day-to-day and a still present past

This has been such a busy week with virtually 1% internet success...getting just a LITTLE bit frustrating, and our list of "to do online" is growing more urgent by the day! Lily has also had a cold, but was finally feeling well enough today to go meet some new neighbors who have three little girls. It is insanely hot right now, but Don, Maxi and Abel are working away, adding sweat to cement!

Matt's 1st Samuel class has been fantastic so far, with lots of afternoon student visits, asking for prayer and guidance regarding issues in church and in ministry that 1st Samuel has been speaking to. It is SO fun for Matt to teach 1) God's Word, 2) to an interested audience, 3) and then work on application in the afternoons!

I was cleaning off my desktop yesterday, and quite erroneously today I stumbled across a blog entry I wrote in August of 2008. The memories of the morning hit me so fresh that that Sunday might as well have been last Sunday… What a beautiful reminder for me this morning about what the face of Jesus looks like, that I might not pass ONE Jesus-chance over. The prayer I asked for then is the same I ask for today! Thank you for traveling the small and bumpy path with us…

It was the little girl who stuck out to me first, almost immediately after we had wedged our way onto a backwards school bench in the back of Paul Vilmer's church, once again, packed out. Her crazily braided hair was tinged with flaming red and her small skeleton held itself upon her mother's bony lap in such a weary way. Red hair means major dietary deficiency, though it was already obvious from the twigs in her neck and her tiny yellow dress hanging off her body that she was starving.

I tuned into the service for the first hour, glancing at this small bird child from time to time. Matt pointed to the two little boys in front of him during the singing, and it quickly became apparent that these were her brothers. They sat behind their mom and sister, both in holed t-shirts (you never see this in church) and propped up against each other. The oldest boy must have been 7 or 8, and the middle son, 5, but both were very underdeveloped and attracted swarms of flies. Both of their heads seemed uncommonly large perched on top of their sunken necks, and they seemed to hold each other up. It wasn't the insects crawling over the sores on their scalps or their malnourished states that had gotten Matt's attention, but instead their unblinking and unwavering focus on the pastor, eating up every word he said, for literally hours on end.

I watched this small family throughout the long service, feeling broken for them and unsure about what to do. After two hours, the sermon finally began, and just a few moments later the middle boy began to shake. We thought he was falling asleep, but soon realized that he was silently sobbing, gigantic tears streaming down his pulled face. He looked back at me, and his eyes...his eyes were just HUGE and the skin on his cheeks was almost wrinkled it was pulled so tightly across his sharp cheekbones. An older woman beside him quickly asked him what was wrong, and almost wordlessly, he muttered "I'm so hungry."

I thought my heart was going to explode right then. I was numb. How is it that I am still shocked at such things? I speak of Haiti as being a hungry place, speak of the current food crisis and the "face of hunger" that Haiti and it's children are currently experiencing. Yet it is one thing to know it and to talk about it, and another thing to SIT behind it and WATCH it...see it's TEARS.


The woman quickly tapped the boys mother, telling her that he was hungry. "I have nothing" she told the woman, then repeated to the boy, rapidly and guiltily swatting at his tears with her bony hand, shaking him lightly and telling him not to cry. "Don't cry," the older lady next to him kept repeating, obviously hurting for him and disturbed by his tears. Quickly she pulled 5 gourdes out of a hidden kleenex, and in moments so did the woman in front of her, then a woman one row over. They all thrust their tiny offering, some 38 cents US, at the mother, who rapidly swooped up her now sleeping daughter and headed out the back.

Moments later she returned, clasping three tiny foil packs, each containing four Saltine-type crackers. It took each child only seconds to open their tiny parcel, but almost 30 minutes to eat it...each savoring every tiny bite and picking up every crumb. The tiniest, wide-eyed and happily munching her cracker, continued to play games I've seen much chubbier children play with their mothers, "one bite for me, one bite for you," insisting on sharing every other bite with her mother, who obviously hadn't eaten anything more than any of her children.

By now I was finished, hot tears running down my sweaty face as I watched all of this...the pain of their suffering and tears, the beauty of everyone's collected sacrifice, the love between these children and their mother, the agony of sitting behind starvation and having no idea what to do, the torture over the 2 bites of cold scrambled eggs I had tossed out this morning and the bucket of crackers sitting on top of my loaded refrigerator...the pain of knowing this was just one small family in THOUSANDS...MILLIONS around the world.

I wanted to take off my wedding ring, my glasses, take my hymnal, Matt's wallet, our Nalgene bottle, the keys to the dump truck we drove into town and just give them all to this family. I wanted to pile them into the car and drive them home and shower them and feed them the biggest meal they had every seen and just...KEEP them....FIX it.

Suddenly the service was over and everyone was standing, hurried to leave as the dark block room had become an oven in the noonday heat. I grasped at the oldest boys hand and he smiled shyly at me. The little bird girl was shy and hid her small face in her mother's dirty t-shirt. I grabbed the mother's hand as the crowd pushed her past, and she smiled full joy as well, and I told her her children were beautiful, because I didn't know anything else to say, and she nodded in agreement.

The middle boy, however, had held back a moment, and I sat down on my heels to be at his eye level. "Good morning" he told me as I held his hand and then he grinned the most ravishing smile I have ever seen, his glassy eyes full of joy. I smiled at him brokenly, and a remnant tear slid down my cheek. Without missing a beat, he swung his tiny hand up to my shoulder and patted it quickly before he ran after his family.

This morning my face was four inches from the skeletal, open-sored face of Jesus...and when you meet Jesus face-to-face, it has to change you, doesn't it.

Please keep praying for Haiti, for Jesus to be made known, for all those that are so hungry in so many ways...and for all the pieces of our hearts.