If you feed an ant a crumb...

Before I can tell you what happened today, let me back up. When I first got to Haiti in May, I had to move a bunch of relief food that was shipped down to Haiti after the quake out of the room I was going to use for therapy. In the process of moving, someone spotted a rat that scurried away as a box was picked up. Fortunately, I was not in the room at the time, because rodents and I don’t do so well together. It was then discovered that this was a mama rat to a few babies. A brave man from the team disposed of the rats for me, but to say I had no hesitations about re-entering that room would be a lie. Every morning as I enter my therapy room, I have this ritual that goes as follows: knock, knock, “Get out! Get out! Get out! I’m coming in!” knock, knock, hand reaches in door to turn light on, knock, knock! Slowly walk in and hope that as I scan the room, I’ve given enough time for any creature in there to escape. I can say with great joy that since that first day, there have been no rats. However, we have had quite the array of other creatures. The first day I was in there to do therapy…

OKAY, AS I’M TYPING THIS, I KNOW I JUST SAW A CRITTER OF SOME SORT CRAWL UNDER MY CLOSET DOOR!…I’M NOT SURE WHAT TO DO- IT’S EITHER A MOUSE OR A COCKROACH…I’M NOT SURE BUT NEITHER IS OKAY WITH ME…I’M GOING TO CONTINUE TYPING AND PRAY IT GOES AWAY AND THEN PROBABLY SLEEP WITH MY COVERS OVER MY HEAD TONIGHT.

…there were many cockroaches. I did not appreciate them, but for the most part, they confined themselves to the stone wall that boarders outside. I reported this to Bobby who then fumigated the room for me the next day. Problem solved.

Next critter: at least 3 tarantulas. Once again, do not like them nor appreciate them in any way, but, they too, still confine themselves to the stone wall. I won’t bother them and will pray that they don’t bother me. I’m not sure where they have disappeared to, but I have not seen them for awhile. Thank you Jesus.

And the next: this critter revealed itself to me late last week. As I was working with a patient lying on my therapy table, I looked up toward the stone wall…

JUST SAW CRITTER SLOWLY MOVE OUT FROM UNDER THE CLOSET AGAIN. IT WAS DARK COLORED BUT I DON’T HAVE MY GLASSES ON SO I’M NOT SURE WHAT IT WAS…WHERE IS A MAN WHEN I NEED ONE??!?!

… which houses the box air conditioner. I saw something tan colored and fuzzy. “Hmm, that looks like it could be…”; take a step to the right and make eye contact, “Yes, that is a mouse.” I don’t like mice. A mouse is a rodent. Not okay with me. “But I don’t see it’s tail; that makes it a little better. Sarah, it’s almost cute.” No, not cute; never cute…still a rodent. Pastor Raburn notices my distracted eyes and inquires. (The dialogue between us is also comical but too lengthy to add to this blog.) I spotted this mouse again this past Monday in the same spot. Definitely alive but has not entered the room. This makes me feel better because it knows it is not welcome further in. But this scares me. Why hasn’t it moved? I don’t like mouse babies. Today, no mouse sighting….

OH MY GOSH, I SAW IT…IT IS A MOUSE!!! AHH, HEART IS RACING…BE STRONG…I’M A BIG GIRL…IT’S JUST A LITTLE MOUSE…CONTINUE…

Okay, today: I enter my room beginning with my usual ritual. I see no rat or mouse. Check. But there is an usual trail of black leading to the center of the floor. There is a highway of ants. What crumb was left on the floor I do not know. Who left that crumb, I do not like. But as unappealing as these creatures are, I have to admit they are quite fascinating and impressive. The way they work together to accomplish the same task; they are so organized…surely there is a spiritual application here. My friend, Christina was with me today. I sent her back to the dorm to get a bottle of ant killer. She returns and begins to fumigate, and the genocide begins. I tell her that they appear to be trailing along the floor of the stone wall, so she sprays there too. Mind you, I currently have a patient on my table that I am working with (sweet little Passianna). (This table sits parallel and about three feet off of the stone wall and I am on the side of the table facing the wall.) As Christina begins to spray towards the walls, a couple cockroaches magically appear from behind the stones. She sprays them. But they are feistier than the ants; they fall to the ground but don’t die so suddenly. This spraying action, however, causes more unhappy roaches to reveal themselves from behind stones. Thus, she sprays them, but this begins an unwanted cyclical pattern of more and more cockroaches coming forth. (NOTE: these are not little cockroaches but average 2 inches in length.) There are now cockroaches spinning in circles on their backs on the floor. The logical thing to do would be to step on them and kill them, but this I will not do because they are too big and that would be disgusting to feel the crunch beneath my foot. As she sprays the wall directly across from me and my patient, I see the cockroach fly off the wall. Then I feel something land on my leg. I drop Passianna’s arm, shake my leg, see a roach fall to the floor and stomp on it…DEAD. Victory! Now, I am overcome with a superSarah strength and killing rage. These roaches will not kill me; I will kill them! Any roach that makes its way towards me meets my foot. Stomp! Dead! Another and another! “Bring it on, roach!” This went on for about five minutes. There were a few on the wall that I know I couldn’t stomp. I grabbed my gun (aka. a crutch) and jab at it! Miss. Shoot. Jab again! Dead! Victory! Meanwhile, Passianna is lying on my table not completely sure of what all is happening, but she is laughing at the high excitement and emotion in the room. Finally, we are done. Pastor Raburn goes to find a broom. He sweeps the corpses into the center of the room. Probably 20 of them. I grab my camera; “Souri!” (“Smile!”) I say to them, and snap their photo. Pastor sweeps them into a bucket and disposes of them outside. Victory is ours. No, victory is the Lord’s! We can do all things through Christ who strengthens us.

IT IS TIME FOR ME TO POST THIS BLOG AND GO TO BED. I’M NOT SURE WHAT TO DO ABOUT THE MOUSE IN MY CLOSET. I PRAY I WILL BE ABLE TO SLEEP. I’M NOT SURE HOW I WILL GET MY CLOTHES OUT OF MY CLOSET TOMORROW MORNING. I WILL PRAY FOR THAT AND ASK FOR YOUR PRAYERS ALSO.

Every emotion in an hour

On Thursday, I went with the team to help put up the block walls of the home they were working on. (Josh, I consider building a house to be my WOD ;-). By the time we left to head back for lunch, my dress was literally soaked with sweat, and I had mortar, dust, and dirt everywhere. I was filthy.

We got back, and I was going to wash up quick before lunch, but I was told I was needed in clinic right away because, Pete, an American man who was at the other house site “broke” his finger. My athletic training mind kicked on. My initial thought was, “That looks dislocated,” but I’ve never actually seen a dislocated finger before. I was really hesitant to do anything because it could have been broken too, and I didn’t want to cause any further damage. Pete’s wife and another gal were out there (both nurses). A couple of the Haitian nurses were there too, and one of them tried to reset it. Pete is a strong man, but he was doing everything he could to not scream his lungs out. It didn’t go back in. I then had a “for such a time as this” moment. I knew I needed to try to reduce the dislocation and put it back and pray I wouldn’t make anything worse. I got down, pulled on his finger, knowing Pete was dying with pain. We all heard a little pop, and thought it went back in. It looked a little better, but it still wasn’t fully back in. I began feeling nauseous and a little dizzy and had to kneel on the floor. We decided to try one more time, but I knew I couldn’t do it; it was hard for me to even look at it. Amy, one of the other nurses, decided to try; we again heard a pop, and it went back in. The girls then splinted his finger, and then we headed back for lunch.

I was so frustrated and disappointed in myself. I know I’m not a failure, but I felt like one because I should’ve been able to relocate a finger; I’m an athletic trainer for goodness sake! What’s my problem? I was very thankful that Amy was able to reduce it, but why couldn’t I do it? What does this mean for me in the future when I’m in a situation and I have to do something? Am I going to feel nauseous again? I know that nobody was disappointed in me other than myself, but those were my thoughts.

I was walking back for lunch from the clinic having all these thoughts when I spotted Lorita (our other sponsored girl) and her mother. I was happy to see them but very confused because they live a few cities away, and it’s not like them to come unexpectedly. Robenson, my translator friend, was with me and helped me out. Apparently when my parents were with me last week and we went to visit them at their house, they told me they were coming, but somehow that was missed in the translation that day. I wasn’t sure what to do because I was still filthy dirty, already a half hour late for lunch but couldn’t just leave them there either. They were wearing their new clothes we had given them the week before, and said they had a gift for me. “A” gift that consisted of a large pot and bag of food- enough for a small army (I can’t imagine how much it cost them)! Pineapples, coconuts, bananas, mangos, corn, granadia, eggs, avocado, and some other things I had never seen before! I was speechless; it was such a beautiful but unexpected gift. I wasn’t sure what to do with it all, but we shared some of it with those who were standing around. It felt like a mini-Thanksgiving in Haiti. I ate a mango and everyone laughed at me because I had juice all over my face and mango hair coming out of my teeth. I don’t know how they eat them and stay so clean. It was sooo good! We talked some but mostly just enjoyed one another’s company. When it was time to leave, I said, “I don’t want to give you a hug because I am so dirty.” I heard them say the word “rad” which means clothes, but didn’t understand what else they said. Robenson said, “Sarah, you are not dirty; your clothes are dirty.” (One of those comments that just makes you smile and think.) (Mom and Dad, I know that gift was intended for you too =)

I get so much joy out of giving- physical and material things and my love and services. It brings me so much joy. But it is sometimes hard for me to receive. However, if we want to grant others the joy of being able to give, there must be times in which we receive. Lorita and her family have thanked my family and me repeatedly for all we have done for them over the years, and being able to see them receive our gifts has felt like a bigger blessing for us than for them. But the table turned Thursday; it was a very humbling experience to receive their gifts, and I hope that they were able to receive the blessing of being able to give.

All of this happened within an hour, and I think I experienced every emotion possible.

earthquake destruction

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No Place to Lay His Head, Part 2

Emma came with me out to clinic on today. After lunch we see one of my favorite patients- AnneRose. When we aree done with her therapy, we walk out behind the clinic to where her tent sits. It’s one of many blue-tarped tents with “Samaritan’s Purse” written in white letters all over the tarp. Her tent is in the front row and sticks out because they’ve created a “porch” out front by extending cloth three feet in order to be able to cook underneath it. We walk inside and feel the temperature rise, but today is a cool day. It’s much hotter than I prefer but not unbearable. We walk in past the cloth that hangs as a partition dividing the tent so two families can live there. AnneRose tells me that on her side, she lives with her three younger sisters who go to school. I realize that AnneRose is the source of income for her sisters. She tells me that there are eight people who live in the other half. The tent as a whole is about six feet high and ten feet wide. AnneRose’s side is shorter; about nine feet wide. The other family has the longer half, about 24 feet long. On AnneRose’s side there lay two beds. One bed is made of cement blocks with a few layers of cardboard on top and a sheet. The other, considerably smaller, is a wooden pallet with an air mattress that has no air in it and a sheet. We sit down on the beds. I look around and see a line hanging above me that holds underwear and a few shirts. At the end of the bed are boxes that house their clothes. Sitting out are a few hygiene products- soap, shampoo, deodorant. AnneRose smiles and says, “Li pa bel,” meaning, “it’s not pretty.”

I don’t want to agree with her, but I can’t lie either so I say, “But soon you will get a new home.” I know that two men who come to Lifeline regularly have recently decided to purchase a Lifeline home for AnneRose after seeing the conditions that she lives in. “Even when you get your new home, there will still be a better home waiting for you in heaven.” It’s silent for a few minutes as we just sit there, AnneRose ashamed of her living conditions but glad we were with her, and Emma and I processing the moment of reality we were taking in. There’s only so much we can say with my Creole which is improving, but limited nonetheless. So we begin to talk about something we all understand- pop music: Celine Dion, Maria Carey, Beyonce, and Shakira. We begin to sing “My Heart will Go On.” After that I mention Beyonce and say, “tout fi isi pa gen ménage,” which means, “all girls here don’t have boyfriends”- my best attempt at translating “All the Single Ladies”. We laugh and all put our fists in the middle of the circle and repeat, “tout fi isi pa gen ménage!” “My sister!” AnneRose says grabbing my hand. Then looking at Emma and grabbing her hand says, “My sister!” and pulls us both onto her bed.

We all lay down together with AnneRose in the middle. Still holding our hands, AnneRose brings our hands to her chests and looks at both Emma and I and says, “Mwen remenm ou anpil, anpil, anpil!” (I love you so, so, so much!) I ask her if she sleeps well, fearing I knew the answer. “No,” she said as though it wasn’t a big deal, rather just a fact of life. “Gade” (look) and she pulls up the air mattress and points to all the ants crawling around. She acts out that they bite at night when trying to sleep. I ask about when it rains; she motions that it drips in through the tarp and runs in under the tarp. It’s been rainy this week, and I can tell that that ground inside the tent is damp. We continue to lay there. Part of me hopes that I can fall asleep for a little bit so that I can wake up sore and barely begin to understand what she must feel every night. We have only been laying there for about five minutes, and I can already feel the discomfort of two boards from the pallet and the gap between them. We lay there; I don’t know how long; it seems like ten minutes, but maybe it was only two. I listen to every sound I hear around me in tent city: a metal spoon stirring in a pot, a basketball bouncing, music playing through a speaker far off in the distance, a child crying, feet shuffling on the ground, a goat bleating, a mother speaking words to her child I don’t understand.

Soon this precious six year old face walks in. It’s AnneRose’s little sister. She just arrived home from school. She greets us all with a hug and kiss and then halfway hides behind the cloth partition and strips her dress off so she can put on shorts and a tank top. A few minutes later, another sister of about sixteen years walks in holding a black bag. She too greets Emma and me with a big smile and a hug. She reaches into her bag and pulls out three packages of Rika chocolate sandwich cookies and hands one to each of us. Emma catches the eye of the littlest sister and holds out a cookie to her; she grins big and walks toward Emma and takes the cookie, and then sits down on Emma’s lap. AnneRose says to her, “Chante yon chant.” In her raspy, soft voice, she begins to sing to us. Emma tells me that this is the same girl that she met the first day she came out into tent city to pray with people. She latched onto Emma that day and is loving Emma just as much today. We finish our cookies and tell AnneRose we need to get going. AnneRose gets up with us and walks us out of the tent back toward the gate of the compound. As we step outside the tent, the cooler air and breeze hit us. “Thank you so much, Sister,” I say to AnneRose, “Mwen remenm ou anpil.”

Hours later, I’m laying on my bed in my dorm room. I have two fans blowing on me, a pillow, and a sheet. I’m exhausted but comfortable. I drift off to sleep thinking about AnneRose sleeping on her pallet.

No Place to Lay His Head

Pastor Raburn has been my translator in clinic the majority of the time I have been here. I’ve really appreciated working with him because of the knowledge and wisdom he brings. I love working with the younger translators who are my age because we have become great friends and have fun together, but Pastor Raburn brings a lot of insight and wisdom to clinic everyday. At the end of each session with my patients, I ask my patients what I can pray for and then we pray. But sometimes, I know that Pastor translates more than what I say, and he goes off on his own compassionate tangents as he, too, shares Christ’s love. I really appreciate that. Sometimes though, he says something that really hits me and sticks with me.

Last week, I went to grab a ball from the floor to use for an exercise. As I picked it up, I innocently said to myself, “This ball is really dirty,” and I began to wipe the dust off on my dress.
“My sister Sarah,” Pastor Raburn began, “if this is dirty, what would you think of my house? What would you think of her house?” pointing to Passianna, my patient at the time. Stab in my chest. I fumbled over my words for a couple of seconds trying to explain what I “really” meant. But knowing nothing I could say would cover up what had been said, I apologized. “Pastor, you are right. I am sorry.”

This week in clinic, my patient Kesnel came in asking for medication because he had a headache and because he was not able to sleep. I was finishing up with a patient so Kesnel was waiting in my therapy room. A few minutes later I looked over at Kesnel who was sitting in a chair with his head against the wall asleep. I looked at Pastor and smiled and said, “Well, I guess he can sleep okay now.”

“You know why he can sleep? Because this room is the kind of place everyone should be able to sleep in. Quiet. Cool temperature. Safe. Clean.” The tents that many people, including himself, live in, don’t provide those things. “Oh my sister; we are human. We are not meant to live like this.”

Then a teacher of the law came to him and said, "Teacher, I will follow you wherever you go." Jesus replied, "Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head." Matthew 8:19-20

Learning is Cyclical

I’m no expert by any means in Haitian culture, but I continue to learn a lot more with each trip that I’m down here. I remember on my third or fourth trip to Haiti when I freaked out a little when I realized I wasn’t having the same kind of emotional response to the things I was seeing and experiencing that I had on my other trips. I was afraid I was becoming calloused or hard-hearted, that I was losing my compassion or caring spirit. I eventually realized that it wasn’t that at all, but that God was maturing my outlook on Haitian culture and missions. As I continue to see and learn more, I realize how much I don’t know. I’m amazed as I realize that there’s so much more to learn that I didn’t even know existed with my first few trips here. And as I continue to learn this, I’m finding that God seems to be teaching me the things He first taught me. It’s just that now, my perspective has broadened, and I’m seeing the same things in a new light.
In an earlier post, I talked about the balance I’m trying to find between being emotionally exhausted with the fact of reality of life in Haiti for most Haitians and seeing that reality without it draining me emotionally in a way that prevents me from doing the work the Lord has called me to do. For the most part, I’m not daily burdened with the troubles I see. But I am thankful when I do see or hear something that for some reason, grabs my heart; it reminds me of why God has sent me here and of the things God taught me with my first trips.
One afternoon during free time, our American youth that was here were running around playing with some Haitian kids. I was walking back to the dorm carrying my tennis shoes that I had lent to a friend so she could play basketball when I heard my name. It was a kid I had been seeing in therapy and his friend. They were watching a game of soccer between the Americans and Haitians. The friend called out to me in Creole and said, “You give me shoes.” I hate it when people ask me for things because I’m not allowed to give anyone anything during times that aren’t designated for giving through one of Lifeline’s ministries and because I’ve learned that a lot of people ask for things just because they see that I’m an American and their perception of all Americans is that we are rich. Many times, they ask for things that they don’t need. I love to give to those who don’t ask, but when people ask out of greed, even if they don’t have a lot to begin with, I get frustrated.
I called back to the boy, “I can’t give you anything.”
The boy that I knew yelled back at me, “Ou kapab paske you gen lot.” (You can give me because you have money.) I walked away frustrated and disappointed with this kid because he asked me for something he didn’t need but wanted, and then tried to make me feel guilty about it. I thought to myself, “He thinks I’m so rich and I can buy anything I want to. I must have a lot of money because I am an American, so I must be rich! He has no clue! Actually, I have more debt after just graduating than he could ever imagine. He probably has more money than I do because of how much money I owe.” Seven years ago, I would have wanted to cry with his words, but today, I was upset by them.
I don’t know why, but his words wouldn’t leave my mind. He doesn’t know how much debt I have; but I do have some money. Even though I owe a lot of money, I know that I will eat at every meal and have a safe place to sleep. If my shoes get worn out, I’ll go buy a new pair. And I know I’ll be able to find a job and pay off my debt and then be able to continue to work and then save money. He is right; I do have money. I wanted to cry when I heard his words again in my mind. I felt fifteen again and like I was in Haiti for the first time.

Passianna Part 2

I continue to see sweet, little, 60-year old Passianna for therapy (I wrote about her in the post titled “Sent by the I AM”). Last I wrote about her, I told her that she should come to church the following Sunday and find me so I could introduce her to Pastor Luc and hopefully put her in contact with the right people so she can grow in her relationship with Jesus. It was Monday when she prayed to ask Jesus into her life. She was supposed to return to therapy on Friday, but she did not show. I looked for her in church that Sunday but did not see her either. When she showed up for therapy on Monday wearing the exact same thing she had worn the week before, I inquired about where she had been. She said that after she went home from therapy last time (a week earlier), she found that her house had been broke into, and she was robbed of everything she had. The only thing she had left were the clothes on her back when she was at therapy. That Friday when she was supposed to come to therapy, she was sick with a headache and the following Sunday, she couldn’t come because she didn’t have any clothes to wear for church.

Her story broke my heart. We talked and prayed together, and I pointed out that at the moment she was praying, asking Jesus into her life, a thief broke into her house and stole everything she had. She could have chosen to be mad at God when she got home, but I don’t think she was because when I saw her that day, she still wore her beautiful smile and laughed with her infectious giggle that I will never forget.

I think often times when we choose Jesus and we desire to be more like Him, it often may feel like we are robbed of everything we have. It may be because as we become more like Christ, we become less like the world and sometimes that means giving up things that had been familiar for so long. Other times, our relationship with Jesus may affect our relationships with others we love or may cause us to undergo some degree of persecution. It may be easy to feel like we’ve lost everything we have because we’ve lost the ways of the world. But fortunately, when we choose Christ, in the midst of those feelings, we also feel complete wholeness. A void that after years of trying to fill it with everything else and no matter what we tried to fill it with it just didn’t work, is finally filled.

Pastor Raburn, my translator, and I took her out to see Sé (Sister) Matilde who runs the clothing pantry. We told Matilde Passianna’s story and soon got Passianna some new clothes. On top of that, Matilde did a little of her own preaching and teaching, which I expected. Passianna returned for therapy that Friday, and I again invited her to church. When I saw her yesterday for therapy, she told me she was at church, but I didn’t see her. I’m continuing to see her for therapy, but honestly, my main objective for having her continue to come back, is to encourage her spiritually, not physically. Yes, I think therapy is helping some, but because of her age and motivation, I don’t think anything we do will bring about lifelong changes. The pain she has just tends to move around her body with each visit. So, we do some exercises; I rub her down with my “placebo cream” (Icy-Hot), and we pray.