Every morning at 5 a.m. I grew accustomed to waking up to the sounds of roosters and worship. The sounds bounced around the room and slowly (but surely) woke the other missionaries in the room. I remember trying to see if I could block out the sounds of the roosters and just try and listen to the worship from next door. It was in those moments that a rooster would come right up to my window and started squawking to make sure I was up. This was the usual morning routine in Haiti for me. But the mornings in Haiti were so unlike my mornings in America. I remember one morning waking up to the song "Open The Eyes of My Heart Lord". That song never seemed more powerful to me.
"I want to see you. I want to see you."My mornings started with God--something I rarely experience in America--waking up and your first thought being God while listening to the roars of worship from the villagers next door.
Our team of 21 was divided into three--construction, medical, and vacation bible school. Each field dealt with exposure to very different types of people. With construction I got an opportunity to meet with some of the villagers who were very closed off in the beginning of our relationships with them. Many of these villagers worked for a free meal and others were actual paid workers. Through the week the Lord broke language barriers and replaced odd stares with acceptance, enjoyment, and laughter. My favorite moment in working with construction was actually a moment that started out with extreme discouragement. It was our first day on the site and the heat was bearing down on all of us and I kept thinking, 'these people don't even want us here right now....'. I look up and notice almost 100 kids running towards us; excited to see us. They held onto me and my two friends, Matt and Ben. It seemed like each child wanted to be picked up or given a high five. They thrived off of the affection that we would give them-almost as if they had never received it before.
Speaking Creole with the kids was difficult because they could not comprehend what we would try and say. So this is one of the obstacles-I can't use words with these children. So its up to my actions to show them love. I could not simply tell them "you are loved." I had to show them. My actions were key here. Words meant nowhere near as much as my actions did. This is where the importance of being the hands and feet of the gospel really hit home for me. But here in America I take my own mouth for granted. Do I really use it as much as I could to proclaim and take part in the Gospel?
The next day I worked vacation bible school for the children. Ben and I took a smaller portion of the group to a field nearby to get out and play with some of the toys we had brought them. Ben and I noticed that there were almost 100 kids with us and no translator. We had nowhere near enough toys for all of the kids and as soon as they realized this violence broke out among the mass. I remember seeing kids swing tree branches as thick as pythons as a form of attack. I saw a boy start punching a another boy in the face in order to get the toy from him. I would try and yell "Stop!" but remember-words that can't be understood can only get you so far. Finally the fighting was broken up but I felt extremely discouraged. I had never seen playfulness switch to violence so fast.
That night I got very sick. Fever, vomiting, deliriousness, dizziness. I was scared that it would escalate into something much worse. I prayed for safety but I also prayed out of frustration. Frustration because I was not ready to be out of commission this early on the trip. As the rest of the team would leave the following days to go to the work sites I would stay behind and help with the medical team. It was all I was allowed to do after being sick. The other team members would come back before dinner time and talk about the relationships that were being cultivated, or about the Gospel being shared, or about the people who had come to accept Christ. I would hear this news and be glad but at the same time frustrated. Frustrated because I wanted to be in the front row of the good fruit of this trip. I wanted to be a part of it. I wanted to see it happen. Not just hear about it.
I continually found myself in prayer about this frustration. I knew the Lord raised my support money to get here, He physically made it able for me to come, He softened my parents' hearts in letting me come, I received nothing but affirmation about this trip--yet I was put out of commission so early in the trip. So why have me here in the first place?
This was one of my biggest struggles within the trip. But the Lord provided for some peace about this as my time in Haiti went on. Yes, I did want to be a part of the good fruit of this trip but all I got to do with it was hear about it. However, I completely looked over the fruit in my own life that was taking shape. Through the experiences I had in Haiti, I clung to the Lord in every one. From the children fighting, to having to endure Haiti heat, to getting sick the first time and the second (yes-there was a second time), and in my mornings when my eyes first opened. The Lord was who I sought after in every one of those situations and many more. But it wasn't like I would cling to the Lord for a short bit or for as long as I simply needed, but I would cling and hold on because it was that hope that got me through what was a tough trip. So the good fruit for me in this trip was how much I would hold on. At home I would become so consumed in everything around me that the Lord may not be the first thing I seek.
Nighttime was my favorite part of the day. Everyone would come back from their day of hard work and we would all eat delicious food together and talk about what we experienced that day and then follow up with an intense game of Spoons afterward. It was almost like a celebration each night. The good food would induce lethargy and drowsiness soon hit. I would say a prayer of thanks for an opportunity like this and then fall asleep to the sounds of worship from the sanctuary next door--just the way the day started.
