the muddy road

A few months ago, half of one of my teeth broke off, and for the past many weeks it's been a literal and continual pain. When this team from Canada was in, the dentist graciously let me know that if I wanted to walk the mile to the church where they'd be working on Wednesday, he would temporarily fill it for me until we spent some time in the States again.  

He was only available at 1, so I ran home after chapel, popped Nora on my back and headed out the gate, already sweating in the humidity.  

Our road is a hard-core disaster.  

I started by sticking to the canal to stay out of the way of semis and motorcycles, splashing mud all over everyone. 

But, I kept slipping in the mud and was struggling to jump over all the gaps and finally I switched over to the nasty road.  It took me a long time to get there, picking and jumping and waiting for passing trucks, and I was covered in mud and sweat by the time I got us there. 

But, the Iraqi dentist had come all the way from Canada, and as I carefully leaned my metal chair back to rest my head on the back of a plastic chair with Nora standing by and all of our students and community members staring, I was grateful. The road was long and hard and muddy but ended in just what I needed and have been waiting months for, such grace.

There have been many many roads like this over the years, roads that looked so awful and tedious and long and hot and muddy and lonely that I would have rather just stayed off them altogether. In fact, sometimes the ENTIRE road feels slippery and sweaty and long and not worth it.

But Francis Chan reminded me this morning that IT. IS.  He reminded me  that muddy and weary and slippery is not the time to take time for me.  It's not the time to tag out, to argue with others about it, to focus on what I need or to lay off altogether.  Now is NOT the time to peter out, nor is not the time for ME. 

This quick little marathon of life we're each on? We are nearing the finish line, Christ is nearing the finish with us, and now is the time to pick up the pace.  If the finish line is in sight, if I only have just so many years, if my life is a drop in the bucket, and it is...then it's time to pursue His beautiful finish with all we've got, not time to pass out on the sidelines, to be focusing on worldly perks or to be worrying about me.  Now, as Chan said, is NOT the time to go shopping!

And I'm convicted this morning, because there have been some muddy roads I've been avoiding, even more than a muddy, dangerous road ending in a dentist :) 

There have been people in my life that I haven't tried to share the Gospel with in years, because they weren't interested and it was awkward and they've shown no signs of change, and so I've half-hearted some prayers over the years, but have left them alone. I don't want to muddy stuff up, it's a little to hot a topic...I'm worrying about their happiness more than their holiness, worried about their now a lot more than their later.

There have been some people in my life I've been praying out or even prying out of the mud...just wanting everything to work out perfectly for them, and at times even encouraging them that it will, a promise He never made. I've been pushing them towards easier paths, begging God for easier paths, instead of sticking in the mud with them on the narrow path, pointing them towards Jesus and the grace at the victorious end.

There are hard, muddy narrow-path things to say, and how often I don't say them because I want to keep the present peace instead of pushing for the final goal.  How consumed I become with my rights and comforts and desires, how easily I slow my pace and get distracted from the nearing finish line.  

Just as marathon runners pick up the pace for the second half, even sprinting near the end, it's time to put our head down on the weary road and pick up our pace.  Time to rekindle, time to renew, time to re-salt, time to return to that First Love we once had when the road was easy and the burden of following Jesus felt a joy!

Many enter through it, that broad gate. Many take it, that beautiful wide road.  I GET it. But man alive, it leads to destruction (Matthew 7), and we forget that part.  That muddy, hard road, it leads to just what we've been weary for, desperately needing, no more tears, no more sickness, no more pain, the arms of Jesus, sweet unmerited grace.

Keep on, brothers and sisters.  But even MORE than keeping on, pick up the pace with me. Let's return to our first love, be encouraged by His presence and pending return and His victorious finish promise.  

Yep, the road is as muddy and the race is as difficult He said it would be, but our brothers and sisters around the globe join us in struggle, through persecution and unimaginable difficulty, eyes on the goal. 

Hebrews 12 Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. 2 We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith.[a] Because of the joy[b] awaiting him, he endured the cross, disregarding its shame. Now he is seated in the place of honor beside God’s throne. 3 Think of all the hostility he endured from sinful people;[c] then you won’t become weary and give up...12 So take a new grip with your tired hands and strengthen your weak knees.13 Mark out a straight path for your feet so that those who are weak and lame will not fall but become strong.

the Road Club

Ezekiel is either entirely insane, or the most inspirational man I have ever met.

After being at his church in Baron a few months ago, Matt and I decided to start supporting the school monthly.  So last week, I saw him duck in the gate, and knew he had come for a bit of help.  

Living five days on the mountain, which is a several hour drive + several hour hike from here, and then staying 2 days a week in town, which is an hour from here, I know finding the time to come to Saccanville is not easy.  Trust me, we'd do direct deposit if there was such a thing!

As his signature grin filled my office, I asked all about his wife and kids, the church, the school, and learned of lots of little defeats and victories...an unhappy wife who did NOT sign up for this whole mountain church thing when she married him, almost 200 children enrolled, several disgruntled teachers months behind on salary refusing to teach until the end of the school day, a few new converts at church, good health, grateful communities.

Then he mentioned something I've heard him talk a bit about before, but never really thought much about.  He told me on our hike that he was working with some other men on the road between their distant mountain community and the town of Baron at the base.

After forging rivers, climbing literally with my hands, and working hard not to fall over miles of rocky terrain, I appreciated hearing this.

A "road"--which really just means a path that perhaps a motorcycle could take--IS badly needed.  It would be life-changing for the community, making the medical care, market and schools of the town of Baron available to all. 

But, com'mon.  I don't care HOW badly it's needed.  Ezekiel, who is already incredibly overworked, is going to build a 3 mile road with a couple of his buddies...in his free time?

So when he mentioned it again last week, I finally had to let him know just how unreasonable he was being.  You know, that's my job.  Let people know how crazy they are.  Missionary of the Year, right here.

"Ezekiel, friend, you know we greatly love and appreciate you.  But is it possible that you are going to kill yourself?  Haven't you checked with the mayor and seen if there is something they can do for community development?"

"OH, yes.  I've checked with them and applied 7 times for help.  They said their job is really just focusing on the town folks who can pay some taxes, and that they have no interest for the poor people in the mountains."

"Oh.  Well.  Is a road really that important?"

"STACEY!  YES!  The people in the mountains have NO value to people, have NO pride, have NO access to anything, have NO work, and making a little path for motorcycles to come and go will advance the people, advance the community, make them proud, save people's lives (because they could get to the clinic), change the way everyone lives!  It would make mountain Baron a place where people were proud of their community and more united with the city below!"

"Oh.  Well, do YOU really have to do it?"

"Who is going to do it, Stacey?"

"Oh.  Well, how many men are in this Baron Road Club of yours?  You and your dad?"

"160."

"WHAT??!!?" I almost fell out of my chair.  "You have 160 men working every single Saturday on the road?  Where in the WORLD did you find 160 men?  How are you paying them?  How are you getting them to work? WHAT??"

"Stace, I passed 600 men sitting in their front yards doing nothing just between Cap and here.  There are tons of men able to work!"

"Well, yeah, but.  How in the world are you getting them to work?  I mean, you're not PAYING 160 men, are you?  Ezekiel!"

the city of Baron, at the moutain's base

"How could I pay 160 men?  I don't even get paid myself!  NO.  Every Sunday after church, we have a Road Club meeting.  There are 160 members--20 women, and 140 men.  We meet every single Sunday, we talk about the progress, we talk about the plan for the next stretch, and I remind them again, over and over, why this is important.  I keep them inspired."

"What in the world do you tell them?"

"I tell them that Haiti is OUR Haiti.  And that Baron is OUR Baron.  And that our families and our houses are OUR houses and families.  And that NO one is going to take care of it if we don't.  That no one is going to improve things if WE don't.  I tell them that God has given us good health and a beautiful mountain so that we can WORK and take care of ourselves, and give Him glory.  I tell them that we must do what we can to give Him glory."

"And then they spend from 6 am to 1 pm every Saturday morning in the hot sun, pick axing rock?  160 men!?"

"Yep, and then I feed them all lunch."

"WHAT?!?" (This is really when I started leaning towards the HE-IS-INSANE side of things.)

"Yep.  I feed them all lunch, and then everyone goes home."

"How in the WORLD do you do that??  Ezekiel, your hands are shaking as we speak. When was the last time YOU had lunch?? How can you do that?"

"Well," he shared, somehow still patiently, "Every time I hike the trail up or down, I'm talking to everyone, here and there, and the road project often comes up, and sometimes they thank me for working so hard to teach their kids, to share the Gospel, to work on their road.  So I say, Yes, and we could really use YOUR help, too, even if you can't work.  Could you give a little corn?  A few beans?"

"So, on Saturday morning, people from all over the community bring or send a little of this and that, and the hours that we men are working, the 20 women are cooking it all, and then we split it--whatever we have--160 ways."

I am floored.  This is the kind of thing that most missionaries/foreigners would deem impossible.  Just not gonna happen.  Would only happen if a missionary or organization fed everyone, paid everyone.  I start to feel a bit sick...like maybe "we" foreigners have ruined things.  Like maybe all of our "help" has been a crippler, not a liberator.  

"And the community gives enough food every week to feed 160 people?"

"Well..., yeah."

"So, quite literally, the entire community is building this road, over streams and through the mountain, by themselves, with no help."

"Yep."

"And you have physically built and put together a school, for 200 mountain kids.  And brought Christ to the mountain, and built a church, and lead it and teach in it and evangelize the area, and teach Sunday school and lead worship and preach and try to care for your family AND you are organizing and inspiring and pick-axing all of this."

"Well, yeah.  I mean, who's going to?"

silence.

"Ezekiel, you know you are doing what most people--like, uh, ME--would say could NEVER be done, right?"

"Oh, no, Stacey.  I never have done anything impossible.  But, you know, God does, sometimes."

"Ezekiel, you are either entirely insane, or the most inspiring man I've ever met."

Sheepish grin.  "OK.  Well, see you next month!  Thank you!"

It wasn't until later that day when I was trying to wrap my mind around this whole thing again that I realized that's how a lot of people must have felt about Jesus.

three: power

I don't talk about Voodoo much on our blog for two reasons.

One: it freaks people out, and talking about it makes people think you are crazy.  er.

Two: I don't like dwelling on satan, demons, or demonic activity.  I don't want to talk about darkness.  I want to talk about God and what HE'S doing.

However, if I'm going to share the POWER part of this past Sunday in Baron, I've got to take a second to fill you in on it, meaning I'll answer the first question everyone always has:

Do you really believe in Voodoo?

Short answer is yes.

Longer answer is that I have seen many a woman and man devote their lives to it, live in its grip, honor it in every situation, fear it, live under that fear, and be greatly affected by it.  To address and understand and live in Haitian culture is to have an awareness that most everyone believes that satan and demonic forces are real and active in every element of life.

No matter what I believe, if Haiti believes it, then it is real in Haiti.

Voodoo is very syncretistic, involving Roman Catholic ritual elements, animism, magic (probably coming from African heritage), ancestors, saints, demons--and permeates all elements of life, from how you paint your vehicle, how you roof your house, how you treat your illnesses, how you cook your food, how you walk on a path to even how you pee.

Socially, there is what Matt and I call Party Voodoo, and there is what we call Deep Voodoo.  Party voodoo usually involves lots of youth, lots of alcohol, lots of drumming, lots of immorality and lots of noise.  Deep Voodoo involves curses, trances, zombies, demonic possession, sacrifices, etc.  While most people who practice voodoo openly seem to hang out in the Party Voodoo realm, it is hard to find a person who doesn't have a great fear of and respect for Deep Voodoo.

It runs deep, and you would be hard pressed to find a person who didn't say that to BE Haitian is to BE Voodoo.

...Not totally unlike Scripture saying that to be in Christ is to BE not of this world.  Being of His realm means we're NOT Americans, Haitians, slaves nor free, Greek nor Jew.  It means we're of Him.

In America, perhaps, we can be in Christ and be American...though it seems that the split there is growing wider.

ANYWAY, sorry.  Story commencing.

As we got closer and closer to Baron, the "heat" on the road grew.  For some political reason I still have no understanding of, remains of rioting and the road being "cut" were everywhere as we got closer to the base of the mountain.  Every 100 feet we were having to drive around smoldering logs, pushed aside piles of large stones, and around piles of burnt tires.  At one point I wasn't sure we could continue because the road had been cut so deeply we had to stop and fill 2 spaces with stones for our tires to cross over.

Ezechiel is an incredibly responsible and aware young man, and I could tell he was growing increasingly uneasy by each roadblock...not for himself--Ezechiel cares nothing for himself--but as the one in watch-care over these students, and worse, for a foreign woman.  Can't hide her if need be.

Talking to a few locals, we continued, and suddenly ahead of us there was a large group of men, mostly all the same young age as the men I had in the car with me....20's/30's.  However, instead of being in ties and dress shirts like the men I had, they were in red skirts, red shirts, and each caring long sticks.  Bouncing up and down continuously, they were chanting and singing, bouncing in a large circle covering the whole road.  Dozens of interested bystanders watched, and I grew uneasy approaching them.

Rah-Rah, as it is called, is when a group of devout Voodoo worshipers, usually accompanied by a witch-doctor, display their support publicly of some specific spirit, involving exactly what I was witnessing here.

They were.  And chose this morning.  And chose our road, the only road.  Probably something to do with being past Mardi-Gras, pre-Easter, and during a particularly politically charged time for this area.  I don't know.

Foreigners tend to excite extra Rah-Rah attention, and I wished I could sink beneath my seat.  Wished someone else of the 9 people in the car could drive.  They obviously weren't moving, so finally I could come no closer and stopped the car.  They surrounded the car, chanting and dancing.

I tried to act uninterested, and waited patiently for them to move.  The ring-leader, talismans tied all around his neck, was holding a large staff with a huge rock tied to the top and flags down the side...the witchdoctor.

His eyes were clear.

This may not make sense if you're not at all accustomed to Voodoo, but...they were clear.  Open, sensible, conscious.  He met my eyes and there was understanding and acknowledgement of each other.

The younger men, all of them, were entirely dark-eyed.  Every bouncing face I looked into stared back blankly, entirely unaware of what was happening around them.  Caught up in their trance, the drums and the dancing, even when I started to pull the car forward, lightly bumping one of them, he didn't even react.  Didn't seem to feel it.

Ezechiel signaled that we were coming through, I saw a part in the crowd, and we went for it.  Done.  Over.  Sigh.

After a fantastic day on the mountain, I never thought of them again....until it was growing late, we were returning, and the road ahead was now full of almost 100 people, watching.

The same group of Rah-Rah.  STILL.  HOURS hours later, still doing the exact same thing.  Chanting, dancing, circling.  Empowered by the now huge crowds around them and literally 8 hours of unending dancing in their trance...they were far more aggressive.

Again, the witchdoctor looked at me with understanding, again, the young men were almost in an animalistic state...unaware, dark eyed...empty.  I felt suddenly enraged, because while he led his group in darkness and blindness...he KNEW.  He hadn't entered in himself.  He controlled them without being controlled, misled them while standing by.  Held them in darkness.  Remind you of anyone?

Ezechiel told me to stop.  Junior told me to go.  The students and Noel were deathly silent, nervous.  Praying.

I waited a long time.  They were NOT going to move.  We were NOT going to pass.

I tried going, and after tapping several of the men with front grill, realized that they were SO entranced that I could have run them down without them even realizing it.  They didn't even FEEL the car, nor react whatsoever.

I didn't know what to do.  Ezechiel, ever concerned for the party he had brought, was beside himself for our sakes, and I saw him out of the corner of my eye beside me reaching into his pocket.

"NO." I said firmly.  I didn't know what we were going to do.  But I knew one thing: we were NOT giving them ONE PENNY.

"Look," he said, "This could get bad.  I have to take care of you.  I will just give them a few gourdes, let's get out of here.  Please roll down my window."

Now, I always listen to Ezechiel.  He knows, it's his zone, he's so wise and godly.

But I knew he wouldn't give them money if I wasn't there, and as I prayed and watched, bristling, I knew we couldn't give them money.  Couldn't support.  Couldn't have anything to do with enslaving and entertaining and making money off of people for darkness.

"NO, Zeke.  NO."

I didn't know what to do, but I was NOT rolling down that window.

The chanting and drumming continued, amused men, women and children watching intently, the entranced dancers bouncing, bouncing up and down around our car, tapping it on all sides, all following the bouncing of the witchdoctor's staff and the pounding drum.

"June," I said towards the backseat.  "What do we do?  They are not moving, and we cannot give them money."

"No, no money," said Junior.  "Um.  Well.   Roll down my window."

As soon as his window was down, me praying and looking for a way through, the witchdoctor jetted to the side of the car, so observant, so alert.

The difference between the young men huddled wordlessly around me and the young men circling the car was astounding.  Day and night.

But outside the car there was no fear.  No light, no fear, no nothing.  Inside the car, calm, but uncertainty was fading into fear.

Expecting Junior to start convincing our way through, he only said one thing to the witchdoctor, softly, sweetly and boldly, as June always does.

"We are people of God and our money is of God.  It will do you NO good whatsoever.  

Make a way.  Now, sir."

Before he had even finished, the witchdoctor darted at his men, and starting thumping them, thumping their backs with the large rock tied to the end of his staff...herding them out of the way like sheep.  Like animals.  They didn't even flinch or react.

Thump, thump, thump he made the way, the men's expressions never changing...their hops shifting slightly, a path was cleared, and we went...the circle quickly closing back in in my rear-view mirror.

Inside, the car was silent.

Ezechiel breathed a long sigh of relief and looked at his hands.  "I'm sorry."

Suddenly, conversation exploded, and I realized I hadn't been the only one holding my breath.

Everyone was talking at once, patting Junior and alive with His power.

Even while that witchdoctor was holding so many in darkness, when Junior spoke the Truth, he knew it was.

Didn't argue.  Didn't think.  He KNEW it.  He knew it was true that he could do NOTHING with what was God's.  Knew it was TRUE that he could do nothing against God's people.  Knew it was truth he could nothing with God's money.

Suddenly, with over 100 people at his disposal, he knew that we. were. not.

And he could not have responded to the undebatable presence and power of God any faster.

We knew God was with us, but I'm not sure any of us (but Junior, it always seems) knew what that would LOOK like surrounded, literally, by Voodoo.

What it LOOKED like, before 100 villagers and through a witchdoctor, nonetheless, was ALL POWERFUL vs. foolish.  God of the Universe vs. NO ONE.

Whether you believe Voodoo is real or not doesn't really matter.

What matters is that what we believe IN, WHO we have put our trust in, leaves NO room for it.

It is not a competition.  It is not a battle undetermined.  IT IS VICTORY.

Three: Whatever the darkness in your life...whether it be Voodoo or past baggage, family brokenness or quiet battles, sins or injustices, disappointments, betrayals, hypocrisies, horrors or devestations alike....WHATEVER it is, listen.

IT IS NOT DARKNESS TO HIM.  And if it is not darkness to Him, then He is ready to overcome it.  Miraculously.

It's not just that His LIGHT is stronger than the darkness.  It's not just that His light can overcome that darkness.

It is that even the DARKNESS is NOT DARK TO YOU, O God
Even the night is as bright as the day.  
Darkness and light are alike to You.

Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence.
You have enclosed me behind and before,
and laid Your hand upon me.
You. Are. There.

Psalm 139

Wood of the Low: out of the dust.

You never really know what to expect when you pull that creaky gate open.  As I drove through and jumped out to lock it behind me at five am Sunday, I wondered if this was really a good idea.  

I mean, if going to town to buy bananas is an adventure, should I be driving south into the deep heart of Haiti, having no idea what to expect, with people I've never met, with a cell phone and bottle of water and a very vague plan?

Maybe not.  But ever since Vilmer told me that I had family living at the top of a mountain in the middle of a dessert in Bois d’Homme Bas, Wood of the Low Humanity, I’ve wanted to meet them.  

And sometimes, meeting people where they are means heading out in the dark.

So I did.

Matt has since deemed it “Mother Theresa Day”, and Vilmer’s calling it “Our Great Adventure”.  The people of Bois d’Homme Bas called it a miracle, that an American woman from far far away would come through so much just to meet them.

But me?  I don’t know what to call it yet.  I hardly even know how to process it.  And as you know, that’s when I blog!

Almost as soon as I arrived out front of Vilmer’s church in town, I saw his car pull up.  I turned off my truck, assuming I’d jump in with him, but then he was opening my doors, kissed my cheek, hoisted in a few women, slammed the doors, jumped back in his car, and took off. 

So I guessed I was driving, too :) We all started to talk and I learned that one of the girls in the back was from Pignon, hitching a ride, and everyone else were women in the church’s Dorcas group—a group of women over a certain age who are dedicated to serving the poor, orphans, widows, imprisoned, etc. 

In Vilmer’s car were several man shadows, and I pulled out behind him, still wiping sleep from my eyes. 

\

the Citadel

We drove.  And drove, and drove.  At first, the roads were decent.  I’d been as far as Milot, the area we took Gertha to the hospital when we almost lost her over a year ago.  Then Don-Don, which was neat to see, because four or five of our students are from there, and I’ve always wondered what it was like.  It’s beautiful.  Quiet.  On a river.

our home is the top magenta dot, and this map shows the "road" I followed to arrive in Bois d'Homme Bas, the bottom magenta dot

After Don-Don, St. Raphael, and the road turned into nothing more than piles of rocks-- jostling, dipping, jerking--for over an hour.  Finally, around 8:45, we pulled into the little community of Pignon, and stopped for the first time. 

Suddenly, there was Sarah, Vilmer’s wife, on the sidewalk, motioning us into a house, and there was sugary sweet coffee, bread, spicy peanut butter, and Sarah’s sister’s family.  Sarah had come a day earlier to visit, and now would be heading on with us.

A few moments later, we were back on the road, and just a few miles more, the road was finished.  Two men were standing at the end of the road, one of them Sarah’s uncle whom she hadn’t seen in over 10 years, and the other, Ernst, the pastor of Bois d’Homme Bois that had recruited Vilmer in the first place. 

No more road...but we weren’t there yet.  The terrain had been gradually getting less and less green, and suddenly, as we started picking our own paths over the mountain, we entered into the desert--driving across hot sand, past huge stretches of cacti, blowing dust everywhere, making it impossible at times to even see Vilmer’s car. 

The houses around us totally changed.  No more cement, tin, block.  All structures were made of planks of wood slated together, the same color as the dust.  Roofs were thatched in browned palm branches.  Many houses had a small lofted columbina-- storage depots for grains or corn hoisted up out of the dust and away from rats.

Even with the windows closed, the dust was already settling on the interior of the truck, making my teeth grimy and my hair stiffen.  After 45 minutes of "climbing", we parked on top of the mountain in the “shade” of two bare little twig trees.  

As soon as I opened the door, the heat and dust hit me in the face, and out of the dust, I heard bold singing ring out.  There was a dusty white tent against the dusty brown surroundings...everythig, the color of dead things, various shades of tan.

Here they finally were, in a place you'd never think you'd find a soul--on top of a mountain, in the middle of an island, right under the blazing sun in the dead of the dry desert--

the Low People.

tbc...

where can I go?

 from 2014, this old post spoke volumes to me today in a dark season that is still not darkness to Him.

three: power

I don't talk about Voodoo much on our blog for two reasons.

One: it freaks people out, and talking about it makes people think you are crazy.  er.

Two: I don't like dwelling on satan, demons, or demonic activity.  I don't want to talk about darkness.  I want to talk about God and what HE'S doing.

However, if I'm going to share the POWER part of this past Sunday in Baron, I've got to take a second to fill you in on it, meaning I'll answer the first question everyone always has:

Do you really believe in Voodoo?

Short answer is yes.

Longer answer is that I have seen many a woman and man devote their lives to it, live in its grip, honor it in every situation, fear it, live under that fear, and be greatly affected by it.  To address and understand and live in Haitian culture is to have an awareness that most everyone believes that satan and demonic forces are real and active in every element of life.

No matter what I believe, if Haiti believes it, then it is real in Haiti. 

Voodoo is very syncretistic, involving Roman Catholic ritual elements, animism, magic (probably coming from African heritage), ancestors, saints, demons--and permeates all elements of life, from how you paint your vehicle, how you roof your house, how you treat your illnesses, how you cook your food, how you walk on a path to even how you pee.

Socially, there is what Matt and I call Party Voodoo, and there is what we call Deep Voodoo.  Party voodoo usually involves lots of youth, lots of alcohol, lots of drumming, lots of immorality and lots of noise.  Deep Voodoo involves curses, trances, zombies, demonic possession, sacrifices, etc.  While most people who practice voodoo openly seem to hang out in the Party Voodoo realm, it is hard to find a person who doesn't have a great fear of and respect for Deep Voodoo.

It runs deep, and you would be hard pressed to find a person who didn't say that to BE Haitian is to BE Voodoo.

...Not totally unlike Scripture saying that to be in Christ is to BE not of this world.  Being of His realm means we're NOT Americans, Haitians, slaves nor free, Greek nor Jew.  It means we're of Him. 

In America, perhaps, we can be in Christ and be American...though it seems that the split there is growing wider.

ANYWAY, sorry.  Story commencing.

As we got closer and closer to Baron, the "heat" on the road grew.  For some political reason I still have no understanding of, remains of rioting and the road being "cut" were everywhere as we got closer to the base of the mountain.  Every 100 feet we were having to drive around smoldering logs, pushed aside piles of large stones, and around piles of burnt tires.  At one point I wasn't sure we could continue because the road had been cut so deeply we had to stop and fill 2 spaces with stones for our tires to cross over.

Ezechiel is an incredibly responsible and aware young man, and I could tell he was growing increasingly uneasy by each roadblock...not for himself--Ezechiel cares nothing for himself--but as the one in watch-care over these students, and worse, for a foreign woman.  Can't hide her if need be.

Talking to a few locals, we continued, and suddenly ahead of us there was a large group of men, mostly all the same young age as the men I had in the car with me....20's/30's.  However, instead of being in ties and dress shirts like the men I had, they were in red skirts, red shirts, and each caring long sticks.  Bouncing up and down continuously, they were chanting and singing, bouncing in a large circle covering the whole road.  Dozens of interested bystanders watched, and I grew uneasy approaching them.

Rah-Rah, as it is called, is when a group of devout Voodoo worshipers, usually accompanied by a witch-doctor, display their support publicly of some specific spirit, involving exactly what I was witnessing here.

They were.  And chose this morning.  And chose our road, the only road.  Probably something to do with being past Mardi-Gras, pre-Easter, and during a particularly politically charged time for this area.  I don't know.

Foreigners tend to excite extra Rah-Rah attention, and I wished I could sink beneath my seat.  Wished someone else of the 9 people in the car could drive.  They obviously weren't moving, so finally I could come no closer and stopped the car.  They surrounded the car, chanting and dancing.

I tried to act uninterested, and waited patiently for them to move.  The ring-leader, talismans tied all around his neck, was holding a large staff with a huge rock tied to the top and flags down the side...the witchdoctor.

His eyes were clear.

This may not make sense if you're not at all accustomed to Voodoo, but...they were clear.  Open, sensible, conscious.  He met my eyes and there was understanding and acknowledgement of each other.

The younger men, all of them, were entirely dark-eyed.  Every bouncing face I looked into stared back blankly, entirely unaware of what was happening around them.  Caught up in their trance, the drums and the dancing, even when I started to pull the car forward, lightly bumping one of them, he didn't even react.  Didn't seem to feel it.

Ezechiel signaled that we were coming through, I saw a part in the crowd, and we went for it.  Done.  Over.  Sigh.

After a fantastic day on the mountain, I never thought of them again....until it was growing late, we were returning, and the road ahead was now full of almost 100 people, watching.

The same group of Rah-Rah.  STILL.  HOURS hours later, still doing the exact same thing.  Chanting, dancing, circling.  Empowered by the now huge crowds around them and literally 8 hours of unending dancing in their trance...they were far more aggressive.

Again, the witchdoctor looked at me with understanding, again, the young men were almost in an animalistic state...unaware, dark eyed...empty.  I felt suddenly enraged, because while he led his group in darkness and blindness...he KNEW.  He hadn't entered in himself.  He controlled them without being controlled, misled them while standing by.  Held them in darkness.  Remind you of anyone?

Ezechiel told me to stop.  Junior told me to go.  The students and Noel were deathly silent, nervous.  Praying.

I waited a long time.  They were NOT going to move.  We were NOT going to pass.

I tried going, and after tapping several of the men with front grill, realized that they were SO entranced that I could have run them down without them even realizing it.  They didn't even FEEL the car, nor react whatsoever.

I didn't know what to do.  Ezechiel, ever concerned for the party he had brought, was beside himself for our sakes, and I saw him out of the corner of my eye beside me reaching into his pocket.

"NO." I said firmly.  I didn't know what we were going to do.  But I knew one thing: we were NOT giving them ONE PENNY. 

"Look," he said, "This could get bad.  I have to take care of you.  I will just give them a few gourdes, let's get out of here.  Please roll down my window."

Now, I always listen to Ezechiel.  He knows, it's his zone, he's so wise and godly.

But I knew he wouldn't give them money if I wasn't there, and as I prayed and watched, bristling, I knew we couldn't give them money.  Couldn't support.  Couldn't have anything to do with enslaving and entertaining and making money off of people for darkness.

"NO, Zeke.  NO."

I didn't know what to do, but I was NOT rolling down that window.

The chanting and drumming continued, amused men, women and children watching intently, the entranced dancers bouncing, bouncing up and down around our car, tapping it on all sides, all following the bouncing of the witchdoctor's staff and the pounding drum.

"June," I said towards the backseat.  "What do we do?  They are not moving, and we cannot give them money."

"No, no money," said Junior.  "Um.  Well.   Roll down my window."

As soon as his window was down, me praying and looking for a way through, the witchdoctor jetted to the side of the car, so observant, so alert.

The difference between the young men huddled wordlessly around me and the young men circling the car was astounding.  Day and night. 

But outside the car there was no fear.  No light, no fear, no nothing.  Inside the car, calm, but uncertainty was fading into fear.

Expecting Junior to start convincing our way through, he only said one thing to the witchdoctor, softly, sweetly and boldly, as June always does.

"We are people of God and our money is of God.  It will do you NO good whatsoever.  

Make a way.  Now, sir."

Before he had even finished, the witchdoctor darted at his men, and starting thumping them, thumping their backs with the large rock tied to the end of his staff...herding them out of the way like sheep.  Like animals.  They didn't even flinch or react.

Thump, thump, thump he made the way, the men's expressions never changing...their hops shifting slightly, a path was cleared, and we went...the circle quickly closing back in in my rear-view mirror.

Inside, the car was silent.

Ezechiel breathed a long sigh of relief and looked at his hands.  "I'm sorry."

Suddenly, conversation exploded, and I realized I hadn't been the only one holding my breath.

Everyone was talking at once, patting Junior and alive with His power. 

Even while that witchdoctor was holding so many in darkness, when Junior spoke the Truth, he knew it was. 

Didn't argue.  Didn't think.  He KNEW it.  He knew it was true that he could do NOTHING with what was God's.  Knew it was TRUE that he could do nothing against God's people.  Knew it was truth he could nothing with God's money. 

Suddenly, with over 100 people at his disposal, he knew that we. were. not.

And he could not have responded to the undebatable presence and power of God any faster. 

We knew God was with us, but I'm not sure any of us (but Junior, it always seems) knew what that would LOOK like surrounded, literally, by Voodoo. 

What it LOOKED like, before 100 villagers and through a witchdoctor, nonetheless, was ALL POWERFUL vs. foolish.  God of the Universe vs. NO ONE. 

Whether you believe Voodoo is real or not doesn't really matter.

What matters is that what we believe IN, WHO we have put our trust in, leaves NO room for it. 

It is not a competition.  It is not a battle undetermined.  IT IS VICTORY. 

Three: Whatever the darkness in your life...whether it be Voodoo or past baggage, family brokenness or quiet battles, sins or injustices, disappointments, betrayals, hypocrisies, horrors or devestations alike....WHATEVER it is, listen.

IT IS NOT DARKNESS TO HIM.  And if it is not darkness to Him, then He is ready to overcome it.  Miraculously.

It's not just that His LIGHT is stronger than the darkness.  It's not just that His light can overcome that darkness.

It is that even the DARKNESS is NOT DARK TO YOU, O God
Even the night is as bright as the day.  
Darkness and light are alike to You.

Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence.
You have enclosed me behind and before,
and laid Your hand upon me.
You. Are. There.

Psalm 139