Living as a foreigner in a third world country is challenging. After spending two years in Haiti, I chose to stay for another. However, I knew I needed a break. I decided to leave my Haiti home for an extended period of time over the summer months to stay with my family. My expectation was to get much needed physical, emotional, and spiritual rest.

I arrived in the good ol' USA with a weary soul, excited that I had two months ahead of pure bliss - no responsibilities and nothing to stress over. But, as what often happens, my glorified human expectations did not match reality.

Not long after my arrival, I learned that my dad had an abnormal lump on his neck and would be going in for further testing. About a week or so later, he went in for a CT scan showing that the lump was indeed a tumor. About a week later he went in for a biopsy to test whether or not it was cancer.

After nearly two weeks of waiting, we received the news that no one wants.

I will never forget that moment. I was home alone with my dad and we were chatting up a storm about trusting God in the midst of all this. He went outside for a moment, got a phone call, came in the house, looked at me with tear-filled eyes and said, "It's cancer." We cried.

Not long after, my mom rushed in (she had been on her way to work), looks at my dad, and bursts into tears. She wept unlike anything I've ever seen as she fell into his arms. I had to walk out of the room; I just could't bear it.

We all trust the Lord, but that kind of news requires tears.

He had to go in for another scan that week to see what kind of cancer it was and whether or not it had spread. We later found out that the cancer was Squamous Cell Carcinoma. The cancer had invaded a tonsil and a lymph node.

Over a week later, he went in for surgery to remove the cancerous tonsil, the tumor, and the surrounding lymph nodes. Surgery went about as well as it could have, but we still had to wait on the pathology results.

Thankfully, the surgery was successful in removing the cancer. There may still be a long road ahead as the future is unknown, but we remain hopeful, trusting that God is sovereign.

Also while home, I had an unexpected ankle surgery. It had been causing me pain for over a year and it had gotten to a point where I could hardly even drive. Exercising became difficult, walking the villages caused pain. I found out that I had three options - a cortisone shot that would provide temporary relief, live with the pain for now, or surgery. Knowing what the pain had been like for the past year, I decided to have the surgery, an arthrotomy of my right ankle.

After 4 weeks of recovery, I got the news from my doctor that I could finally head back home to Haiti. I booked my ticket for that same week.

It may not have been the most blissful sabbatical ever, but I'm choosing to be thankful for all that it was. My dad's caner brought our tight-knit family even tighter and caused me to put all my trust in He who is faithful; my surgery forced me into physical rest (which also gave me a good excuse to watch all my favorite Olympic events); being home for such an extended period of time allowed me to spend quality time with my closest friends; having little responsibilities (and speaking English) gave my mind a breather.

Now, I'm back in Haiti and couldn't be more excited. I know there are many hardships to come (and honestly, there have already been quite a few), but I'm eager to continue the work God has called me to do at Grace Emmanuel School.

"Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?...No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."

OUT OF DARKNESS

co-written with Kristi Bucher

Every once in a while in life, you meet a soul unlike any other. One that makes you wish you where a little more like them, and that somehow after spending time with them, a bit of their sweetness will rub off on you. Manita is one of those people. She possesses the kindest and most gentle soul with a heart so unbelievably in love with Jesus. 

As a child growing up in the village of Cabaret, Manita would dance at voodoo ceremonies. She worshipped Satan, the same as the rest of her family. She didn’t know any differently.

Then Manita started attending Grace Emmanuel School in 2005. Her family had heard of a new, free school for their daughter to attend and enrolled Manita in 2nd grade at the age of 10.

At Grace Emmanuel School Manita heard about Jesus. She remembers a man named Manela who would lead devotions every day for all the students. It was during one of these devotions in 2009 that she made the decision to follow Christ. She had seen death in voodoo, but in Jesus, she found life. She says it was by the grace of God that she became a Christian.

A few years ago, Manita’s family moved to Bon Repos and she almost had to quit school because of the daily cost to travel the distance. Staff encouraged her to continue and assured her God would provide, and He has proved faithful.

Now 21 years old and in 12th grade, Manita expects to graduate next year (high school in Haiti goes through 13th grade) and would like to study to become a pediatrician. She is a quiet leader of the whole student body. She sings beautifully, stays out of trouble, and is always near the top of her class.

I ask Manita if I can visit one day as we are driving to Bon Repos from school. She leads me to the two-room wooden structure where she lives with her mom, uncle, his wife, and their three children. She shares a full-size bed with her mother in a small room also shared with her three young cousins.

Her mom is not home, and Manita tells me she will be at the local market selling beans until dusk.

Seven years after putting her faith in Christ, Manita is the only Christian in her family. Her mom still believes in Satan and practices voodoo.

I ask her if this is hard. “I used to talk to my family about Jesus and tell them that He is coming back, but they won’t believe. I tell my mom that Jesus loves her and wants to give her life. My mom says she wants to believe in Jesus, but she still hasn’t.”

Curious about her father, I ask about him. She says he used to practice voodoo as well. In 2006, he became very ill and bed-ridden. Because of this, neighbors came to visit and shared the gospel with him. Before dying in 2007, he gave his life to Christ.

I leave her home encouraged. Manita’s story is one that speaks of bright light in the midst of darkness. What Satan meant for destruction, Jesus meant for life! What a wonderful reminder that the enemy has no dominion over who belongs to Him.

“But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His wonderful light” (1 Peter 2:9). 

A month or so after I visit her home, I receive word that her mother is ill and needs to go to the doctor. She is in a lot of pain and cannot walk because of her inability to move her left arm or leg. I feel in my heart that I am called to lend a helping hand. After a few trips to a nearby clinic, we find out she is suffering from paralysis due to hypertension. Her elderly body is literally wasting away. 

Myself and many others who know the situation continue to pray with expectation. We are confident that God, according to his perfect will, has the ability to heal both physically and spiritually. 

A few weeks go by and I receive the greatest news of all. After spending a lifetime practicing voodoo and worshiping Satan, her mother has finally given her life to Christ! She may not be healed physically, but she has been saved from the dominion of darkness! As Manita put it, "all the glory belongs to God!"

"So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day." (2 Corinthians 4:16)

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.)

IT IS WORTH IT

Life in Haiti has been far from what I expected. I am currently in my fourth month and have been struck with the realization there will be more rough days than delightful ones. There have been many moments where I find myself stuck in the valley, drained and frustrated.

I used to think missionaries in foreign lands were "super Christians" who had it all together. I'm now realizing this is not true. Missionaries, like everyone else, need lots and lots of grace. I will be the first to admit, as the old hymn says, "I need Thee every hour." 

Although that reality currently rings true for me right now, I can say with full confidence that following Jesus is worth it all. From getting attacked with hugs from a mob of kindergarteners, to being followed around everywhere by the same two first grade girls everyday, to building relationships with unexpected students, to loudly singing songs about Jesus, to seeing the excitement in a young face when I visit their home. It is worth it. 

Every moment I spend at the school and in the village visiting homes, I am reminded of why I am here: to radiate the love of Jesus as I enter into their lives. So although life here has been difficult, I feel fortunate to serve Him in this way. I cannot wait to see what God has in store as I continue serving the beautiful students of Grace Emmanuel School. 

"Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle; he is my steadfast love and my fortress, my stronghold and my deliverer, my shield and he in whom I take refuge, who subdues peoples under me."  —Psalm 144:1-2

"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.

IT IS FATE

I pull out of the school yard, unsure of who I was going to visit. I knew I wanted to visit students, I just didn’t know who. To give myself time to think, I decide to get a fresco (a frozen Haitian treat) from the market nearby. As Sonson and I pull up to park, three students appear: Loudemia, Dana Leïda, and little Fritznerline. It is fate; I am supposed to visit them. 

As we head through the market to get fresco, they two older girls tell me their mother works in the market and we walk over to pay her a visit. I asked if we could visit their home, she says yes. But when they tell us where they live, Sonson is unsure if we should go. They live in an unsafe area in the midst of gang activity, and apparently it is not the best place to visit. However, I can't imagine why God would prohibit me from visiting these precious students just because of my potential physical danger. Feeling lead by the Spirit, we decide to go anyways. And knowing this may not be the safest feat, I pray. I let God know that I trust him, I trust that He is with us, and ask that He would protect us. I also send a quick message to a friend for some extra backup. 

We pull up to their street and I get out of the car. Loudemia grabs ahold of my arm with a protective grip. Although she is only 13, she possesses strength and confidence as she leads me through the narrow ally ways. I feel safe. 

Soon after, we arrive to their dark, hot, two-room home. Their mother had walked from her work at the market to meet us there. We sit and chat awhile with the her and the three girls. We find out Loudemia’s father had passed away and Dana Leïda’s father is not present. Fritnerline is her granddaughter, and lives in the home along with her young mother. Her father is present, but does not live in the home. She tells us that that she, all 9 children, and one grandchild live together in this home. I do the math and figure out that is a total of 11 people in this small house with 4 beds to share. 

I ask who provides for this family and she replies, "me and God."

While sitting in their presence in there home, I sense joy. I am amazed that in the midst of poverty, physical danger, and sorrow, this family still chooses to trust God - our provider, protector, and comforter. This is a true testimony that our circumstances do not have to determine our joy, God does. 

HINDS' FEET ON HIGH PLACES

One of my dearest, Jesus loving friends gave me a copy of Hinds’ Feet in High Places by Hannah Hurnard and said I must read it. I am not even halfway through and it is already becoming a favorite. And for this non-reader, that’s huge! It’s a beautiful story. It relates to me on so many levels, especially now as I find myself in the valley (both figuratively and literally, I actually live in a hot, dry valley).

I don’t have much else to say about it yet, other than the fact that I think you should start reading it too. Then, we can be friends and chat up a storm about it! 

Here is a quote that nearly leaped off the page at me:

“The High Places,” answered the Sheperd, “ are the starting places for the journey down to the lowest place in the world. When you have hinds’ feet and can go ‘leaping on the mountains and skipping on the hills,’ you will be able, as I am, to run down from the heights in gladdest self-giving and then go up to the mountain again. You will be able to mount to the High Places swifter than eagles, for it is only up on the High Places of Love that anyone can receive the power to pour themselves down in an utter abandonment of self-giving.”

Grant me faith to move the mountain and be cast into the sea. When I'm lost and when I'm doubting, seal my confidence in Thee. Let my praise be like the thunder, breaking thru the darkened skies. May I never lose my wonder, of my Savior crucified. 

...So give me hope to face tomorrow and the grace to live today. In my joys and in my sorrows, Lord to know you are the way.

- Brady Toops, "Make Your Home"

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.

TIJUANA, MEXICO

 I am currently on a little vacation in Southern California in attempt to gather up some much needed rest, all while visiting close friends and family. My dear friend Bailey invited me to visit the place she used to call home, an orphanage in Tijuana, Mexico. Although I needed some rest, I couldn't resist such an offer! So, I packed a small backpack and headed out for a two day adventure across the border. I met some beautiful people, played lots of soccer (or fútbol as they'd call it), and ate the world's best tacos. Needless to say, Haiti is not the only country that has my heart; Mexico has swept in and stole a little piece of it. 

FEARFULLY + WONDERFULLY MADE

Since moving to Haiti, feeling beautiful has been far from easy. I've gained unwanted weight and a new acne problem. It's not easy or practical to keep up to speed on the latest fashion trends. I don't spend loads of time making myself look fabulous because I know once I step out the door into the blazing heat and humidity, I will sweat off all the hard work. My hair is almost always in a messy bun (not necessarily the cute kind). Perfume? Forget it! I don't need to attract any more mosquitos. 

Just recently my dear friend, Lauren, asked to take some photos of me. After she edited and sent the photos my way, I was quite delighted (not in a conceited or vain kind of way). For the first time in awhile, I felt like a beautiful woman who was fearfully and wonderfully made by a magnificent Creator. (Also, sported one of my favorite finds from my good ol' thrifting days. It's so 90s, I even had to cut our the shoulder pads!)

GOD IS WITH ME

There are many stories of struggle, pain, and grief amongst the 275 students of Grace Emmanuel School. There is one story in particular that has left me broken, filled with joy, and encouraged all at the same time. I’m convinced, however, his story is far from over.

One day at school, I asked one of our older students if I could visit his home soon. He did not hesitate to say yes. A few days later, we took off in a tap-tap (sorta like a taxi) after school to his home in Cabaret, a village north of GES. We walked for awhile on this hot and dusty day until we finally arrived. When we reached his property, we pushed through a mangled tin gate reading “knock before entering” in red letters.

We walked through his sheer curtain of a front door to find his one room home. There was a bed, two pillows, a side table filled with the bare essentials (tooth paste, matches, nearly empty bottle of cologne, soap, comb, brush, a battery powered light, and a small radio), a broken cooler, some bowls and buckets stacked up, and a chair. He lives alone with the company of his small dog. His dad died when he was 14, and his mom died two years ago. He has two sisters, both living elsewhere. He has no nearby family member to turn to. He “supports” himself on the weekends by cleaning shoes at the market with an old brush. He does not go to church anymore because he lacks the proper attire. One time while he was gone, someone had stolen his clothes due to not having a proper front door with a lock.

His house was made up of an unfinished wood frame, a tin roof, walls made of tarps, blankets, cardboard, and scrap wood, and a dirt floor. There is a gap in the roof, causing problems when the rain comes. As I sat beside him on his uncomfortable bed, I noticed one of his pillows was covered with an old shirt instead of a pillow case. He does not eat often. His only reliable meal is the one provided at school; and at times, he is able to provide another meal with the money he makes on the weekends.

When I asked if he was a Christian, he said he accepted Jesus into his life a long time ago. His favorite thing bout Jesus is how He came to die on the cross for our sins. He shared that many times at night, something comes in and presses him down on the bed, making him unable to move or speak. He said it has happened more times than he can count. 

I considered this a perfect opportunity for prayer, truth, and encouragement. I shared with him that his oppressor is the enemy, and that the power of Jesus is much greater than evil spirits or demons of any kind. I read Mark 9:14-28 with him, letting him know Jesus reigns.  I encouraged him to use the power of Jesus through prayer for help and demanding the spirit to leave and never come back in His name. I prayed over him and his home for protection from the enemy, and that he would always remember Jesus in times like those. 

I asked if he owned a Bible. He has a small one in French, a language he does not speak. He said he can only understand some of it. “If we got you a Bible in Creole, would you read it?” With assurance he replied, “Yes.” I promised I would get him one and highlight passages that have to do with his spiritual warfare.

After learning all this information about his life, I was speechless. From what I have seen at school, he can always be found wearing a warm smile. When I asked why, despite all he goes through, he said, “God is with me.” That day, I walked away encouraged. What a beautiful, inspiring example of faith in its rawest form. 

A few days later, Gerson came up to me at school asking about his new Bible. “Come get it from me after school,” I said. He walked in the office, I pulled out his brand new Bible, and flipped through the pages showing him the highlighted passages. As I handed him this precious gift, he flashed me a heartwarming smile accompanied by a thank you.

To fast-forward a few weeks later, Gerson’s sponsor came to Haiti. Knowing Gerson needed help with his housing situation, his sponsor wanted to pay him a visit. After chatting for awhile and praying over him, I asked whether or not the enemy continues to oppress him at night. He said no, but that he had a terrible dream the night before that someone disguised as his sister came into his house and tried to kill him. He woke up and immediately pulled out his Bible, opened up to the Psalms, and read a passage. He said he was able to fall right back to sleep peacefully. What incredible faith. 

Gerson and his sponsor, Bruce

And to put the cherry on top of this story, his sponsor offered to pay to help renovate his home. Now, thanks to his sponsor and a visiting group, Gerson’s unstable living situation is now a durable home. It went from walls of blankets, cardboard, and mangled pieces of tin, to walls of siding; his curtain entryway became a real door with a lock; and his roof no longer has a gaping hole inviting the rain to enter in. 

As I was sitting in the yard watching them finish up the house, tears began to fill my eyes. God is a magnificent Storyteller, and I’m thankful I get to be here to watch it unfold. As Katie J. Davis perfectly wrote in her book Kisses from Katie, “I am blown away that my God, who could do this all by Himself, would choose to let me be a little part of it.” 

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. 

JEAN DANIEL

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. 

THE HIDING PLACE

I just recently read and fell in love with The Hiding Place by Corrie ten Boom. I read it in just two days, which is quite unheard of for this non-reader. I've never been unable to put a book down before. This incredible testimony of Corrie ten Boom and her family is forever etched on my soul. Their unrelenting love for all people and unwavering trust in Jesus has left me deeply encouraged. This book is a game changer; and if you haven't read it yet, you must.

Sharing just one quote would be insufficient, for I cannot pick a favorite. So, I will go ahead an share some of the ones that leaped off the page at me while reading. 

"I know that the experiences of our lives, when we let God use them, become the mysterious and perfect preparation for the work He will give us to do." Corrie (pg. 31) 

"Whenever we cannot love in the old, human way, Corrie, God can give us the perfect way." Casper ten Boom, Corrie's father (pg. 60) 

"Perhaps only when human effort had done its best and failed, would God's power alone be free to work." Corrie (pg. 138) 

"As my heath returned, I was able to use my eyes longer. I had been sustaining myself from my Scriptures a verse at a time; now, like a starving man, I gulped the entire Gospels at a reading, seeing whole the magnificent drama of salvation." Corrie, while in prison (pg. 163) 

"The blacker the night around us grew, the brighter and truer and more beautiful burned the work of God." Corrie, while in a concentration camp (pg. 206) 

"...there is no pit so deep the He is not deeper still." Corrie (pg. 227) 

"There are no "ifs" in God's Kingdom...His timing is perfect. His will is out hiding place. Lord Jesus, keep me in Your will! Don't let me go mad by poking about outside of it." Corrie (pg. 234)

BACK ON THE ISLAND

To all those who faithfully keep up with my writings, please accept my apology. I've lacked both time and motivation to write. Also, since returning from Christmas break, I have yet to see the kids. Which, as you know, are the main source of my story telling. 

With that said, I do not have much to add. I have no fun stories or magical epiphanies. 

But what I do have is this: 

I am so happy to be back on the island. When I boarded my plane to return to Indiana for the holidays, I was not so sure I would want to come back (although I knew I would, regardless of how I felt). But, as we sped down the runway and lifted off American soil, my heart was filled with excited anticipation for what is to come in this place. I know this is exactly where God wants me to be, complete with much growing, pain, and joy. And, of course, I can hardly wait to see my students again very soon!

Thank you to all who have and will continue to support me in this venture. Support of all sorts is deeply appreciated; and I would not be here without it.