Haiti in Retrospect, pt. 1

For those who may not know, I had the amazing opportunity to spend a short week in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. I went with a group providing medical and dental care to the children of St. Vincent's Center for the handicapped. The trip was an absolutely incredible experience; like many such experiences it was far too wonderful and striking and profound to describe in a short summary. That's why in the next couple days I will be posting a series of reflections as my feeble attempt to relay what God did and what He said during that time.

What follows is my first attempt to describe what I saw. I hope these images are worth a thousand pictures. These are my snapshots of Haiti.

Boys of all nationalities love playing with the camera. (Photocredit: Sonya Yencer)

With extreme care and awareness, an older boy gently navigates the misshapen, concrete, narrow pathway between classes, clearing the way through the chaotic mob of children just released for recess. He doesn't hear the clamor around him; in fact, he has never heard the joyful voices of his classmates playing games in the hot afternoon. But instead, he moves forward like a royal official among his subjects, lovingly leading his blind brother by the elbow. How such a friendship was formed, I cannot guess, but it was at this moment that I realize: I have entered the Kingdom of God.

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Hands and fingers all over my face and arms. Hands and fingers are how the blind see. While I can't for the life of me remember their beautiful French and Hatian names, the blind students seem to remember me the next time they hear my voice. 

"Parlevous France?" the young boy asks us. "Non," we answer in crippled Creole, "Ingles." A wide smile spreads across his face. He is not at all perturbed by our stunted communication, but he takes joy at the chance to express his hard-practiced English. 

"We....Welcome to de Haiti! God Bless You!!" 

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Photo credit: Sonya Yencer

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With only one mishapen hook of an arm, the little boy sits proudly with paintbrush poised between his toes, creating a world where no one can tell him he can't. 

Photo credit: Sonya Yencer

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On a dusty chalk board for example and a few Creole words for guidance, the American art teacher opens the door for creative design and self expression. We begin with a class of six or seven, but curious children slowly trickle in. One arrives just as the rest are finishing and her friend jumps up to get her a paper and pen. She signs an explanation, transposing the creole words into American Sign Language with fluidity and skill. The deaf girl nods and smiles. She too picks up the pen and becomes Queen of her Imagination. 

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Vinette taught me more signs than anyone else. She was a patient, persistent, and creative teacher. If not for her intervention on Day 2, my communication with the deaf children would probably have gone only as far as a smile. But even just the learning gave me confidence to try more. The ability to start a conversation, even if I did not know enough to finish it, helped me come a little closer; helped me find connection when words were lacking. 

Language may indeed be a tremendous barrier, persisting since the days of Babble, but it is not a barrier to Love unless we make it so. I am terribly embarrassed by my own ineptitude among these students who speak Creole, French, Spanish,and ASL as well as some English. The teenagers make every effort to exhaust their bank of English vocabulary in order to make conversation with this awkward American who can only say three phrases in their language. The little ones don't care what you have to say as long as you give them a hug or a soccer ball. But these brilliant minds are locked inside a compound, hidden from society because the world calls them disabled. In reality, I'm the one who feels ashamed before these 5-foot intellectual giants with hearts of gold. 

This Year's Praises

I have a strange confession: I really love airports. I love looking at the giant list of cities I could potentially visit if I walked on this plane instead of that one. I love seeing people as they pass and wondering what brings them to this hub. I especially enjoy the smell of walking onto the terminal. It smells like adventure to me.

I write this on a plane out of O’Hare back to my home town. It will just be a pit stop on my way to a new adventure: a week of ministry in Haiti. Its strange to think that the last time I was on this very same flight, I was in a completely different place spiritually. I was headed to a memorial; saying goodbye to two beautiful people I never got the chance to say hello to. My time at school began veiled in grief, doubt, and anxiety. The adventuresome feeling of being in a new place was short-lived. Getting back on the plane to return and continue building a brand new life was one of the hardest things I had done at that point. My new life felt a little like an exile.

That was August of 2013. Now, less than two years later, my exile has turned into a land of plenty. I want to return the first fruits. I want to share with you the praise of what God has done for me this semester.

God gave me a Community where there was none; brothers and sisters that have quickly become so dear to me. In a local church I found myself in a fellowship of people who know me for who I am and lift me up when I need them. I found people who are quick to love and share their lives.

God clarified a Calling. Now in my internship, my passion for counseling youth has exploded. There are days I walk away from the office just filled to the brim, loving my job, and then remembering that I’m not getting paid to be here! I simply love what I do. Also God has sharpened my vision for teaching mental health in the church. He’s given me a passion for teaching and opportunities to explore these gifts. Funny thing about walking in your giftedness; it makes every previous frustration and disappointment totally worth it. Of course that didn’t work out! as it dawns on you, I never dreamed the alternative would be this good!.

God has Provided for everything I need. It's easy to hopelessly adopt the caricature of the starving grad student, but whether by random jobs that open up or the surprising generosity of others, I have never once been in need. In my mustard-seed faith I often worry, but some amazing provision always comes up.

Most amazing, God has given me Joy and has healed wounds I thought would always define me. He has hulk-smashed mountains of insecurity, freeing me from so much doubt and fear. This semester especially has been one of more peace, breath, and mental space than I’ve experienced for quite some time.

Not to mention, this year I have this amazing person to visit: 

My 6-month niece, Josie Joy

I don’t want to paint the wrong picture…I was not depressed or hopeless last year, far from it. But some struggles are deep, hidden from the public eye and drawn out for so long, you get used to them and expect them to be always present. Some burdens you just get used to carrying until you can’t imagine life without. When the clouds break open and you finally realize that you’ve dropped those burdens off at last, the delight is so overwhelming that you must praise God. There’s nothing else I can do. He has been faithful to me. 

Saying Goodbyes

Have you noticed how our culture has a chronic phobia about goodbyes? I'm not referring to the short and sweet salutations when you know you'll see the person again next week. When it comes to true, sincere, and permanent partings, we avoid them at all possible costs. We make promises we have no intention of keeping in order to soften the blow.  We will slip in a "see you later" before we can let the fact sink in that, no, you won't see me again. We have social media as a topical anesthetic to numb the pain of parting; we'll take even a digital relationship over a severed one.

We may go through life acting like we don't need close relationships, but something in us despises the thought of leaving. Our souls are squeamish at the thought of saying goodbye.

We are about to finish our very last session--my first client and myself. Though constructed in the stiff roles of a client/counselor relationship, the connection that grew over the last semester was authentic and genuine. I cared about this person; outside of therapy I thought about their life and what I could say that could be helpful; I prayed that they might find Christ when my professional position forbade me from speaking His name. My job had been to sit and talk with this person every week, two hours a week, for the past three months. Now in our last five minutes together, I am at a loss for what to say. 

I think we hate goodbyes because our souls are wired for eternity. Death is as natural in this world as breathing, yet still it never ceases to tear our own worlds apart. Divorce ravages families and nations, despite the fact that many would like to claim it is the free choice of two consenting adults. Deep in our souls, we maintain the impression that relationships are supposed to last, even though in our heads we know better. So we dance around goodbyes like a terminal diagnosis because technology gives us an out.

But maybe we are scared of goodbyes because we fail to recognize the opportunities they provide. Without goodbyes we have no room in our lives for new hellos. It is possible for our lives to become so cluttered with dusty, aging acquaintance-ships that there is no room for a deeper friendship to emerge. Having your hands full of connections from a past life keeps you from being present with the people right in front of you, and without fresh perspectives in life, how can you grow?

The only solid goodbye I can remember came from an African woman who was my next door neighbor last year. She had completed her final semester, finished her PhD, and was returning home. We only knew each other for a few months, but we had shared many heart-felt and inspiring conversations and found a sincere connection. I was driving her to the airport. Right before I could open my mouth and ask "do you have a facebook?" she looked at me and, as if reading my mind, said "Oh, Sarah, we will not meet each other again in this life. I will always remember you. May God bless you." And with that she left. What a rare treasure, what a refreshing truth. We won't see each other, not in this life. But the God who placed eternity in our hearts promised a resurrection and a reunion, and we shall see each other then.

That goodbye became a treasure. Now I can can remember my friend without the regret or guilt of "oh, I should reach out to her again..." I'm free to take what I learned in that relationship and invest it fully in those whom God brings my way today. Her impact on the earth is magnified as I allow that memory to shape my current interactions. Sometimes saying goodbye seals the blessing of the relationship in a way that text-message updates never can.

So I watch my client leave with a swell of pride and a tinge of regret. I must have muttered something about how I appreciated our time together or wishing best of luck; I have not prepared myself well or even recognized how I sincerely cared for this person's progress. But constrained by my role as counselor, I know good and well there would be no facebook, no keeping in touch, and hopefully I won't ever "see ya later." My position forces me to stand tall and say the word, which pushes rolls out unpracticed like a foreign language:  goodbye. It feel good to do so, like the completion of a journey, or dusting off the hands after a job well done.

I've learned that it is respectful, honoring, to give a solid and sincere goodbye. You give that person a stepping stone on their journey, and whatever you have invested in them can be passed on. Even so, I believe that in my human need to keep things as they are, I would be unable to let go without the hope of eternity ahead.