two: overwhelmed

Each time I have gone to Baron, it has been with Ezechiel, Junior and Noel.

This time, Junior asked if we should take a few students, and though I doubted we would have any takers, we asked around.  After assuring them they could do the hike (which in the end, became slightly untrue for the youngest), we found four first year students ready to go.

We'll never go without students again, because I've never shared with them a lesson so rich.

I guess I always assume Haitians know Haiti.  Just as people here assume Americans know America...like, "Are you friends with my friend Bob?  From Wyoming?"  Uh...no.  Never been to Wyoming.  "But I thought you were American?"

But I realized Sunday that I have gone many places that most nationals have never gone.  Just as it would be bizarre for you one Sunday to hike out your door 4 hours to find a church, our students from town have mostly spent their lives in town.

The further we hiked, the more they began to complain.  

This was no drive, these roads were terrible!

This was no hill, it was a mountain!

This was no hike, it was a climb!

Surely there are no people who live up this far!  

Were we there yet?

No, seriously.  Are we there yet????

Without turning around I knew Ezechiel's response before I heard it...Just about five more minutes!

always.

Finally, unable to take any more complaints from these whippersnappers and knowing there were still many hills ahead, I casually shared with them Ezechiel's story.

"Know why Ezechiel built a school at this church?  Because his entire life as a boy, from six until he was 18 years old, he hiked down this mountain in the morning for school in the village and hiked back up in in the afternoon.  Every single day.  When he was six.

"Then, he moved to Port-au-Prince, and became a city kid, and never wanted to go to Baron again.  And then, God showed Him new life, forgiveness, freedom.  Gave Him Himself and a great burden for his family on the mountain.  For YEARS he hiked this mountain to tell his family and friends about God and not ONE PERSON converted.  Years.

 "Then finally, one day, after years, by God's grace he led his mom and dad to the Lord.  And when he hiked these very rocks, the next week, they had led a whole group to the Lord and begged him to give them more of Him.

"And that's the day he became a pastor, and now he's been giving them more EVERY week EVER since!  Can you believe that?  Isn't this path a holy path!?"

We clomped along silently for a while, thinking over the beaten path, picturing ti-Ezechiel climbing the path with his schoolbooks on his head, picturing him a man, returning without discouragement over and over, suddenly a pastor.

There was never another complaint.   Not the whole day.  The road became lovely, the burden, easy.

When we finally arrived and ducked into the newly finished school for a rest, no one could speak.  Uncomfortable, I watched these young brothers battle with their emotions.

"I didn't know," Romual finally said.  "I didn't know anybody lived like this.  I didn't know there were places like this.  I didn't know there were mountains without education.  Villages without water."

Aldy quickly agreed.  "What if a woman is having a baby, and something goes wrong, even something minor?  She would DIE.  People would just DIE from minor sickness.  I didn't know there were places with no medical care at all."

Jean, never silent, sat thinking, and finally said, "I didn't know so many people lived like this.  They have NOTHING.  Nothing."

Of course, I have felt this way over and over in Haiti.  In its mountains AND its cities.  But it had never occurred to me that fellow Haitians would feel the same way.

Ezechiel's mom, whom I'm pretty sure hasn't stopped her eyes from smiling since the day she met Jesus,  ducked in right then with a plate of boiled plantain and goat organs.  Breakfast.  They killed a goat for us, again.  

I watched as the boys struggled the struggle I have struggled many times.  This little joyful woman of the mountains had killed a goat for them.  Strangers.  Brought them water to wash their hands.  We had hiked past the closest water 30 minutes ago.  These families were so poor. 

I watched them slowly eat every last bite...because it was a love gift.  Even as it broke their hearts.

I have eaten many such meals.  But never thought my EBS family would feel the same way.  What a precious thing to share.

 How bizarre.  Bizarre and beautiful and indescribable to sit with my students, with my friends, the only foreigner within hours radius, pondering again His great love, pondering it pouring out of these many impoverished and radiant people.  Puzzling over it and finding myself more experienced with the contradictions and conflicts than the brothers around me.

How beautiful to see their eyes opened, their hearts grow, again, as I saw them grow on the road.  How beautiful and painful to hear their silence, and to fill the space with our God alone, lifting empty hands...and no answers.

When the organs were choked down it was time...someone rang a small bell, men and women and children came hiking up from all directions, and the students quickly threw together an order of worship and assigned out different parts of the service.  Moliere would pray, Noel and Aldy would lead songs, Romual, the service and Jean the pastoral prayer.  

 "Junior, please preach!" they begged.

"Why?" June asked. "That's why you have come!"

"I don't feel that we CAN," Aldy finally said.  "I am so overwhelmed.  Please, June.  I need to hear."

TWO: Overwhelmed is a really good place to be.  Eyes opened to what God sees, never to be as innocent again.  Knowing a tiny bit more of what God knows.  Receiving a bit of overwhelming, uncomfortable love.  Overwhelmed by joy, overwhelmed by pain, overwhelmed by reality. 

Whatever it is, when we are--might we beg for God and more of Him and more....and be overwhelmed by HIM, instead.