Hope in Haiti

A precious little girl at the orphanage where we stayed.

Cold showers remind me of Haiti.

The smell of a summer bonfire, especially with humidity in the air, reminds me of Haiti.

Brown-eyed children remind me of Haiti.

I was speaking with a coworker recently who has also been to Haiti, and we shared some of our experiences with each other. Now when I walk into work, I can offer the cheerful Haitian greeting "bon jou!" Seriously, you can't say it without smiling!

Every time I drive by a playground, especially if it happens to be empty, I envision other playgrounds, every inch covered with swarms of children playing, discovering, laughing. Children who live in mud huts, one room shacks, or crowded concrete structures. Children who have never seen a playground, whose toys are sticks. Children who have fought for their very existence in a country with a relatively low survival rate. Children who face a life of hopelessness.

You don't have to teach kids what to do with a playground.

Except there is hope.

One of the first things that made an impression after we landed in Haiti last January was the presence of the very name of God. "Dieu" was plastered on everywhere you looked. Nearly every tap-tap (pick-up trucks converted to taxis) displayed words like "Merci Jezi" - "Thank You, Jesus."

A country that went from absolute poverty to even more absolute poverty after the earthquake - a country completely decimated, whose people know nothing but living among ruins - a country of great beauty underneath the trash and misuse of many generations - a country with an astronomically low rate of husbands who stay faithful and families who stay together - this country thanks Jesus on their public transportation.

A tap-tap with "I Love You Jesus" in English

But who is Jesus to them? The majority of Haitians either are Catholic or believe in voodoo - or both! Jesus is often no more than a talisman, a lucky charm that, if placed on your billboard or your taxi, might bring you good luck and good business. Some have absolutely no idea who Jesus really is.

Our team was visiting a rural village when a 12-year-old Haitian girl grabbed my hand. I had learned enough conversational Creole to ask her name and age, and answer similar questions about myself, but that was pretty much the extent of my language fluency. She pulled me aside and showed me a gospel tract, written in English, and asked me to read it to her. Hesitating, I began in English to simply read the words...until I looked at her face and realized it meant nothing to her.

"Jezi," I said - and her eyes lit up! "Jezi...loves..." and I was lost...how do you explain love? I prayed for a miracle...and began to act out the story best I knew how. "Love!" I pantomimed a hug. "Jezi lives up there" (the sky) "loves everyone - you, me, everyone" (pointing) "but we do bad things, steal, lie" (making sad face, using deep voice) "can't go to heaven to live with Jezi" (sky again) "but Jezi loves everyone, He came and died" (pointing to picture in tract of crucifixion) "so we can go to heaven!" (happy face, sky)

She looked very interested, but I don't know how much she understood - I pray God opened her heart (and maybe taught her enough English to understand my gibberish?) and perhaps will provide a Creole speaker to minister to her. It broke my heart to not be able to explain the thing most dear to me, the love that was the very motivation for my presence there. At the same time, putting Jesus' sacrifice in actions that could be understood across the language and cultural barriers burned into my heart a deepness, a universality to His plan - it's for everyone. Cliche, right? No. My faith has never been more real than in the moment when I needed something more (or less) than words to explain it.

Merci, Jezi.

The Least of These

Yesterday, I was one of the least of these.

One of my ears has been giving me a great deal of pain since last Saturday...the mind-numbing, sleepless, excruciating kind of pain. Tylenol and a hot pack helped, but obviously life had to go on - and for someone with no health insurance and a decently tight budget, life did go on albeit painfully. A friend gave me some leftover amoxicillin tablets - I know it's bad that they had them leftover, and bad that I took them without a prescription, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do - but after 2 days of this continuous pain it was obvious that they weren't helping at all.

Someone told me about a downtown low cost health clinic called Matthew 25, and I decided to get up early one morning before work and see if they could help. About 4 hours later, I finally was seen by a doctor and given the right medications - all at no cost. That's right - my income is under the federal poverty guidelines, and they gave me healthcare for free. We're not talking about Obamacare or federalized equal healthcare here, we're talking about people donating their time, their energy, and a LOT of their money to help "the least of these."

³¹ “When the Son of Man comes in His glory, and all the holy angels with Him, then He will sit on the throne of His glory. ³² All the nations will be gathered before Him, and He will separate them one from another, as a shepherd divides his sheep from the goats. ³³ And He will set the sheep on His right hand, but the goats on the left.  

³⁴ Then the King will say to those on His right hand, ‘Come, you blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: ³⁵ for I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; ³⁶ I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me.’  

³⁷ “Then the righteous will answer Him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You drink? ³⁸ When did we see You a stranger and take You in, or naked and clothe You? ³⁹ Or when did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’  

⁴⁰ And the King will answer and say to them, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.’’’

Matthew 25

The least of these... Right?

I've done some inner-city work before. I've volunteered in a third world country. I've gone into the slums, into the shacks, into the mud huts... I'm used to thinking that the least of these is someone else.

Yesterday, it was me.

I sat in the waiting room, surrounded by a lot of other leasts of these, and realized that we are all the least of these.

Luke 9 tells another story. Jesus' disciples were arguing about which one of them was the most special, the most important, the greatest. Jesus "said to them, 'Whoever receives this little child in My name receives Me; and whoever receives Me receives Him who sent Me. For he who is least among you all will be great.'"

And don't forget, "God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." (1 Samuel 16:7) Radical, hmm?

So what is Jesus saying? That the people around me yesterday - the poor, the sick, the homeless, the immigrants, the single parents, the elderly, and everyone else that was there - might just be the greatest in the Kingdom of God? That maybe, just maybe, that man in the corner with tattoos all over his face might just have more rewards in heaven than the businessman sitting next to me in church on Sunday? And maybe that girl in the wheelchair who doesn't speak English could possibly have a heart so on fire for God, serving and content with what she has, that she'll have more crowns on judgment day than me with my often self-righteous attitude?

Yeah, that's what God said. Ouch.

We're all the least of these.

So what am I doing about that? Do I serve every person, every least of these, every "neighbor" (as defined in Luke 10:25-37), as if they were Jesus?

And here's a mind-blowing concept. Any action can be done for Jesus if done for the right motive. For instance, if I hold a door open for a mom with a stroller, I just held a door open for Jesus! When I held babies at an orphanage in Haiti and got peed on, well, I held a wet stinky Jesus. When traffic is crazy and I slow down to let someone into my lane, I just let Jesus cut in traffic. Sound silly? Yeah, but it's true.

So what does Jesus look like today?

It's a Wonderful Life

Sunset by God, the ultimate artist.

This is a magical place.

To the wondering eyes of the uprooted Californian, uninitiated into the ways of the rest of the country, the Midwest truly is magical.

Harvest is approaching.

Here, there are changing seasons - they transition, gradually but within generally predetermined guidelines, from one distinct time of year to another.

Here, there are friendly people. They smile and wave to complete strangers! And if the stranger happens to offer a greeting or a comment about the weather, they might just stand on the sidewalk and converse for a few minutes. A small child can say "Hello!" to an unknown passer-by and all adults smile.

Some of the friendliest neighbors are Amish.

Here, there are streets adorned with trees that God planted and nobody else has ever watered or trimmed.

Here, there are sunrises and sunsets, as big as the imagination, displayed by a bountiful sky that stretches as far as the limits that frail humanity can place on the horizon.

Here, family, heritage, and community are all important.

Just a fraction of my mother's relatives.

Here, I can actually survive and support myself, on a reasonable budget, completely alone.

Alone.

There, the magic ends.

The people I love the most, with whom I have spent my life, aren't here.

Thank God for love to hold them within my heart...and modern technology that lets me hear and even see them with the touch of a button! For all that we as human beings have lost in the progression of time, we have gained also, and I have never been more grateful that we do not live in the days of the Pony Express.

Day 3 of the road trip, going through Arizona.

It's been six months since I packed all my worldly belongings in my car and, with the help of my beloved mother, drove completely across the country. Not a day goes by but I don't miss her and Dad and other loved ones I left behind.

At the same time, however, each and every day I know for a fact that I am where God wants me to be right now, learning, growing, discovering, and serving.

Some days it's easier than others...

Stained glass window in the church where my grandparents were married.

What Will I Regret?

Finishing up the last bit of unpacking, I unzipped a section of a suitcase and discovered last year's prayer journal. Of course I had to sit and page through it for a little while (I had a pizza in the oven, so I had time). Its entries brought back memories, as each prayer poured out my heart to the Lord. Some prayers shared joy, some gave thanks for a few of the many, many blessings I have been given. Others resonated with fear, worry, uncertainty, and insecurity; feelings of helplessness, hopelessness, unworthiness, and discouragement were scratched on the pages in jagged letters. Reading some entries brought back waves of pain still alive, perhaps forgiven but never forgotten; reading others made me frankly rejoice in the power found in letting go and moving on.

At the end of the journal, however, is where I always jot down random thoughts, ideas for songs and poems, and cool quotes. This is what I found at the back of this journal:

I have heard it said that everyone "must do the things you'll regret not doing." Yet I look around and see plenty of people who never did half the things they wanted to do, and regret is covered by contentment with God's plan for their lives. So I wonder if the phrase might be said more appropriately, "you must do the things God calls you to do, or you will regret not doing them."

Jesus, when praying in the garden of Gethsemane, modeled for us the prayer of true humility. Although He was fully God, and therefore His will really was exactly the same as His Father's, He was also fully human and really didn't want to face the tortures that He knew were ahead. In complete surrender, He prayed, “Father, if it is Your will, take this cup away from Me; nevertheless not My will, but Yours, be done.” Luke 22:42 NKJV

I heard the concept of a "bucket list" long ago and have compiled my own list of things I would like to accomplish during my time here on earth. While they are all good things, if I go to heaven without ever riding an ostrich, I really doubt that it will be on my mind while I'm standing on those golden streets, face to face with my Savior and falling at His feet. Should I live to old age, when I am old and sick and my great-grandchildren are standing around my bed telling me it's OK to let go and pass away, I don't think my last words will be, "I never went parasailing!"

However, if I do not live according to God's plan for my life, if I make stupid choices and disobey His commands, if I ignore His calling and go my own way...imagine the regret at the end of my life when I know it could've been so much greater had I only obeyed my Lord! It is the stuff of nightmares to think that I could get to heaven and see my Savior, only to have Him tell me that He had a great plan for me and wanted to use me in incredible ways, but I was too rebellious and headstrong to listen and obey and therefore wasted the time I was given.

So what do I do with the time that I have? Do I choose to go my own way and do the things I want to do? Rather, I want to do the things that God has called me to do, knowing that not only would I regret not doing them, but also knowing that only in doing them will I find fulfillment and peace.

The Weight of Forgiveness

Image not mine

Good Friday, 2012.

The paper rested in my hand, intimidating even in its diminutive size. This little sticky note represented my sin, but as I closed my eyes, the weight of my sin threatened to overwhelm me. Words catapulted toward me - words like pride, disbelief, ingratitude, complacency, disrespect... How could I sum up my sin on this little yellow strip of paper?

Slowly I began to write, then faster, until the side with the adhesive seemed nearly covered in words and I felt I could not write more without repeating variations of things I had already written. I stared at the sticky note as the pastor's words continued, speaking about the sins represented here being the reason for a death. A man died on a cross to erase that slip of paper. The familiar story, yet somehow more alive, more real, as the evidence stared me in the face. I was the guilty one who condemned an innocent man. Mine is the sin that caused Him to die. My life is the one He gave up His life to save.

My attention was directed to the wooden cross lying on the stage, red ribbons flowing from the upright nails driven into the beams. At the call, each person in attendance rose and attached their sticky note to the cross.

Suddenly the small yellow paper felt so heavy. I looked at what I had written. My heart seemed to rise in my chest. Forgive me, Lord.

Immediately the answer came back. I already have.

IT IS FINISHED.

I followed the stream of people approaching the cross. I knelt near the foot. I don't know why You want me, Lord, but You paid for this sinner and I am Yours. Gently I dropped the sticky note onto the wooden beam. As I rose, a church elder took my hand and pressed a small nail into my palm. I walked back to my seat and held the nail, a symbol of what had been done for me.

As the last person left the cross, it was nearly completely covered in little yellow pieces of paper. The weight of forgiveness suddenly hit me. Every single sticky note represented a person for whom Christ died, a person with sins for which He atoned. Every single sticky note represented weight of guilt carried no more, but transferred to the shoulders of the perfect sacrifice. Every single sticky note commemorated gratitude for an unbelievable, inconceivable, beautiful, wonderful Savior!