The littlest Orphan

'Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in ME.' John 14:1

My friend Jill went on a mission trip last year. When I returned from Haiti in August, I asked her how long am I going to feel so sad? So overwhelmed? So turned upside down. She said it took her months to feel like herself again. That astounded me. I thought, that's for her. I'm sure I'll be feeling back to normal in a week or two....right?

It's been 2 months...and I feel like a fish out of water. I just don't feel like I fit in. And I'm not exactly sure what that means. I just know that's how I feel right now.

Part of the process for me is purging my thoughts. So here I am this morning. Enjoying my second cup of coffee, sitting infront of the computer. I'm purging. I just hope it makes since.

It's so easy to blog about Haiti.... I feel like I am still there...
(Picking back up from my last Haiti entry.)

Day 4 of Vacation Bible School ~ Our last day with the children

'As they were walking along the road, a man said to him, "I will follow you wherever you go." ' Luke 9:57We step out of the van this morning. It's so hot here. I've literally sweat off 10 pounds this week. I feel beaten and battered. I am tired. I know that I am not here to conquer the world or fix Haiti, but being here sure does make me want to. I'm starting to understand why this trip was only for a week. It is exhausting trying to be everything to all these kids. I feel like if I were a bucket, I am pouring myself out. Completely. Until the bucket is dry. And here I am a dry bucket surrounded by warm, sweet faced, angel children. I quickly take a deep breath. How in the world am I going to fill up this bucket? I look around wondering if I can take a break real quick to regroup. It's 8 in the morning. The kids run up and swarm us. I look over at my friend. She looks the way I feel. Interesting. I guess this is how we are supposed to feel. I can't believe I already feel this way. It is God who fills me. So I pray.

'But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.' 2 Corinthians 12:9

He fills me immediately.

'We love because He first loved us.' 1 John 4:19

As a little girl, I thought my Grandmother was an angel. Literally. Except maybe the time that she popped my hiney. But before that event and after that event. She was an angel. Probably even during the hiney incident too. She wouldn't have punished me if I didn't deserve it. I KNOW I deserved it.

So as a little girl, I idolized her. She loved the 121st Psalm, so I love the 121st Psalm. I memorized it because she said it so often and with such delight. This is the Grandmother who our daughter Carlisle is named for. She loved the King James version. 'My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.' Psalm 121
We begin setting up. A man appears out of nowhere. He's very inquisitive about my camera. Am I a professional photographer? Can he borrow my camera to take pictures? I am so raw. I want to help everyone. But strangely, red flags are going up. You know. The red flag that says. Back away slowly... He is only out to get something....
I want to be kind, but I also make a note not to lay my camera down, at all, today. He tells me that he works for a photography company and that he dropped the company camera and the lens broke. I feel terrible. I want to help him. But I definitely don't trust him. I think about my extra lens back in my room. The one that I never use. The kit lens that came with my camera. An extra. I wonder if he's telling the truth. I wonder if he could use the lens. I ask him what sort of camera he shoots with. A Nikon? A Canon? He seems unsure. Later I see him scooting off on a motorbike. I know he is headed to find out what the camera is.

A few minutes later, I see Wilgens. He is the translator whose daughters were raped. He approaches me. I wish I had a video of our conversation. I don't remember his wording because it was so special and unique. He asks me, in the most formal, overly kind way, if our team will come visit his home tomorrow. I am astonished that he would want all of us over, especially considering the tragedy that he and his family are dealing with. But he is so earnest. So sincere with his desire for our team to come. I tell him that I would love to. I tell him that I will do everything I can to make it happen. I start asking the VBS team if they are interested. EVERYONE is interested. EVERYONE is so humbled that he asked us and so willing to make it happen.

(Linda dancing with the kids)

This day, the last day, inches by. I know that I may never see these children again. It makes me feel sick. I can't bear that thought. I want to see them in heaven so bad. So I ask if I can talk to the kids again while they are all assembled. We tell them more about Jesus. WHO He is. That He came to save us from our sins. That He died on the cross for you and me. That we can see one another again in HEAVEN. These children listen with every cell in their body. I must look so different to them with my pale skin and big smile. They don't just listen. They STARE. Their eyes searching. Listening. Understanding. Drinking in the experience. And, so am I.I gather some of them in my arms and pull their sweaty little bodies into my sweaty, dehydrated body. The time is now gone. It's time for us to pack up and go.

I cry. They stare. I wonder what they are thinking. I have taken this time with them so seriously. This may or may not be the only time they hear the gospel of Jesus Christ. Have I said enough? Did I pray enough? Did they feel Christ's love enough? Oh...I start to feel sick to my stomach. I want to sit. I want to run. Do I have to leave? Should I get the translator and say one more thing? But then God's word washes over me. I can't do this. Apart from Christ I am nothing. Just a girl. This is the WORK OF GOD. Not me. So, I step aside. I leave . I leave knowing that God is working in these little hearts. God has planted the seed.
Jesus said, 'I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.' John 15:5 Basically, fruit bearing is not only possible, but certain, IF the branch (us) remains in union with the vine (God). But quantity and quality is not promised. But in the life of a follower of Christ, fruit is inevitable!

The work for these children has already been done.
'He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; by his wounds you have been healed. ' 1 Peter 2:24

I duck under the blue tarp. Leaving the children behind me. I don't look back.
I lean up against an old dirty car. Moments pass. A few of my precious heart kids, whose names and faces I'll never forget, approach. I pull my sweet Wilda to me and pull her to me, against my chest. She pulls away looking astonished. She looks up at me. She then slowly places her hand on my heart. She stares at me as she feels my heart pounding out of my chest. She slowly smiles. She turns to her friend, tells her in Creole that she too needs to feel this. Her friend places her hand on my heart. They look up into my eyes. I nod and tell them in Creole that I love them. They smile. They lower their hands to their sides and stand staring at me MOTIONLESS.


'Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.' 1 John 4:7

The camera guy returns. I had searched my heart. I was willing to give him the kit lens if he needed it. Why do I need 2 when he has none. I prayed that God would take care of the details. Camera guy tells me his camera is a Nikon. I tell him my Canon lens will not work with his camera. He seems to get a little defensive and starts back peddling (all through a translator). I know I am not supposed to give away things like this. How did I even get into this situation? It seems now like true colors are coming out. He is awfully pushy. I give a friend the 'help-me-now' eye. She comes over. I doubt he works for a camera company. I feel foolish. I just wanted to help. Now I am certain that giving this guy a lens won't help. I am starting to understand a little more of the rules of mission travel. How did I so quickly forget the rules? Don't give anything away. He had approached me and made me feel like I was responsible for his camera problem. I firmly tell him the answer is no. I don't feel mean. I don't feel wrong. I know in my heart that I made the right decision. The construction team is finishing up. They all gather for a picture. Wick gives his hammer over to the hardest worker I have ever seen.
***(The next paragraph is an exerpt from the blog of another Haitian team member, Alice.)
His name is Robinson and from the moment he showed up on our job sight he had my heart. He works harder than any person here. I truly believe that if it weren't for the lack of nails he would have continued to work through the pouring rain. The only time he took a break was when Wick or I forced him to drink "bag water."Even now while the rest of us are taking a break, he is still hammering, bare feet, sweat-soaked shirt, soulful eyes. The only time he speaks is to ask for more nails or to say thank you. He watches Wick's every move. Every swing of the hammer. Every step. He doesn't ask questions. He just watches and he never smiles. I wish I could tell you his life story. I wish I knew his wife's name. I wish I could tell you that his life belongs to Jesus. What I do know is that this man served, asking for nothing and expecting nothing. And in his own quiet way impacted not just me, but many of us. His name is Robinson and somewhere in Haiti he will always have my heart. ***
Someone rounds up the orphans and puts them all against the wall of an old building. They stand there. I hurt for them. I snap a picture, then feel guilty for taking their picture. I can't imagine what they deal with. I'm told that church families have taken some of them in. But I have also learned not to trust what I am told.
I ask the pastor of the local church if I can give the orphans something. He says yes. My girls and I had gone through their playroom the week before I left. We set aside things for me to take to Haiti. It wasn't much. I few necklaces. Toys. A few dresses. A pair of shoes. We didn't know then, but God knew. Just who these items would go to. These orphans. These orphans standing uncomfortably against the wall. The dresses were the right size for a few of the girls. The littlest orphan is just about Carlisle's size. I give her a dress and shoes. She puts the shoes on immediately. Did she even have shoes on before?
The week before I left ,the girls argued over a little pink bear. Brian decided enough was enough. He instituted a new rule. If you argue over a toy, he takes it away. It's gone forever. To the trash. To the Goodwill. But you never get it back. So, sometime the week before I left, they argued about a little pink bear. I can still see them in my mind. One on one side of the bear, one on the other side. Both, steady tugging. I took it. They cried. I wanted them to feel the sting. THEY DID. I put it in my luggage. They don't fight over toys like they used to. Now, I can go days and days without hearing them squabbling over a toy.

I prayed before I left that I would find just the right little girl or boy to give it to. Well, here she is, in the flesh. She has NO mother. She has NO father. She has nothing. She's a precious little girl. I squat down. I extend the pink bear toward her. She looks at it. At me. I cry with how happy she is. She flashes the most gleeful, darling smile. Then she reaches out her hand. She takes her pink bear and squeezes it into her little body. She hugs it and smiles. PURE joy. I can't even see what's going on. My eyes are full of tears. I'm hoping that someone takes a picture of these moments. I can't wait to show my girls.

The construction team finishes their work. We pile into the old, squeaky van and head back to the room. During lunch, the rain begins to fall. Victoria and I finish lunch and go and stand in the middle of it all. I feel the Haitians watching us. Wondering. How cool that God gave us this rain on this day. A cleansing. A release. It is just what I need. And of course, God knew that. We are both crying. And the rain comes down. We are both overwhelmed. And the rain comes down. I need the wash. I need the rain. I need the cleansing. I know that the rain is symbolic.


'Let my teaching fall like rain and my words descend like dew, like showers on new grass, like abundant rain on tender plants.' Deuteronomy 32:2

Marching in Trash

More exerpts from my Haiti journal...

Praising and praying is how we drove in this morning. The wild road that we have traveled to and from the church is under construction this morning and there's a detour. I'm glad to have a new route to see. Our van squeeks over a big dirt pile as we jig over to the left. The detour just happens to lead us on a journey down the most incredibly nutso road I've ever traveled on. A road where out our left window is sheer paradise...Blue water that looks like what we'll see in heaven. 'He has made everything beautiful in his time. Eclessestes 3:11
I'm so relieved I brought my big camera to Haiti...to capture this. But even then, this place is soooo hard to capture through a lens, even with a good camera. But I try.And out the right window, a man peeing on the sidewalk, and the worst slums you can possibly imagine. A boy comes out of the ocean naked. Just done with his morning bath. We drive on. A few feet later, a man dumps a pan of bathroom waste into that same water.
As we drive, they stare at us. And we stare right back. Clearly, two worlds apart. We stop for motorcycles to whiz by, or for a goat to run across the road. As we do, we are sometimes inches from these Haitian men and women, strangers passing by. Maybe on their way to collect water, find food for their family, or for 10% of people in Haiti, going to work. I can't always tell where they are going. but they are going. They all seems to be in motion. Walking. Walking. Endlessly walking. We pull down the road that leads to the church and to day 2 of VBS. So much awaits us. So much for God to teach us. 'Father, what do you want me to learn today? I'm yours.'
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It's been 3 days since we arrived here in Haiti. It was three days ago that we left the airport. Brandi and I were riding in the front seat on our trip from the airport. We went through big towns, small towns on our way to St. Marc. In one of those towns along the way, we saw a Mother carrying a baby. It's hot, she looks desperate. Brandi, who was sitting in the middle of the front seat, reaches across me to hand the desperate Mama her half drank water bottle. The Mama immediately lifts the bottle to the babies mouth and gives her some cool water. Before we know it, the van starts moving again and the Mama and baby are just another face behind us in the crowd.
Wick leads us in team devotion and prayer, which I video on my iPhone. We are literally standing in a pile of garbage. But this is nothing new. There is garbage EVERYWHERE. Greg says this is way better than it used to be years ago. They now have a garbage removal system. I think I can't imagine it being worse. There is trash on the road, in the gutter, in the church, around the church, the kids play in it...
Victoria keeps saying that everything here is opposites. I'm starting to get it. She's right. As I'm videoing on my cool new iPhone, the men behind Wick are pushing a huge truck up the hill. Away. Away from us. Away from this pile of trash that we are standing in. Away to whatever is next in their day. We start setting up and the kids start arriving.
They come in packs.
Cute little girls and their friends.
Boys and their buddies.
These children are starved for love.
Wilda, the prettiest little girl. Eyelashes so long they touch her eyelids. Chocolate eyes that smile and dance. A little mischief and a lot darling.
They love fist bumps and high fives. They love to laugh. This morning, we start with songs. We act nuts and they smile and eat us up with their eyes. We sing Baby Shark. They watch and mimic. I turn on the Chicken Dance and stand in the middle of the huge mass of children. I crouch down inbetween all the kids and hold the speaker above my head. I watch as our team leads them in singing and dancing. Glad to see it from the kids perspective. This IS so great. I feel like a big kid.
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It gives me a minute to take it all in. I imagine seeing this scene from a birds eye view. Like a Google satellite map. The one that allows you to plug in an address and go from seeing it from a satellite. You see the country, zoom in to the state, zoom in the city, the neighborhood and finally the house.
I see a large island in the Atlantic ocean...it's Haiti, zoom in. A large town ...St Marc, zoom in. A slummy area with broken down homes and broken down cars, zoom in. A dirt and trash road, zoom in. A building...it's a church. It has no roof. There's a small blue tarp beside it. And under the blue tarp a couple of people from SC and lots and lots of sweet Haitian kids.

But what is happening under this blue tarp is supernatural. God is changing lives. God is changing ME.This little girl showed up today. Her right foot mangled. She's here. No mother around. I hold her. Her foot looks wierd. She hobbles on it. But she can walk. I wonder if it hurts every step. She's wearing jelly shoes that, while cute, CAN'T be comfortable. I wonder if she told her mother that.

She's being cared for by two little girls. Twins. They hold her hand. One on one side, one on the other.

I ask my sweet translator Kally to ask her what happened to her leg.

Kally asks her.

No response.

I ask Kally to ask the twins what happened. She asks the little twins.

No response.

I ask the girls if this is their sister.

They shake their head, no.

I ask the translator to see if the mother is around.

She is.

Me: 'Please ask the Mother what happened.'

So she does.

They talk.

Back and forth.

For a few minutes.

I listen.

And wait.

I'm holding this little girl.

I just know, in my heart, that this is preventable.

IF she lived in the States.

The translator is nodding. Saying 'ok...(nodding)..ok.'

She comes back over to me.

.
Kally: 'She says she fell.'

Me: 'Who fell?...The baby or the Mama?'

Kally: 'The Mama fell. When she was pregnant, she fell.'

Me: 'So the baby was born with it? Like a birth defect?'

Kally: 'Yes. Right. The Mama said the baby fell and broke it.'

.

I feel like crying. Why can't I just get the details? Who fell? I want to ask again the details. Do they matter? I think they do. I know God cares for the details. 'Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds!' Luke 12:24This girl has a injury, birth defect or something. I will never know. I pray for her and a little later she's gone. I never saw her again.

We break into two groups.
Half the kids stay under the tarp. They are coloring, doing Salvation bracelets and other crafts. The other half come into the sun with Victoria and me for dancing, singing and game time. Then after 45 minutes or so, we switch and have the other half.
At least...that was the plan...
We do Ring around the Rosies, total challenge when you don't speak the language. We do Evelyn's favorite, the Dinosaur stomp song. They like that one. They do the Haitian song where you shake your bootie over a plate. They laugh and love that one. They can't get close enough to me. Literally.
My soaking wet, sweaty pink shirt is stretched out by a few inches from them hanging on it. Victoria and I play in the sun with the kids until we can't do it anymore. It's been over an hour and we need some shade. I think to myself, teaching bootcamp is NOTHING compared to swimming in sweat with 100 love-starved children.
We decide to find shade. At this point, we have to find shade.
So, we march.
Like a sweaty, Haitian congo line.

A line of kids, with hands on the persons shoulder infront of them, seems to work well. Keeps them focused and orderly. Because it can get really out of control.
So we march.
Victoria has a slew of sweaty ones, I have the other sweaty group.
We are singing and dancing as we march.
I am dehydrated.
I am overextended.

I am overwhelmed.
They EACH require more love than I have to give.
So, I smile at one.

Touch the head of another.
Cup anothers chin in my hand.
It's actually like opening a bag of really salty chips. Having one only makes you want to have another and another until you are shoveling the chips into your mouth unabashedly.
The kids are that way.
I touch one on the head.
There's another.

I touch her.
Hug him.

Fist bump her.

Then him.

Then I am completely swarmed and engulfed.
I'm glad I'm tall.
My soul is so connected to these kids...without even consciously knowing I'm doing it, I let each these little sweet ones into my heart.
I feel my heart stretchingggg so bigggg.

We march into the filthy pile of disgusting half burnt trash.'Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.' Matthew 5:6When I came to Haiti, I was so clean.

My clothes were clean.

My hair was clean.

My phone was clean.
My shoes.
My luggage.
My backpack.
All clean.
And now...
Just mere days later, I am standing in a big pile of trash that I never in a million years would have stepped in. Much less looked at....or taken a line of kids through.
But here we are.

Stomping, clapping and singing in this pile of trash.
'Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth.' Psalm 100:1
It is the only way to the shade. And shade was what we HAVE to have. An escape from the harsh brutality of one of the Haitians worst enemies, the sun.
Kally teaches us a song in this trash pile, '...From Cross to Cross....my Jesus is the best....my Jesus is the best...'Over and over we sing this song in the trash.
Everything here feels spiritual.
Everything here IS spiritual.
There's nothing else.
There's just a big bunch of kids SURVIVING.
We're all dehydrated.
No one ever goes to the bathroom.
Not me.
Not the team.
Not the children.

No one.
It's hot.
So we are stomping.
We're clapping.

We're singing...'...From Cross to Cross....my Jesus is the best....my Jesus is the best...'

In the trash.
We're dirty.
The dirt sticks better when you're sweaty.
It's brown, black, grey.
The children study me so carefully that they wipe my dirty arms. They can see my dirt because I am so white.
The dirt shows up on me.
But, they want it OFF.

It's a mess.
I'M a mess.

Covered.
In my sweat.
In their sweat.
It's just a mess here. Their stories break my heart. I see their outward scars. Scars on heads, cheeks...Broken feet. Pain shoots from their eyes.
Sometimes the sadness seems almost unbearable, the problems unsolvable, the wounds unhealable.
But, I will keep trying anyway.

This I know...
Jesus rose from the dead.
His resurrection is real!
Light can pierce darkness.
God is eternal.
I may never see the end of horrendous situations in Haiti, so instead of trying to fix the situation here and now, I remember what Brian said...
'Jennie, It doesn't matter if you have the right clothes, shoes and supplies for your trip. You need your passport. And to remember two things, and two things only.
1) Tell them about Jesus.

2) And, SHOW them about Jesus.'
So, I focus on helping these children come to Heaven with me. It's all about my humble king.

'Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere.' Psalm 84:10I tell them I want to see them again. And that we can one day say together, 'Death and sadness have been swallowed up in a victory. Oh Death, where is your victory? Death where is your sting?' 1 Corinthians 15:54-55
Jesus Christ has overcome trash.
Mess.
Scars.
Sin.
This world.

Fear.

Even death.

More to come...

Out the van window...

This was a typical street in St Marc looking out from our squeeky van.

No water

Day 1 of VBSBehind the walls of this hotel compound, we live, laugh, shower, eat...it almost, just almost, feels like summer camp. Except, we use bottled water to brush our teeth and eat fried goat. A rooster wakes us up with a cock-a-doodle-do. It's like the movie Dirty Dancing. There are no hammocks and line dance classes. But there is one long table and chairs to sit in. Every meal is eaten outside on the veranda. Breakfast this morning was spagetti noodles, eggs with ham, avacado, banana...and there's always a jar of peanut butter.

But once you leave the walls of this compound, another world exists. One of survival. One of the eternal search for water and an escape from the heat. We all climb into the old, cracked-seat, dirty van and slide the windows open. The manual transmission van jerks to a start and we coast through the gate of the compound. Leaving our comfortable hotel and 'luxury' behind. We head to the children to day one of Vacation Bible School.

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We make the 15 minute drive to the church/work site. But the drive is a National Geographic article. Women walking with baskets on their heads that must weigh as much as my two-year-old. A child brushes her teeth standing on the dusty, rocky ground at the edge of the road. Motorcycles packed with so many people that the tires are weighed down and their feet drag the ground. I chuckle to myself that we are in the HOV lane, like Atlanta traffic. Every truck is filled with anywhere from 10-25 people. They are literally hanging on for dear life. At least I think I would be. They appear to be clinging on, without much thought. I suppose this is how they have traveled all their lives. The dust swirls around us and the uneven road goes on forever....no lanes, no lights, no lines, no shoulder....just pot holes, rock piles and road construction.

We pull up to the job site. No kids. No tent. Hmmmm.

We've been told not to underestimate the Haitian people.

So, I don't.

Sure enough...out of the back alleys...around corners come huge logs and men with shovels. They dig deep holes and raise the logs. They fasten tarp to the logs, creating a place of shade. They even give us 2 tarp walls. Our 'VBS room' was constructed in no time, and with absolutely no problem. I feel so happy to have the shade.

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Children start arriving. They flip-flip-flip over the silly bands! They've never seen them before, but they freak over them. Me and the VBS team had a couple dozen on each arm. It may have been the best thing we could have ever done. It immediately broke the ice with the kids. They swarmed us. Some were patient, most WEREN'T. I would put a silly band on one arm and they'd stick out the other. I was so focused on taking the silly bands off of me and putting them on one of the 34 arms that were 2 inches from me...it took me a while to see the little stinkers with an arm with 5 or 6 bands on it behind their back as they extended the other bare arm for me to see.

These children LOVE love. Just like my children. They want to be talked to. They want to be touched. And they want to touch. When you ask their name in Creole, they answer very formally, very seriously and very quickly. But they give you their entire full name. First, middle, last....which sounds a bit like an enormous amount of letters, syllabuls and words. I lean in. A name. I want to get it.

'The man who enters by the gate is the shepherd of his sheep. The watchman opens the gate for him, and the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.' John 10:2-3

As soon as they understand my name, they call to me. 'Jhen Kneeee' and when I turn to them, they smile and begin to talk to me in French Creole. I don't know what they are saying. So at first we are timid. Them and me. We use body language. I rub them. I pat them. Fist bump them. I touch their faces. I melt when I look in their soft brown eyes. They laugh. I laugh. I pray, 'Break my heart Lord for what breaks your heart.' But strangely, I don't think this is it. Here it seems, the Lord sees a group of dirty, hungry, sweet, precious children.
I am so grateful to be in their presense.
To hug them, touch them. Hold their hands.
They giggle at me and smile a smile I don't know if I've ever seen before...It is a smile of complete childlike joy.
'Perfect love casts out fear.' 1 John 4:18I think it's a face I saw once, when Carlisle was 3-years-old and we were at Disney. But the object of her affection was something not-real. A fake princess.
'And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.' Colossians 3:14

My darling sweet one, Wilda. I'm starting to get it. God didn't put me in Haiti to do anything BUT show God's love.
'We love because he first loved us.' 1 John 4:19

And so, I do.
And do.

And do.
Sometimes we are under the tarp, but with little breeze and 200 kids in an area smaller than my living room, it's HOTTER than HOT.

I sweat through my shirt and then sweat more. The sweat here is in motion. It rolls and rolls. There is no water. Today, somehow, our cooler full of bottled ice water has disappeared and we are all fading fast.

We dance with them. I laugh. They laugh. We dance somemore. Shaking your booty appears to be funny in every language. I brought my iPhone full of songs and a speaker so that I can blast the music. It's not really loud enough for a couple hundred kids and I forget to take it off the setting 'shake to shuffle'. So, as I'm dancing, it's switching songs. I turn it off and we just dance. I teach them Evelyn's favorite dancing song, We are the Dinosaurs. They teach us some song where you dance around a paper plate on the ground. We have NO clue what we are doing, but we are doing. They smile. They crowd around us. I think I want to stay here a month. I wonder why this trip is only for a week. I have a girl crush on our translator, Kally.
She's a dancing, translating, kid hugging, smiling, laughing, SWEATING machine. She clearly feels about the kids the way I do. She's saucy. Like a saucy, Haitian, 24-year-old Evelyn. She loves the Lord. And the girl can DANCE.The sun has become my source of constant reminder of how life here is SO VERY VERY simple. Stay out of it.

Find water.

Somehow I manage to uncling the 19 little ones who have slung themselves over my arms, legs, waist, clinging to my shirt, pants, holding my hands...making it near impossible to walk. I go next door to the church /construction site. I stop inbetween two 2x4's and breathe. It's so hot... I seriously am about to pass-out. I fake a smile and hope that someone has found water or gone to get some. We've been playing in the sun with the kids for hours now...I ask the construction team if they have any water.

No.

There's 1/4 of hot coke left in the bottom of a random bottle sitting on the ground.
I ask them if I could please drink it.
I don't wonder whose it is. I don't ask. And I don't care. It's hot.

But it's wet.

I take a sip.

I ask those around if anyone wants the rest, or can I finish it. They don't. I drink it all the way down.
When I walk back over to our new blue tarp home, I feel terrible.
Terrible that I can sneak somewhere and sip a drink. Even a hot drink.
Terrible that I don't have enough to share. All of a sudden I want Jesus here. To break the loaves and the fishes and feed our little 5000. But of course, Jesus IS here. Message from Brian: Evelyn's prayer for you this morning, "Dear God, thank you for Mommy and that she go, and that she help the mommys and daddy's that don't have brothers." Maybe she's a little off on her details...but she's got the jist.

We do arts and crafts. Each child gets a visor, and a plate with the words 'Jesi remman ou' on it. 'Jesus loves you.' And stickers to decorate it. We hand out coloring sheets. They DIG coloring. And, they are incredibly good at it. I notice that the older teenagers really get into the coloring...

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Linda shares her heart and love of Christ with the children and gives an 'invitation'. That, if they do not know Jesus as their Lord and Savior, but would like to, come forward. Not one or two jump up and come forward, like 40 come. The language barrier is tough with only 3 translators.
Jesus prays in the book of John for all believers...'Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am, and to see my glory, the glory you have given me because you loved me before the creation of the world.' John 17:24

I agree Jesus! I want these little Haitian sweet ones in heaven. I want to say in heaven, 'I know you! I remember you! We met in Haiti.'
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I stoop and talk to the children that have come forward. I kneel right there in the dirt. I tell them that Jesus loves them. That God sent Jesus to save them from their sins. Victoria tells them we are here because we love you. They are in the dirt with us. Sitting. Listening. I wish I knew what they are thinking about us gringos.

The little baby girl from church. I am rethinking her age. I remember Brian saying that because of malnutrition, they are much smaller than American children. Maybe she's two. I pick her up, she's SOLID. She actually weighs more than my almost 3 year-old.

The men of the church are STERN. If the kids get out of line, they whip their belt off of their pants. It works...the kids listen.

Brian leaves me a message on Facebook today: 'Jennie my love! It's me Bri! I saw your posts and my eyes filled with tears. A slew of emotions ran through me, but the biggest of them all was "now she knows!" Now she knows what those children are like. Now she knows those orphan's faces. Now she knows why Jesus and His commands to serve and help the poor have changed me so much. Now she knows what ture poverty is. Soak it up baby. You are about to be changed forever. Dont ever forget the faces of those little girls there. Watch how they worship. Your babies are great! I am really enjoying this time with them. Crazy baths, water fights, tickle fights, and a few small "accidents". We are great, but we miss you badly.

More to come...