A LOFTY PRIVILEGE

"To enter into loving people and possible loss, is to enter into suffering, to enter into the daily hurts and heartaches. To soldier on well we must have an understanding of suffering or we will let it overwhelm us and stomp out God’s goodness, and then we become a martyr rather than an overcomer." -- Sarita Hartz

Jesus promised pain and suffering. Paul suffered. Mary suffered. Peter suffered. Stephen suffered. Jesus himself suffered. Must I continue?

I gather this: I cannot live a gospel-motived life without suffering. Yes, maybe there will be seasons where suffering doesn't seem so dang prevalent. But in reality, it will come. 

For some, it may never leave. 

So wether I am stuck in the hot, dusty valley, climbing up the never-ending mountain in the blazing sun, or working my way back down the mountain (which is must easier than the original climb, but still a tedious task as you must work hard not to tumble down to the bottom), suffering is inevitable.

But that doesn't mean I have permission to sulk in a self-pity filled, woe-is-me, negative Nancy kind of attitude. 

Again, Sarita puts is perfectly:

"Expect that there will be pain in this life and in what you do for the Kingdom. Decide that you won’t let it make you a martyr. Decide to not let the unfairness of this life make you bitter. You will face the disappointments and rise, because you know ultimately all things do work together for the good of those who love Him. He is working out the beautiful tapestry of your life in ways you can’t even imagine. He knows everything you need to fulfill your call. He doesn’t waste a single one of your tears. I believe He has a bottle in Heaven of each tear I’ve cried. He will not waste any of your suffering or any opportunity to shape it for your good and for the good of many others."

Thankfully, amidst the trials, Jesus has promised that he'll never, ever leave or forsake us. We overcome because he already overcame. No matter what kind of terrain I find myself on, I can rest assured that my suffering is not in vain. In fact, I should count it as a lofty privilege to suffer for Jesus' name sake. I am a warrior on the frontline of battle! As Paul puts it, "I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us."

(If you haven't read a blog post from Sarita Hartz, you're missing out. If you are a missionary, going to be, was at one point, or just want to understand a missionary better, go and read her stuff. She says all the things I don't have words for and deeply encourages my soul.)

"Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one this I do: forgetting what lied behind and straining forward to what lies ahead. I press on toward the goal for the prize on the upward call of God in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 3:12-14)

This is oh so relevant for me right now. Life here has been so ridiculously challenging. It's difficult to see a fruitful future what you're stuck in the heart of a treacherous storm. The words straining and press on give the impression that doing so what no easy. And that's where I find myself. It's not easy to strain forward when simply surviving the current seems impossible. 

But, I'm choosing to take Paul up on his challenge to press on.  And I do not take on this challenge alone, for Jesus has made me his own and I absolutely need him.

JACMEL, HAITI

I recently went on a day trip to Jacmel, Haiti. Instead of driving 4 hours on terrible roads, we decided to adventure on an extremely small plane no bigger than a minivan (with some nerve-racking turbulence included). 

After flying right through the mountains, I now realize that the Haitian proverb, "beyond the mountains, more mountains," is no joke! Also, Haiti literally means "land of high mountains." Now, I can understand why. And man, are they beautiful! I loved them before, but after this trip, I've fallen for them in a head-over-heels kind of way.

Here are some of my favorites captures from the day. 

FRANTZY

I am in the school office around lunch time when I hear someone crying loudly in the yard.

Frantzy, a first grader, is walking up the hill towards the office with his hand over his face, trying to catch the blood that is gushing from it. I yell for Marie-Lyne, our nurse, who pulls him into the nurse’s station and begins to clean and wrap his wound. He has the deepest cut I have ever seen outside his right eye. She informs me he will need to get stitches today, and we will need permission from a guardian to take him to the clinic.

I tell Frantzy, “We need to call your mom. Do you know her phone number?” 

He shakes his head no. “My mom is dead.”

He tells me his father is alive, but his elderly grandmother takes care of him. An aunt ends up coming in her place.

We sit at the clinic together and wait for hours. I have time to get to know Frantzy a little bit better and find out he loves to play soccer and he wants to be a doctor one day. He is nine years old and will turn ten in a couple weeks.

 When the doctor finally starts to give Frantzy the stitches, I stay with him because his aunt proves unable to stomach the procedure.

As I sit next to the bed with my hand on his shoulder, another woman in the room asks if I am his mother. I laugh and say no, but sober when I remember Frantzy doesn’t have a mother. He doesn’t have a mother to help him get ready for school in the morning or prepare him breakfast. He doesn’t have a mother to stay with him while he gets stitches, or check the wound every day while it heals.

A couple weeks later, we visit his home. I am eager to learn more of his story. We all crowd into his small home, partly demolished by the earthquake, and are warmly greeted by his grandmother. The room is hot and barely large enough for the two beds and their few possessions. Though the sun shines brightly outside, there is only one small window and no electricity, making it very dark inside.

This is where Frantzy lives with his 79-year-old grandmother and a cousin who was left severely disabled after an illness.

Frantzy’s grandmother has been widowed for over 20 years. She makes and sells coffee every morning to earn a living. She explains that Frantzy’s mother died when he was young. Although she doesn’t say why he is unable to live with his father, we learn that he sees him often and he helps provide.

As we leave, she thanks us for taking Frantzy to the hospital even though she wasn’t able to give us money to do so. We assure her that we love him very much and our school is happy to help our students. Frantzy’s story is one of many at Grace Emmanuel School filled with brokenness. All of the students live in poverty, and many without a mom or dad present. His story is not unique. Yet, though many of our students face daily tribulation, we know that God sees them, knows them, and loves them deeply.

TAKE HEART

It’s officially been 10 months since moving to Haiti; and let me tell you, it has been quite the stretching experience thus far. The last few months have been especially trying. Thankfully, this past month, I was able to go on a vacation to my old home in Southern California. It was wonderful to see many friends and family, as well as conjure up some much needed rest.

After returning home to Haiti, I climbed the mountain (it's  more like a hill, but mountain sounds more adventurous) behind our school property. As I was sitting on the top overlooking the Caribbean Sea, God said in His still small voice, “be still andtake heart.”

To put it simply, life has been hard. Following Jesus is hard. And extremely messy, for that matter. I know Jesus promised, “in this world you will have trouble”; but I did not realize how hard it would actually be. But thank goodness that promise does not end there. It continues on…“so take heart! I have overcome the world.” (And on the note of promises, I’m glad that Jesus is glorified in our weakness, because I’m feeling pretty weak right about now!)

I have visited over 60 homes of our 275 students. More than half of them are without a loving, caring father. For some, their fathers have passed away. Others just shrug their shoulders when I ask where their father is because they have no idea. Some live with their single mothers, while others are staying with relatives due to incapable or deceased birth parents. A very small percentage live within a good family structure. All of them live amidst immense poverty—lacking the proper amount of food and nutrients a young body needs. Most live in a hot, one room home with more people than what is practical.

And, so here I am. But what am I supposed to do? How can I continue to love these kids with a whole heart when mine continues to shatter? I know that God is a God who sees, but how could that really be? How could the compassionate God of the universe let children go hungry, without a loving mother or father to kiss them goodnight? So many questions, so little answers. 

But take heart.

It’s like God is whispering, “Jamie, it’s going to be ok. Sin has made this world a traitorous place. Some kids I’m sending your way are broken and need My love. It’s going to break your heart. I know it’s hard, but I sent you there for a reason. Do not try to comprehend it, you will not be able to. So, just keep moving forward, remembering who is in control: Me. I am God. Be still, and know that. I am here and have promised to never leave you. So, don’t give in. I love you, and I love them. Rest in that truth. Take heart.”

So, that's exactly what I'm going to do (with supernatural help from Jesus, of course). And although hard, I am in awe that God has chosen me to live here. I consider it a great privilege to love these people, and am deeply excited for what lies ahead.

THEY CALL HER MOM

As I was figuring out who to visit that day, I asked my co-workers which students have no parents. They replied, "Rosney." So, we found out where he lived and headed out. I was expecting to show up to a broken situation. A situation lacking love and care where a poor aunt took in her orphaned nephew.

We pulled off the main road, parked the car, and walked to his home. When we arrived, I was surprised to find a nice, brightly colored home. We were welcomed in by Anette, Rosney's aunt. She asked us to sit down and called for Rosney to join us. I then saw another head peak out...it was Jamesky, another student at school who happens to be his brother.

Eager to learn their stories, we sat down in the chairs provided and started chatting. Roseny and Jamesky share the same mother, with different fathers. Roseny’s dad, an alcoholic, died before he was born. Jamesky’s dad died when he was just 3 years old to an unknown cause. Their mother died shorty after the earthquake from a fever, leaving them as orphans

Thankfully, Anette stepped in. She is a loving, caring aunt who loves Rosney and Jamesky like her own. She calls them her children; they call her mom. Her and her husband have been married for over 18 years, own their home (a rarity in the village as most homes are rented), have a successful business, and have two beautiful biological children, one of which they are putting through college in Port au Prince.

I was in awe. I had thought I was about to enter into brokenness, but instead left deeply encouraged. This precious family is a beautiful representation of the Gospel. God, in is perfect grace and mercy, chose to see us as sons and daughters through His son's death on a cross. We were once broken orphans unworthy in our own efforts; but because of Jesus, we are now deeply loved and seen as righteous. 

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will—to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us." - Ephesians 1:4-9

KIKI'S HOME

Today's home visit is definitely ranked among my favorites thus far. Kiki (the older boy in the royal blue polo) is a student at Grace Emmanuel School who has recently become a buddy of mine. I am beyond thrilled to have met his family; and his baby brother about made my heart explode. 

WEEP WITH THOSE WHO WEEP

I woke up to the sound of my telephone. I picked it up from my side table and opened a new message to find the heart wrenching news that one of our students passed away the night before. Immediately, tears streamed down my face. My heart sank into my chest, filling with anxiety. Who was it? Was is someone I knew and loved dearly? 

His name was Edmundo, one I could not quite recognize or put a face to. I rushed to my computer to find a picture of him and realized I did not know him well. Yet, instead of relief, my heart ached all the more. My tear drops got bigger. I laid down face first on my bed and started weeping. I pleaded desperately to Jesus for comfort and peace to his family, friends, and classmates. I questioned why this happens. Why an innocent 17-year-old boy was ripped from his family? Why a boy with a sweet demeanor taken from a place where those are rare?

I later found out that Edmundo was part of a loving family, a mother, father, and baby brother. They attended a local Christian church regularly. Edmundo was a good student, and well-liked by his peers and staff at Grace Emmanuel School. He has suffered from sickle cell anemia for much of his life, and was taken in the night by a terribly high fever.

Two days following his death was his funeral. Iselande and I walked in early together, to find Edmundo’s mother, brother, and two aunts sitting by the casket wearing beautiful white outfits. As we greeted them, I felt led to pray over them—so I got on my knees, grabbed his mother’s hands, and began to pray. As the first word left my lips, I started crying. Not because I felt the loss of Edmundo, but because I was broken for their loss. Weep with those who weep.

Not much later, KeKe and Wadly, students of GES and friends of Edmundo, walked in. As is customary in Haiti, they opened the casket before the funeral began for family and friends. Everyone, and I mean everyone, rushed over to the casket to take a last look. Moments later, KeKe came back with tears pouring out of his eyes. I pulled him over, put my arms around him, and he just wept in my lap. Of course, I could not help but cry with him. The pain he was experiencing broke my heart. Again, weep with those who weep.

The entire service, I couldn’t help but cry. KeKe sobbing to my right, Wadly emotionless on my left, and Docilienne, another student and cousin to Edmundo, next to him. Haitian funerals are unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never heard loud, dramatic wailing before. Almost every time someone started wailing uncontrollably, I’d look over to find Docilienne with tears streaming down her face. After the fourth time, I discreetly passed over my handkerchief; she needed it more than I did. 

Seeing students I love so much in sorrow and pain left my heart broken. Although it was terribly sad and heart-wrenching, I’m thankful God paved the way for me to be there. To love, to comfort, to be a presence for Jesus. And maybe for the first time, I truly grasped what Apostle Paul meant by weep with those who weep. 

What I experienced that day will forever be stamped on my soul. It’s something I can hardly explain with words. As Kristi (dear friend who lived here for two years) told me, it makes the promise, “He’ll wipe every tear from our eyes” mean something much different. Something more real. Now, more than ever, I can’t wait for the moment when we finally get to go home to Jesus and He’ll do just that.