I’m on the plane heading home from Haiti and my thoughts are going from one thing to another. As usual, my emotions are just as scrambled. One minute I’m picturing all the children in their colorful uniforms boarding the bus for school this morning. I smile to myself when I recall their little waves and kisses blown my way from an open bus window. My smile and yelling “I love you!” didn’t really represent how sad I was, knowing it was our last contact for several months.
Then my mind recalls the image of the listless little boy we brought back from the mountain medical trip. Miriam feels confident that he would have died by now, had we not brought him back to New Life. His father accompanied him, but he and the parents of the other four children who were also brought back to New Life for medical treatment, all returned back to their homes in the mountains on Saturday. Each one signed over their child’s custody to New Life, each hoping their child will receive the needed medical care and will have a better life than what they were capable of providing. On Saturday when they left New Life and walked away for the final time from their children – my chest ached and my mind couldn’t even comprehend how that must feel. I am in no way suggesting that they didn’t love their child, rather it was the love for their child that helped them through this difficult decision. But now this dear, dear, boy lies alone, but probably for the first time in the comfort of a crib on a real mattress. He’s no longer able to put his arm around his father’s neck. Who knows, he may not even realize that his father will no longer be a part of his life. We have prayed over the little guy so many times asking God to spare his life and to use the care givers to persuade this child to eat and drink – which he refuses to do most of the time. I want to ignore the fact that refusing to eat can be a sign of impending death. It seems unimaginable that simply a lack of food may take his life – as it has hundreds upon hundreds of children in Haiti. What must God think of our lame efforts to “care for the least of these”?
Now I’m sitting at my gate in Miami waiting for my flight to Chicago. I’m thankful to be back in the states where my options are unlimited. Where everywhere I look is “stuff” – diverse food choices and even many upscale stores at an airport, no less. I was picturing myself as a Haitian who came to the states for the first time – wondering what they would think of an escalator, the sky tram, the bright lights and the carpet on the floor. Then, out of nowhere this woman walks up to me and starts speaking Creole so I know she’s obviously from Haiti. She doesn’t speak English and has no idea how to find her gate or what to do. I can sympathize with her as I had just left her country, couldn’t speak the language, and would feel just as lost if I was left all alone on the street to find my way.
As I look at the people walking through the terminal I’m aware that most have on clothes that match, shoes on their feet and aren’t covered in dust and dirt. I look down at my dusty shoes and pants, my legs and arms speckled with bug bites, ratty looking hair and since the woman next to me just changed seats – there’s a pretty good chance that I might smell, too! I’ve been to Haiti over 20 times now, but this particular visit to Haiti which included the mountain medical mission, was the hardest experience I have ever had both physically and emotionally. I told myself I could do anything for one week that thousands do day after day after day – but let me tell you, I felt at times like I was on the show “Survivor.” How fitting the name – because that is what ever person there is trying to do – merely survive.
I can’t seem to adequately summarize this trip nor bring closure. How do you digest the fact that I met a little boy who we brought back to New Life who had never ridden in a car before or seen a light bulb, or the orphaned boy who roamed the village who had nothing but what he was wearing, or the woman who gave birth on a cot by flashlight which was viewed as luxury accommodations, or the burned children who will need medical care for months to come, who are most likely back at home in their house made of sticks with no medication or bandages – assuming they even survived. And to think these conditions and situations are shared by THOUSANDS of people. There are also Haitians living on the very small islands off the coast of Haiti who have to truly live off the land and many have never even seen a white person before! And to think this exists an hour and a half from our border.
The other sadness which I hate to admit is that in the days that follow the chances are pretty great that I will gradually return to the American mind set and begin complaining about the piles of dirty laundry – instead of being thankful for all my choices of clothes, not to mention a washing machine. Or I’ll stare into a fully stocked pantry and say there’s nothing good to make for dinner. And I’ll throw away enough leftover food down the garbage disposal that would have saved the lives of countless children. Or I’ll complain about the long checkout line at Jewel, and forget I could be walking through mud and human excrement in an outdoor, crowded market in the unbearable heat.
Here is am feeling pity on the people of Haiti – who persevere day after day, with most relying on God for their needs and hope – Maybe this trip was meant to remind me yet AGAIN to stop being a spoiled brat and to thank Him abundantly as the Haitians do, for all that I have been given and to live for Him with Him! To God be the glory…
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