three : resilience

"Port-au-Prince is FINISHED," we have heard so many of our brothers and sisters here in Cap-Haitien say. "DONE."

What a joy to have gone and come home as a bearer of good news...this is just NOT true. One of the many things that we just love about this culture and the Haitian people is the sheer creativity and drive to survive despite circumstances. We have seen cars, fans, TVs, pipes, generators, and all kinds of things that would have absolutely been deemed "scrap metal" in the States, made to work again here using everything from shoe soles to dead batteries.

That same sense of perseverance proved true in Port, even just 10 days after the earthquake.

I had never expected to see signs of life-pushing-on SO soon. But everywhere Wadner and I went, even before we left that soccer stadium, I saw signs of determination, courage, strength, perseverance and resilience.

This portion of the soccer stadium village was blocked off for it's original purpose.

And it wasn't just that women had begun to sell food again, or that men were busily about clearing rubble... it was that the shoe-shine boys were ringing their bells and toting their boxes of polish and black brushes again. I saw a woman, rooting through a pile of Sunday shoes, trying to find a matched pump to try on. I saw little ones, digging through piles of rubble for bicycle rims to whack and chase, bottles to turn into to racing cars, sacks to string into kites. I saw men selling cigarettes, setting up sheet tents as "Barber Shops" and hardware stores, even rummaging through their collapsed stores, trying to find parts of machines and wares that could be repaired.

(These men owned this printing shop until it was destroyed entirely January 12th. A woman and a child were killed inside. Today, they were trying to find some of the expensive pieces of equipment that were buried in hopes of starting again.)

We approached the center of town around noon, and quickly saw reports to be true that the government buildings seemed to be hit the hardest. Many people have blamed the corrupt fashion in which much government is carried out, while others blamed poor construction as that many of those who worked on these buildings supposedly stole much of the cement for themselves and doubled up on sand in exchange (think the Bible says something about building your house upon the sand :)

The Department of Economy...

...and all of their records.

The yard right across from the crumbling palace was again packed out with people who had quickly formed a kind of village for themselves. One area of the central park was clearly designated for bathing and washing, one for cooking and one for sleeping.

Life, as you know, was hard in Haiti before January 12th. And it still is. The word "resilient" just kept coming to my mind. I had expected to find a people dejected, despairing, desperate. Instead, I found a people quite determined.

74 year-old cousins helped each other get to OMS's makeshift medical clinic. They were both grinning and poking fun at each other, until I asked to take their picture :)

None, however, as much as this 18 year-old woman whom I will never forget. The morning before we left, we were trying to find a hospital in need of a surgeon that had come to help. We visited several different make-shift hospitals, and as Dave worked to find translators (based on whatever country we were "in") and work out plans for the guy, I took advantage of the time talk with people. I couldn't take pictures any of these places (yes, please don't tell anyone about this one shot...this was the only one, I promise!) but I was desperate after days of picture taking to actually step inside and spend some time with some of our family there.

At this particular hospital, just teeming with French doctors and nurses and hundreds of patients, most now missing a limb or two, I walked past a tent and Valerie caught my eye. She was sitting on a mattress, one leg gone, another damaged, raw wounds on both arms and hands...but that's not why she grabbed me.

As she sat there, peering out of her tent, it was as if she was looking for someone. And I know I've said this before, but again it was as if I was looking into the face of Jesus. Just immediately. She was Jesus.

"Hi," I said softly, knowing I wasn't really even supposed to be there, not sure if she would want to talk.

"Oh, PLEASE" she said immediately. "Sit here," she patted the spot beside her inside the tiny tent, just big enough for two mats. "Please talk to me. I would like to be your friend."

It was so heart wrenching, the way she said it, and I realized that of the thousands of people over the years that have stopped me, as a foreigner, and asked for something...money, food, help, prayer, a ride, clothing, a job, my earrings, Lily...she was the FIRST person ever to ask just to be my friend.

Praise the Lord, for almost 45 minutes the surgeon was delayed, and Valerie and I just talked. It was fantastic. It wasn't even ministry. It was just talking with a friend, with my sister, encouraging each other.

Her story was horrific. She and her mother went through a shockingly long list of lost loved ones...Neighbors that died, family that died, all their other family in the house that died. Friends that died. Teachers. Pastors. Milk men. The soup lady.

"How did you live?" I finally asked, realizing how minor her seemingly major injuries were considering the fate of almost everyone else in her vicinity.

"We all just ran," she said. "Everyone ran, everyone was screaming. Most didn't make it. Mom got out with just some stair scraping her leg. But a huge part of the house fell on my leg and foot right as I was getting out.

"It all was on my leg, and I couldn't move. We thought the rest of the house was going to fall, but I couldn't go. My mom came back. We waited. We tried to dig myself out, but couldn't. The next day, my mom found someone to help, and he cut off my leg with his machete.

"And then I came here, on the 13th, and we've been here ever since. Let's talk about you! Where are you from?" she asked brightly.

WHAT?!?

Would you believe me if I told you that we talked for another thirty minutes and that she never once complained or grumbled about losing her leg? I mean, she's an 18 year old girl! No boyfriend, almost no family, and now NO leg, and she was so incredibly thankful to be alive that I could honestly see that it did not bother her one bit...not what she looked like, not what it could mean for her, not how hard it could make the rest of her life...nothing.

There is no prosthetic in the future for this girl. No physical therapy. No medical assistance, no elevators. Heavens, not even a house. No home! No NOTHING. Everything they had in the entire world was each other and that tent...and the tent belonged to the hospital.

No complaints.

Later, I asked her what was in store for her.

"Oh, I'm so excited about this!" she told me with all the energy of an 18 year-old girl about to spill a juicy secret. "Listen! I saw so many die all around me, but God spared me! Praise the Lord, He saved me! And I know He makes no mistakes. And I know He allows everything for a reason. And so I know that He saved me for a beautiful reason, and I just can't wait to see what that is!"

AK, my heart! For the first time, it occurred to me that HE SAVED ME, TOO! The earthquake could have been here, instead of there. We're only some 100 miles away. I could have been buried, just as easily as her sisters. Matt could have been killed, just as quickly as her father. Of ALL the things that could happen ANY day, He saved me! Am I searching for the reason? Am I asking Him why? Am I grateful for my breath and unconcerned with my losses and excited to discover and fulfill His daily plan for me?

I grabbed her hand and I prayed for her. I prayed that they would find a house. I prayed that they would find food. I prayed that the Lord would show her His reason, that He would heal all the broken bits of her heart, that He would redeem all the losses, that He would bless her beautiful spirit.

No sooner had I finished that she prayed for me, and I knew as I sat there beside her, sweat pouring down us both in that stifling tent, that this was one of life's rare purely beautiful moments. Just two hours after standing horrified by a river of death, I sat by still waters with joy in my soul.

I took her picture, not for the photograph, but that I might always remember to praise Him, and always remember my sister.

My first exchange of beauty for ashes. More to come...

Women selling fruit and produce and grains of all kinds. Prices are still higher than normal, but but there was an abundance for sale.

***UPDATE

I have some AWESOME stories coming out of Port from our seminary guys that are there now for the next post! The first group is joyful but exhausted and preparing to return home on Tuesday.

Matt, along with 6 fresh students and staff members, head down tomorrow around noon. They'll be staying up on the top of a mountain where Dr. Gavin continues to run a clinic in a Methodist mission. The harvest is SO ripe here that Gavin reported that he would continue the clinic this week, not because of the medical need, but because of the great spiritual need that is being met by the Lord through the seminary guys.

Please be praying for this trip, for the nightly services that are now being held, and for all the evangelism going on during the day...Can't wait to tell you about this!