Of course first days in country are always long and its difficult to know what is important. Still the song that continues to ring through my heart is simply “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here!”
The day started early; 5:45 to put get up and get out. Two hours on the road and we were in Orlando. Palm trees are being planted all over and it is the most naturally beautiful airport I’ve ever seen. You have to take an elevated glass train over a few ponds and some forest to get from the security checkpoint to the terminal. I wonder how much longer that will exist; it seems like such a clear security hazard. You can imagine anyone willing to brave the possibility of alligators bush-wacking his way onto the tarmack. All the same, it was a relief after growing up next to Harts Field Jackson International. That Atlanta airport is literally over a mile long to access the furthest terminals.
At gate 82 I met up with Paul Emery; he is in country to arrange shipping for the 8 shipping crates of relief supplies that have been donated to the church. I was amazed to see how empty the plane was. I had the entire row to myself and three other empty rows in front of me. I briefly considered joining the rest of the passengers, but then awoke from my delusion. It has only been 3 weeks since the first earthquake, but it looks like the first world is already loosing interest. News, like all forms of entertainment, must be bite sized and fixed within the week. Oh honey, that is soo over!
With ample room and a nice cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee the two hour flight was soon over. Diane graciously meet Paul and I at the airport.
In the car, they quickly delved into the heart of their work for the next several years if not decades: coordination of relief work to Haiti. Its a type of thinking I recognize, when your heart is truly in service there are few people that you can truly brainstorm with, so when you find one of those people the talk is instantaneous and deeply gratifying.
As you would expect some groups in Haiti are doing well IHOPs relief workers for example, but some are making questionable choices. I’m not surprised. I’ve been in the church and specifically involved in ministry with the poor long enough to know that there are often dissenting opinions among the workers. People do this kind of work for their own reasons. They take it home with them, they wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares about it, they may take home a paycheck but it is never what the world would say comperable services are worth. So hearing the frustration in Paul’s voice and the affirmation from Diane did not rattle or even surprise me. I’ve spoken similar frustrations as recently as last week in my own ministry. But frustration must bring us to our knees. We must pray that God will soften hearts to do the right thing. When doctors are needed they should come. But when unskilled laborers come to learn to build a wall around donated supplies the rob men of jobs. Rather than
To me this feels like the Shane Claiborn quote “I used to ask God what He was planning for my life, but now I just look for what God is doing in the world and see what I can do to help.”
God is moving here in the island of contrasts.
To me, the island today seems the island of colors. The city is alive with ancient trees – half of them blooming, and most balconies seem to have flowerpots. It’s a small thing, and in the best parts of town I’m certain, but so much more beautiful than the cities I’ve known in America where the tree are small and sickly – filled with mistletoe. The powerlines look like hair in the drain; what could you do if just one went out? And the traffic makes me very nervous. I will be grateful if I never have to drive here.
Once we got to the correct district, we began asking for directions; the first few policemen knew the way, but we still couldn’t find it. The next few said only “drive another block and ask the next policeman.” It was finally a well dressed passerby who knew the way. The main street we were on wasn’t marked but he knew the way and even offered to go with us to help us find it. What a generous gift of his time.
Our first stop this evening was to visit a closed restaurant. The owner, Victoria, is part of a political women’s group with Diane. Diane had never spoken about her work as a doctor, but suddenly found herself the center of their last meeting as the group began looking into ways to support Haiti. Woman after woman in this group of 180, mostly expats from here and there, steps forward.
“Could someone use tents?”
“We have tarps”
“Do you need medical supplies?”
The Lord provides.
Victoria’s restaurant had the grandeur of possibility. Three stories of arches with the floor plan centered around a glass celinged patio brought to mind the ageing Southern mansions of my home. The business had failed, and now halfway into remodeling it to be a home, the couple decided that the 1.5 million dollar (yes, dollar) home was no longer worth the investment. There was a catch in the still glamorous New Yorker’s voice as she showed us around; the floors were covered in dust and the walls had patches of plaster here and there. Her seven year old daughter slowly rode a purple tasseled tricycle around the emptied space. The visit gave a box of pots and a family sized tent for Haiti.
Dinner was sushi and good conversation. Half way through the waitress spilled the soy sauce on Diane’s kakhi pants. I offered to run to the car and get her a pair to trade so she could wash them out before the stain set but she just shrugged and said, “its just not a big deal. I can still use them, or maybe God wants me to buy new pants.”
Later the power would shut down for a minute or two “thats normal, but hey, it won’t mess with the sushi!”
Fran, short for Francisco, and Issac would join us later. Diane’s husband and son; the otherwise vegan family was thrilled to get out for something different. As for me; I’m thrilled to be in a house that eats healthfully after my last year of less than perfect choices and living in Argentina – like texas, but with shorter cowboys – a few summers ago. Issac is11, I think, and dug into his tuna tartar.
Next on the errand list was a stop in what must be a nicer barrio to pick up some donated tarps for Haiti and guniee pigs for the children. Lucas, 9, want to be a vet. In Peru, the guinee pigs would be a delicacy. But here, he is free to name and love them.
The houses are all fenced here, and the flowers are glorious. Trinidad
Once we got to the correct district, we began asking for directions; the first few policemen knew the way, but we still couldn’t find it. The next few said only “drive another block and ask the next policeman.” It was finally a well dressed passerby who knew the way. The main street we were on wasn’t marked but he knew the way and even offered to go with us to help us find it. What a generous gift of his time.
Mercifully, relations between the two halves of this one whole island are the best they have ever been. Imagine what it would be like if there was a massive natural disaster near the Mexican border of Texas. Just as many Southern Americans see latinos as uneducated, dangerous people who take the worst jobs and speak a strange language, Dominicans tend to view Haitians.
Here we are dreaming new dreams and I know that by God’s grace and with His timing I have landed in the perfect place for me. Some of my happiest times in college were dreaming with friends who loved Mercy Health Center. Now, not even 12 hours in country, I stood with Paul and Diane and heard the thoughts of my heart spoken by others. “The church in America is dying. She is so focused on the Disney World consumerism and serving those idols that we have forgotten or ignored many of Christ’s teachings. I am as guilty as any other. Fear and pride are my foolish burdens. Instead of serving the poor as we were called we pay the governement a pitance to do an incomplete job. But what if we equipped leaders with mentoring, discipleship, language training and practical experience in missions? What if we learned to be a people who could follow? My brothers, I tell you Christ gave us the perfect example of following His father’s will and we can do no differently. This experience will be my preperation for medical school.
It is wonderful to see the adults as concerned with the pedestrian moments, with donated pots and tarps as my fellow college kids and graduates are. The sad truth is that my last humanitarian, social justice, or whatever you want to call it ministry was composed of two groups of leaders: the kids doing the photocopying, phone answering and even cleaning while the adults did the administriatorial duties that to which I still do not aspire. Neither group knew the other.
One of the most hopeful moments tonight was hearing from Paul that Passage Church, the black church partnering with Paul’s church, Grace, gives him hope for the innercity. White Americans understand how to do missions abroad, but hit walls of frustration in our own inner city. Black churches, he says, know how to minister to the inner city, but have similar problems abroad. That makes perfect sense with the body of Christ that I know. You are a hand; I am a foot, and God’s Kingdom depends on us all.
No comments:
Post a Comment