bless the mamas
They mother the motherless, the mamas in this orphan village. The team that traveled to Jeremie, Haiti, the month before us went specifically to love on them. The photo of women washing the feet of women who wash feet nearly undid me. These mamas carry hearts heavy with Jesus. Though some bring their own children with them, many leave them in the care of others so they can spill love into the empty, into children with no mamas or papas. (One of the mamas is going to school to become a nurse.) They receive a small compensation along with room and board—likely pennies from our perspective. But how can mere money compare to their sacrifice? I’m writing about these mamas today over at BibleDude. Won’t you join me there and offer a prayer for...
haiti: when it’s time to say goodbye
We’ll say goodbye today. I make construction paper cards before we go. Erica’s brought a printer and given me a couple mini photos–one of Sophonie and me, and one of Chilanchi and me. I stick them to the paper. “Jezi renmen ou,” I write. “Mwen renmen ou.” Jesus loves you. I love you. It’s our last day at the orphanage, and they’ve warned us the kids might be a little clingy, a little moody. I’m a little clingy and a little moody. That first day, when the children pulled me from the van, hung on me, reached to be picked up, dragged me here and there, each trying to claim me for himself or herself, batting away other children–that first day I wondered if I’d made a mistake. Their needs...
scripture sunday: haiti: joy to you!
“Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord.” ~Luke 2:10-11 In the...
haiti: when not everyone needs to be rescued
The children talk about it Friday morning. About the four who left in the wee hours. “They go on plane with you?” Sophonie asks. “No.” I shake my head. “They drive.” I clench my fists around an imaginary steering wheel. “New kay. New house.” They’re on their way to an orphanage of transition where, if I understand correctly, they’ll learn about things like toilets and forks and knives. Sophonie knows that Sania and Bobby will eventually be adopted by members of our team. “Sandy. You. Me. Plane?” Sophonie points to the sky. My heart crashes there on the concrete, and my eyes fill, and I draw her close. “No.” It’s another “Haiti moment.” I’ve lost count of...
Haiti: Is it Enough?
Sophonie, she scratches words on peach-colored concrete with a sliver of yellow chalk. She points to them and then to herself. “God. Me. Father. Mother.” I brim and pull her close. “Yes. God. He’s your father and your mother.” And He’s enough. Jeffrey’s fifteen, he says. He speaks English. I ask how long he’s been here at the orphanage. “Two years,” he answers. He carries a Creole-English dictionary. He and Sophonie speak to each other. “She doesn’t understand you,” he says. “I know,” I sigh. “We teach each other.” I want to know his story. But I’m afraid to ask. Afraid to dredge up memories. Afraid I’ll cry. I’m sharing over at bibledude.net today. Come for the rest? In the stillness, Oh, and your eyes are not playing...
Haiti: Just Let Me Be Jesus
He’s standing in the back, watching. I brush my hand across the black nubbiness of his head. I bend over and reach down. “Would you like up?” He raises his arms, and I pick him up, balance him on my right hip. I sway to the music and sing in the dark night of Haiti—Joy to the World. He doesn’t look at me, never says a word. Just keeps his eyes glued to the black and white children on the outdoor screen. But sometimes he scratches a spot on the right side of his head. And then he turns and wraps his little arm tight around my neck, plants his cheek against my shoulder. His grip tightens when I move, so I stroke his back and sway and sing, echoes from my chest to his. I can feel a wheeze under my hand, and dampness on my shoulder. He’s gone to...
Still Saturday: Choosing Solitude
“Jesus, of course, was well aware His presence and words were in demand. That is precisely why He traded an hour or two of sleep for time alone. For Jesus, solitude and quiet, reflection and prayer, were lifeblood . . . “As Dallas Willard observed, these times of chosen solitude, deprived of noise and activity and friendly interaction, were not enfeebling, dull or even lonely for Jesus. They were ‘the primary place of strength . . .’From these moments flowed the very content and character of Jesus’s communication. In those quiet hours He cultivated the insight and wisdom that could disrobe convention and strip false assumptions naked. Piercing insight. Rock-solid wisdom. Real vision. “No wonder everyone was looking for...
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