fever is not uncommon.  I assumed she would be back to work on Monday morning.

Monday morning rolled around.  We had just finished our morning teacher devotions when two of the staff approached me looking concerned.  "P is sick again.  Except, she isn't really sick.  She has a zombie."  

I recognized that use of the word zombie.  In the fall, one of my students had a sister with a "zombie".  In Haiti, when someone has a zombie, it usually means they are being tormented by the demonic.

Rumors tend to spread quickly here, so I decided to pay P a quick visit to see what was really going on.  What I saw and heard from her neighbors was disconcerting to say the least.  She had cuts, scrapes, and welts all over her body.  She was very agitated and not acting like herself at all.  Several neighbor women explained to me that they had witnessed her jumping on her bed and swinging from the rafters of her little one room house.  They said she acted crazy in the middle of the night and ran outside.  When they had to restrain her to get her home, she attempted to fight them.  "It is a zombie," they told me.

Ok.  It was 7:30 AM.  My students would arrive for class in 15 minutes.  What do I do with that information??  "Can I come back after school to pray for her?" I asked the neighbors.

By the end of the school day, most of the school staff had learned (or heard rumor) of what was going on with P.  During the end of the day meeting, I explained to everyone that if they would like to accompany me, I was going to go pray for P.  School was over, they were all free to go home, but every single staff member (15 total people) went together to P's house.

We barely fit inside her tiny house as we made a half circle around her.  My co-teacher talked to her about God's healing power for whatever problem she has in her life.  He lead everyone in worship and we all began to pray for whatever problem P was dealing with.  Eventually, we moved her into the center of the house and we formed a circle around her.

Fresnel, one of our Haitian teachers, began to lead by asking P some simple questions.

"P, who created you?" he asked her.

"Bondye (God)." she responded without making eye contact with him.

"And who is His son that saves us from sin?" Fresnel questioned

"I don't know." she said, eyes fixed on the floor.

"Do you recognize the name 'Jesus'?" He asked her.

"No," she said.

"And what about my name? Or her name?  Or his name?" he asked her as he pointed to several of us in the circle.

"I recognize you all." she said

"No, what are our names?  Tell me one name." he said firmly.

"It's far...I can't remember right now, but I know you." she said.

I think in that moment it became clear to most of us what we were dealing with (Ephesians 6:12).  So, we began to pray again.  Despite Fresnel's attempts to get her to make eye contact with him while we were praying, she continued to look at the floor.  Eventually she sat down in the middle of the circle.  We moved to the floor with her and continued to pray.  Fresnel began to speak directly to her again.

"Where do you come from?" he asked

"By the meat market," she answered.

"Oh yeah?  Well, I'm sending you back to the fire right now," he said to her with complete authority and confidence.  At that, he head shot up immediately and fear was in her eyes.

"Fire?!  Fire?!  No!  No!  I'm not going to the fire!  You can go to the fire!  I'm not going!" she began to shout loudly.

While this was taking place, I began to pray harder asking the Lord to speak to me and reveal where this spirit was attaching itself to her.  I asked for a word that would help us to speed up this process so that this demon would stop abusing her.  Within a minute I very clearly heard, "Neck."  Simple and straightforward.  But, oh me of little faith.  I prayed, "Ok, God was that you??  Really?  Did you just say neck?  If that was you, God, and not my own head, please say it again."  I didn't even have to wait because I heard it again, immediately.  "NECK!"

Afraid to say it loud enough for everyone in the room, I turned to my friend, "Ok, this is weird but God just told me neck...that's all I've got."  She shrugged and at that, we both looked to P's neck.  A blue scarf was tied tightly and multiple times around her neck.

"What is that?" I asked Fresnel.

"I don't know," he said.  "P, who put that on you??" he asked her.  She didn't respond.  "Take that off!" he said.

Someone untied it and handed it to me.  It smelled strongly of incense and was wet.  I immediately went to the door and threw it outside to get it as far away as possible.  As soon as that was removed from her neck, things started happening fast.  She began thrashing around on the floor.  We had to hold her down.  We prayed harder, commanding the demon to leave her body and go back to hell.  She gnashed her teeth and attempted to get away from our grasp.

"Let me go!!!!  No! No!  Leave me alone!  No!" she screamed.

This went on for several minutes until she eventually was still.  Fresnel asked her to stand up and pray with him.  She prayed with him saying "Jesus is Lord."  We formed a circle around her again.  One by one, Fresnel had her say what each of our names were.  She knew every name.  When she got to me she looked up into my face and smiled, "I'll be at work to clean tomorrow."

And she was.  The next day, bright and early with a big smile on her face she was at school and she was P again.  "I slept peacefully.  I didn't hear the voices and I wasn't beaten by the demons last night.  My house was peaceful after you all prayed for me."

Psalm 46:1
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.


Matthew 10:8

Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons.  Freely you have received; freely give.

For the Kingdom of God Belongs to Such as These

The Lord has been moving here in Gonaives in mighty ways since the start of the new year.  Although I have not been writing on my blog very often, big things have been happening.  

Each day in each class, we start with a 30 minute devotion time.  Most days, my 2nd graders act goofy and are talkative.  They are not usually very serious about our prayer and devotion.  Today was different.  As I read from the book of Daniel, they listened to the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego with interest.  I saw in their eyes a hunger to hear more.  I felt in my spirit that the Lord was working in their hearts.  Together, we talked about the faith and courage that it took the three young men to stand for God when all others bowed down to an idol.  

One by one, my children started to raise their hands to share stories of Vodou related things they see and experience in Jubilee regularly.  They drew the connection that participating in Vodou is like worshipping an idol.  One of my students, Ifocoeur, raised his hand.  "My dad is a bokor (Vodou priest).  My grandfather was a bokor and my grandmother was a mambo (Vodou priestess).  I don't want my dad to do that anymore.  I have an idea that came into my head.  I have to go talk to my dad.  Today.  At 2:30 when school is over, I have to tell him to go to church and to serve God."

Ifocoeur happens to be one of my most spirited children.  He usually distracts others during prayer and devotions.  Today, he was completely serious.  When it was time for prayer, his eyes were glued shut and his head was bowed.  I looked at my children as we were praying and for the first time, they all had heads bowed, eyes closed, and were praying out loud to God.  They didn't say any of the memorized prayers that they know.  They spoke from the heart.  They talked to God with their own words.  Holy things were happening.

When we were finished praying, Madelene shot her hand into the air.  When I called on her to speak, she very seriously said, "Katie, just now when we were praying I had a vision.  I saw a big snake.  It was scary.  It was right in front of me."  That lead us to more prayer and more discussion about spiritual warfare.  We had a great talk about how Satan is always working to take us away from God and to try to distance us from Him.  The battle is real.  Day and night, it never stops.

My students had so much to share with me during Bible that we missed math class and we were late for library, but I knew that what we were doing was more important.  When it was time for recess, Madelene asked to stay and talk with me some more.  For 20 minutes, she shared with me many of the dreams that she has had.  She has a reoccurring dream about Ifocoeur's mama being chased and killed by a giant snake.  She shared about another dream in which she sees both Satan and Jesus.  Satan has a bucket that is filled with fish while Jesus has a bucket that is empty.  She and her cousin choose to go to Jesus even though his bucket is empty.  Her other cousin chooses to go to Satan.  After they make their choice, Jesus' bucket becomes full of fish and Satan's becomes empty.  In anger, Satan chases the girls and no matter where they run, he is behind them until two angels appear and save Madelene and her cousin while the cousin that chose Satan is killed by him.  

Just when I thought she was finished sharing, she went on.  She told me of another dream in which she sees an ugly old lady who is hungry and thirsty.  The woman asks someone for food and water but the person refuses her and sends her away.  She continues on and finds another person.  The second person gives her a huge plate of food and a beautiful big glass full of juice.  When the old lady is finished eating, the person goes on to tell the old lady about the Lord.  Then, the old lady turns into Jesus.  I was able to talk to Madelene about Matthew 25:40 "The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."  It was a beautiful time with her in which I was able to encourage her to pray about the dreams and visions that she has and to share them with people she trusts.  She said to me, "I have many, many dreams, Katie.  All the time!"

At the end of the day, Ifocoeur came to me and hugged me.  He asked me to go with him to talk to his papa about Jesus.  That lead us to have a nice long talk and time of prayer.  We decided to take the rest of this week to pray together every day after school.  We want to prepare our hearts for him to talk to his papa.   Ifocoeur said to me, "Since this morning the Bible story that you read to us has been on my heart.  I know that the things that my papa serve are not good.  He needs to stop.  He needs God.  I have to help him."  He prayed for the Lord to give him courage and strength to talk to his papa.  He prayed that his papa would listen to him and not be angry with him for talking about God.  Afterwards, I was able to pray over Ifocoeur that he will be a light for his family and Jubilee.  That the Lord will give him the words that he needs to talk to his papa and that his papa will have ears and a soft heart to hear his little son.  

After Ifocoeur left my classroom, I stood and cried tears of joy.  I'm so excited to hear and see that God is speaking to them and that they are listening to Him.  This is why I'm here.  This is why I came to Haiti.  Not so my students can learn to read and write.  Not so they can grow up to find good jobs.  That is all fine and good.  But the real reason I'm here is to be a part of the change that is taking place in their hearts as they learn about and experience the love of God the Father.  He is doing big things.  I ask that you join me in praying for them.

"Aslan is on the move."

-C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

Creative Writing: Why are your teachers important?

"They love us just like our mamas and papas love us.  If I have a problem, they help me."

"They tell me everything that I don't know.  They tell me when things are bad that I should not do.  They tell me not to say bad things.  They teach me what is right and what is wrong."

"They are gentle.  When I have a problem, they help me because they love us all."

"I love the good advice that my teachers give me."

"When I'm sick, they heal me.  When I have a problem they help me."

"They work very hard, and they spend their money to make our school better and give us materials."

"The give us lots of things.  They teach us lessons and do exercises with us.  I want to build a big house for all the teachers."

"They give us many things and teach us many things we don't know."

In-house Nurse

My roommate and good friend, Keziah, came back to Haiti three weeks ago.  She had been in America since August caring for a sick friend.  It is great having Kez back for so many reasons.  We pray and worship together on our porch.  We swap stories: she shares about nursing classes and people she has stitched up recently and I share about my students.  We discuss the ups and downs of Haiti life.  Sometimes we have deep discussions, but most times we laugh and joke.

There are many perks to living with a nurse.  For example, last week I was sick for three days with a nasty stomach bug.  Keziah made sure I was drinking plenty of gatorade and gave me medicine. She even got up with me in the middle of the night to give me a shot when I could not stop vomiting.  Not many people are fortunate enough to get that kind of care right in their own home!

Interesting things happen while living with a nurse, too.  People tend to show up at your door unexpectedly in need of medical care.  Last year, a friend showed up at the door with his fingertip cut off and the piece of missing finger on ice.  Tonight, a friend of ours knocked on the door with a buddy of his.  The man had a bite sized chunk missing from his lip.

He had gotten into an argument with someone and she bit his face, tearing off a chunk of his lip in the process.  He had the missing piece of lip with him, hoping that it could be reattached.  Unfortunately, it was too mangled.  So, right there at our kitchen table Kez stitched up his lip as best she possibly could.

It is in situations like these when I hear words coming out of my mouth that I would never imagine myself saying.  For example, "Here, throw this in the trashcan.  Be careful...don't open it.  His lip is inside the bag."

You just never know what a day will hold for you here in Haiti.