M' adore ou Jezi

Every time I go to Haiti, I have a totally different experience than the last. This trip I had the privledge of leading a group of 8 amazing men and women. While the fact that our group had a big range of ages, personalities, and prayer styles sometimes posed a challenge to me as a leader, God totally allowed us to see the grace of it. We all brought something unique to the group, and each one of us was meant to go on this trip for a specific reason, to bring something to it. It was also a lesson in humility for me, to give total control to God. I needed to let Him work through me to lead these people and open their hearts- it was nothing that I could do on my own. All Glory to Him!

I experienced such a range of emotions on our first day. First, anticipation. Would we be able to get through the airport ok without any problems? The group was looking to me to get us through ok, relying on me. It was an unsettling thought. Could I actually do it? I knew with God's grace we would be fine. I had gone over this in my mind so many times- go through immigration, get our bags, walk outside, and find Manno. It was simple. There was a short feeling of relief when we got outside and found a nice man to help us carry our bags and lead us down the sidewalk to the parking lot. Then, fear gripped my heart. Our truck wasn't there. Manno and Joe's warm smiling faces were nowhere to be seen. Ok God, get us through this. I trust in You. Thankfully, He prompted me to get Manno's cell phone number about 5 minutes before we borded the flight at JFK. And He also placed a nice Haitian man in the right spot at the right time who let me use his cell phone. I was able to get Manno on the phone, who told me Joe had the truck and gave me his number. Adrenaline had been pulsating through my veins for a bit by this point, so I was about to quickly hang up the phone and call Joe when Manno calmly asked "so, how are you??" as if there was nothing else going on. I kinda laughed and told him I was good and that I had to go call Joe. That's what I love about Haiti- they don't have the same sense of rushing as we do. They will gladly be a half hour late somewhere in order to stay and have a conversation with you.

After about 10 minutes I saw the big blue truck pulling into the parking lot and an immense feeling of relief and excitement washed over me. We all ran to meet Joe and Alexis, who I didn't believe was one of our cops at first. I jumped out of the back of the truck when Manno pulled in shortly after, and we hugged and talked for about 5 minutes. Manno is seriously one of my heros. He does so much work for the mission, especially after the earthquake when he kept going back and forth to Port Au Prince to bring refugees out to the village. He has every right to be exhausted, but continues to serve with so much joy. I also saw Uncle Jean and Brother DeLord, both of whom are important spiritual fathers of the mission and bring me so much joy as well.

We all got into the truck and started our long journey out to the village. The feeling of total joy that I had just been feeling quickly went away when we started driving past the tent cities and collapsed buildings of Port Au Prince. The sights and smells hit me particularly hard this time. Everybody fell silent for this part of the ride, and as I sat in the back corner of the truck tears were welling up in my eyes. You would think I would be used to it by now. But I think I was really seeing it for the first time in all its reality. Usually I am so happy to just be back in Haiti that I see everything in the city through a fog. But God allowed that veil to be ripped back this time, and I really started to imagine what it would be like to live in these conditions all the time, day after day, with no hope of a better future. The tent cities of people made homeless by the earthquake stirred up the most emotion in me. I was angered that there was no progress in the 3 months that I had been away, let alone in the 7 months since the earthquake. The tent camps were so much more personal to me now, after meeting people who actually lived in them on my last trip. They weren't just some distant concept that I was looking at from the outside anymore- they were real life. I looked at the people in each one that we passed, not just the tents. I saw the lack of clean water, of privacy. I saw men washing themselves with little buckets of water, trying to keep clean and keep their dignity in the best way that they could. I saw children lethargic from the heat and malnutrition, sitting in their mothers' laps with vacant expressions on their faces. It made me want to scream. I wanted to jump out and help every single one of them. But it was impossible. I felt guilty for being on my way to such a beautiful place in the mountains, for just passing through the city, when these people have to live here 24/7. It turns out that God gave me comfort about this in a few days time, but for the moment He wanted me to stay in this feeling of helplessness and sadness.

As we got to the outskirts of the city, we stopped at a gas station to have one of our tires fixed. Joe came around to the back of the truck and invited us to go inside the little convenience store with him to buy some cold drinks. A group of about 6 of us went in, and as soon as we crossed over the threshold the whole place fell silent. All eyes were on us. I have never felt so out of place in my life. We had to walk to the back of the store to where the coolers were, and it seemed like the walk took forever. I didn't know if I should look up and try to smile at people or just keep my head down. I wondered if they were resentful to see us, wondering who we thought we were to walk into a place like this and get refreshing drinks when a million people were living on the streets right around the corner. Or maybe they were thankful to see us. I will never know. Back outside, a boy about 12 years old was standing by the truck. I started talking to him, and he asked for water. I gave him some, and he told me that his mom was dead. I didn't understand him at first, so he said "my mom" and then rested his head on his hands pretending to be asleep. I thought that was so precious, that he thinks of her resting peacefully in Heaven. I gave him a Cliff bar too, and he was so thankful. I told him I was praying for him and for his mom, and he said he would pray for me too.

The roads were really bumpy this time around from all of the rain that they have been having. Just when we turned off the paved road and started to bounce around, I saw Brother (who was sitting next to me) take out his rosary and start praying. It was so calming to see that, to know that we were in good hands. The ride was rough but totally worth it when we pulled into the orphanage. Most of the kids were still awake, and when I got off the truck they all surged forward and surrounded me in one huge group hug. It was such a beautiful moment, to finally have built relationships with them so that they remember me. Within about a minute everyone had a kid in their arms.

With the morning came the sounds of children playing, men working, and various roosters, donkeys, and goats. We painted the rest of the upstairs rooms the first two days while the guys made much-needed screens for the windows. We swam in the river every day and played with the kids every free moment we had. I had some awesome talks with Kendra up on the roof, and we prayed a rosary one evening as the sun was going down and the stars were coming out. Every night we all gathered for evening prayer on the steps of the orphanage. While most nights it was very calm and peaceful, the second night we were there it turned into an awesome praise and worship session. We were clapping and dancing and singing at the tops of our lungs. My heart and soul felt so free, so joyful. It was like something in me had been holding back on this trip until this moment, and it finally broke free.

Our project for this trip was to sort through all of the clothes, shoes, and toys that had been donated to the orphanage over the course of the summer. There were so many bins, way too much for the needs of our one orphanage. The people in Dandann, the next village over, had been complaining that they couldn't go to church because they didn't have nice enough clothes to wear. So the mission decided to keep what they needed and give the rest to Dandann. As we were sorting through everything, some of the kids came into the room and wanted to help us. It was so cute watching them try to fold clothes. At one point, Kendy saw a stuffed animal that he really liked. He pointed to it, and I told him that it was for the kids in Dandann. Without even skipping a beat he points to himself and says "mwen Dandann" (I'm Dandann). He's so funny. A little bit later, MacKendy was sitting next to me and found a brightly colored baby hat. He put it on his head and asked if he could have it. I told him he could wear it for now, and his face lit up. He never took it off after that, even wearing it to bed. MacKendy and I get along so well because we are very similar people. He's one of the quieter kids, and usually gets pushed into the background by the more outgoing and loud ones. He's so sweet, so peaceful, and is ridiculously smart. His eyes are so big and full of love, and you feel like you can look right into his soul. Johnna said he was asking for me before I got there, and when I went to say goodbye to him he wouldn't let me hug him at first because he didn't want me to leave.

We sang a song in night prayer that I had never heard before. It goes something like this: "Jesus, I adore You in the children, I adore You in the clouds, I adore You in the rivers, I adore You in the mountains, I adore You in the stars, I adore You in the church.." and keeps going, listing the things we can adore Jesus through. It was so fitting for our trip. Every night there was a thunderstorm, and you could see the lightening coming over the mountains while patches of brilliant stars still shone through. I would lay up on the roof on my back and just stay there, in awe of God's creation. The rain thundered down loud enough to wake us up at night. We bathed in the river one night as a storm was approaching. It was so dark that we could hardly see our hands in front of our face, until lightening lit up the sky like daylight. It was like God giving us His flashlight. It started to rain just as we were getting out, and soon we were wetter standing out in the pouring rain that we had been in the river. We got back to the orphanage and a small group of people was sitting on the porch, with Alexi playing guitar. The group of us stood out in the rain and danced to the music while everyone laughed at us inside. Alexi taught us a song that said "don't forget what Jesus is doing for you." He did so much for all of us that night.

Every morning we would gather on the roof to read the Gospel for the day and meditate on it, connecting it to our experiences on the trip. On one of the last mornings, the Gospel was a very obscure and confusing passage so I decided to read the meditation in the Magnificat instead. It was so providential, because it was an excerpt of St. Benedicta of the Cross and absolutely perfect for our trip. She talks about the suffering in the world, and how we want to help every widow, orphan, poor person, etc. This is impossible on our own. But Christ can be everywhere, and by uniting our sufferings to Him at the foot of the Cross we can bring graces to anyone in the world. So even though we could not physically stop and help every single person in Port Au Prince, through offering up our sufferings and through prayer and sacrifice we can help all of them through the Body of Christ. It was such an answer to our prayers and brought so much peace to our minds and hearts.

With this in mind, driving back through the city on the way home was not as full of despair. But Joe decided to take some back roads in order to avoid traffic and took us through parts of the city that I've never seen before. It was an area that had been hit very hard by the quake, and on either side of the road buildings were still collapsed. It was like passing through a cemetary, each building a gravestone of the bodies still buried inside. The most powerful moment was when we drove right past the national cathedral. I had seen so many pictures of it on the news but this was the first time I had seen it up close in person. It looks like an empty shell, with the middle part completely collapsed. The outer walls with stained glass windows still stand like memorials of its former glory and beauty. Outside on one corner is the now-famous crucifix statue that is still standing amongst all the rubble. Even though the cathedral, an outer symbol of Catholocism, is lying in ruin, the faith of the Haitians is still strong. The Church in Haiti is living as Christ crucified. They are clinging to the Cross, trusting that God is with them more now than ever. Through their sufferings they are attaining great graces for the rest of the world that we will never realize. Through our own sufferings united to the Cross, we can attain graces for them in return. Port Au Prince is broken, just as Christ hung broken on the Cross. But there is always hope in the Resurrection, in the glory of the Kingdom to come. We saw a glimpse of this glory out in the village, in the orphans who now radiate joyful smiles thanks to the healing powers of love.

M' adore ou Jezi. I adore you Jesus!