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21 November 2019

welcome

It was beautiful and warm and sunny and peaceful and as I sat in the sun and watched Nora writing and running in the sand, I was thankful.  Thankful to just sit and watch her. Thankful to not have any laundry needing done, any food needing cooked, any dishes needing cleaned, any papers needing graded, any anything needed.  

just to sit and watch
But my heart was so troubled.

These months, these months of staying home. These months of lack and loss.  

One of the things we have lost, along with all of our Haitian brothers and sisters, is freedom. Freedom to go out. Freedom to go visit a friends house. Freedom to go visit a student's church. Freedom to go to town, to meet friends for dinner, to have friends for dinner, to go to doctor's appointments, to go.

Much of the time, there has been no fuel to go anywhere, anyway. But after months of turmoil, what has settled is genuine lawlessness and chaos and instability. You can't even consider going out after dark, which lately, is 5:30. You can't even think about going certain places, certain times, certain days, ever, anyone.

Before we drive 2 miles down the road in the middle of the afternoon, we have to call around and make sure the road between isn't cut...before we drive 5 miles the other direction to go to prayer meeting, we have to ask around to make sure there are no barricades, no fires, no bottles, no gangs. Any plans made aren't final until the moment it is time to leave...and even THEN, how many times we have had to turn around.

Even with money for fuel, which few have.
Even with cars for added protection, which even fewer have.
Even with calling around first. 

There is nothing stable.

It was early morning, last Saturday, and because things were seeming pretty good that morning, we picked up our beloved friend we haven't seen since Ben's birth and headed for the beach. It's where Sharon and Martin dated, it's where mom doesn't have to worry about dishes, it's where the kids LOVE to play.  

On the other side of town, we had almost reached the road to take us over the mountain when we came to an intersection.  We were stopped, sitting and waiting for a silver truck to pass.  He did pass us entirely, then slammed on his brakes, and then backed up, blocking us, and then got out.  

Banging on Matt's window, he started yelling that we had hit him. Sitting there, still, several feet from his truck, he started pointing at some old scratches on his tailgate, many inches higher than our front guard and rusted over, and said again that we had hit him.  

Matt politely and firmly responded that we had not. We all affirmed, we definitely had not.  We had never even been within several feet of his car. Several more men jumped out of the truck, all yelling that we had hit them, and within minutes, there were dozens of men surrounding the car, yelling and looking and pointing and threatening and lots of cultural drama and intensity. 

Everyone on the sidelines was shaking their heads...everyone knowing exactly that when the driver passing by saw an opportunity to get some money, he was taking it, and that there was nothing we could do about being robbed. They all knew the truth, they shook their heads, but quietly disappeared, not wanting any part of an angry crowd.

After all, times are tough. After all, there are no police to speak of. There is no justice. There is nothing that can be done but be robbed or fight. After all, suddenly there were 20 men surrounding our four women and four children and Matt.

What do you want? Matt finally said, realizing there would be no truth, no help, no justice, and that the situation was becoming quickly dangerous.

What are you going to give me? the man asked, darkness in his eyes and face and demeanor, looking at the children, knowing we wouldn't be any trouble.

There was much prayer, Matt was firm and clear and calm and for $120, well more than a month's salary at the daily wage, they let us go. 

It could have been much worse. The Lord protected us and gave Matt all of the wisdom and patience needed to handle an ugly situation and be a clear, Christian example in front of our children. The kids moved quickly on from a situation they didn't understand and saw that their parents were not afraid of, and the beach was beautiful and deserted and the ride home uneventful. 

All the gratefulness I felt being surrounded by these beautiful women and children in this photo was real and true.
But I'm still today having a hard time shaking it.

Being robbed, knowingly, face to face, is an awful feeling of injustice and violation. Being lied to, and knowing that everyone knows that everyone is lying, is a sickening feeling. Looking into young mens' eyes, so like our students and co-workers, and yet seeing nothing but darkness and coldness...it's an awful feeling.

Being helpless.

We were treated unjustly because we are foreigners, and it angered me in part because I am not used to being treated unjustly. 

I am not used to living in such instability. I am not used to not being able to go where I want, when I want. Not used to being unable to do what I want, to go where I want, to act on my calling, to stand when standing is needed.

Here I have lived on an island with my strong theology that God HATES injustice, a total perversion of who He is, and where injustice totally reigns. Where leaders rob and rob and rob. Where the poor have been so oppressed. Where the children have been held in such darkness and abuse and disadvantage...here I have lived in the middle of a culture of total instability, one day, one moment, one hour at a time, for TWELVE YEARS, and suddenly I am discouraged because it's not only plaguing the lives of those around me as it always has, but lately it has been moving into my own territory.

Every child who still stinking sits at home today when their parents worked ridiculously hard and went hungry to have paid for schooling is being ROBBED. TODAY.

Every child who sits at home today in 2019 HUNGRY and having never gone to school and never WILL is being robbed, today.

Every hardworking man and women, being stopped at barricades on their way to their $1 a day jobs and to purchase food at four times the price and being forced to fork over their money along the road or be harmed is being ROBBED and terrorized.

Our staff and students, Stacey, heavens, they have BEEN being ROBBED, daily, looking into dark eyes, being threatened for money to pass on Route National One for heavens sakes, just to come to work, to come to class, to take their spouses to the doctor, to LIVE.

It angers and discourages me to be innocent and surrounded by helpless children and to be threatened and lied to and robbed.

Welcome, Stacey.  

Welcome.

It took an awful lot for you to get here.



Psalm 89:14
Righteousness and justice are the foundation of your throne.
Unfailing love and truth walk before you.

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