Marcio is a young man with a lot of passion for life and was on staff with us for 3 months. One day it was raining those torrential tropical rains that Haiti gets, so he got some people, pulled out a couple of spare tarps, laid them out on our concrete driveway, and with some soap suds in the mix there was a gargantuan slip and slide in Haiti. After a little bit, Marcio had to attempt the surfing move and, with a running start, stayed standing all the way down the slide - until he had a good amount of speed, lost his footing, and landed on his head hard enough to temporarily lose vision in one eye.
So there I am an hour later at the field hospital with him and Troy, sitting in the trauma/E.R. tent which pretty much consists of 3 beds, 3 medical volunteers, and a lot of donated supplies of varying sizes and brands. Marcio got checked out, they put an I.V. in him, and we're waiting on the liquid to get into his body. Suddenly someone comes in saying they have 10 or so car accident victims with them, most of them bleeding and hurt badly. Now, in a situation like this at home, this is a problem for someone else, someone qualified, medical types and their hospital system. Not in Haiti. In Haiti you're all in it together. You move the unable out of the way and grab whatever able bodied people you can until someone more qualified does show up. So there's Mark - he hates hospitals, he's edgy about needles and I.V.s, and other than knowing you put pressure on gunshot wounds from watching too many action movies, he doesn't know a flippin' thing about making blood and bones stay in their rightful places. But he's got a pulse, he can probably follow directions, so guess who gets recruited for medical duty?
Now, all I did was unpack a few I.V. nozzle thingys from their plastic wrap and attach them to some tube type thingys after unpacking them too (you can tell by my medical jargon how much skill I picked up in those 4 minutes). Really, it was like unwrapping a few McDonald's happy meal toys, and before the blood and adrenaline showed up more doctors arrived and Troy and I were asked to make some space. But when that doctor looked at us and said 'Give me a hand over here,' I didn't know what was coming next or if that request for help was going to extend to when the bleeding people would inevitably get carted in. I thought I was about to be in one of those trauma scenes in one of those medical shows I hate - you know, where there's quick camera movements, and cutting off clothing to figure out where the wound is, and lights shone in the eyes, and a bunch of numbers being called around the room you're supposed to make sense of but really it's a trick cause all you understand is that when they say it quickly and tensely it's bad and if they say it with a sigh of relief it's good - the scene that, if I've been conned into watching the show, is my cue get up and refill my popcorn bowl BECAUSE THEY'RE ALWAYS STICKING NEEDLES IN PEOPLE OR CUTTING THEM OPEN! Why are these shows so popular?
So anyway, that possibility is going through my head, and yet it's not with the edgy feeling or deep loathing I get when watching those shows, it's simply looking at what needs doing. It was entirely a 'this might come next, just so you're not surprised' kinda thing, and the other side of my brain goes 'Ok, cool, thanks for the heads up, we're ready for it.' I'm thining this way because, at this point, I'm ready to just do anything, since EVERYTHING happens in Haiti and you just do a little piece of it all. You might bandage small wounds, move rubble, cast out a demon, design a roof, learn how an I.V. goes together, preach to a few hundred people, re-wire a house to the city power grid, baptize someone, teach kids a song in the street, and/or learn the signs of a concussion and how to check someone for them every hour throughout a night...I'd say that describes an average week in Haiti. In fact, that could have been one of my lighter weeks in Haiti. It doesn't matter if you're 'qualified' for a task or if you came to Haiti to do it, by the end of it you will be qualified and it turns out that is one of the reasons you came to Haiti, you just didn't know it. That's the beauty of how God works.
Benny, one of our field directors, gave me this tid-bit: In 1st Samuel there's a little passage about Hannah, Samuel's mother, seeing him just once a year when she'd come to give her annual sacrifice at the temple, and that every year she'd bring him a new robe. Just one. Now I'm no parent, but I do know that kids grow a LOT in a year, so if Hannah is giving Samuel one robe to last a year he's going to be swimming in it when he gets it. Sleeves need rolling up, wrap that belt an extra time around the waist, you get the picture. At some point in the coming months it will start fitting nicely though, get comfortable and easy to wear. Probably, then, by the time she comes back next year, the thing is getting rather snug, even restrictive. As we grow in our walk with Christ we're constantly getting new robes - new ministries, new rolls, new seasons to take us through more spiritual formation. At first it's unfamiliar, too big, clumsy, and it even causes us to trip up a little; you get used to it though, it shapes you and grows you into new areas of faith and then you're running with it, moving freely and naturally, finding the fullness of life and guiding others in it; eventually though, you've outgrown what was - that old roll may even feel a little restrictive as you feel the coming of the next steps, the new phase or season of life where what was once new and big becomes just a natural part of something even bigger - a new robe from your Father. I think we sell ourselves short by not taking on new stuff we think isn't 'what we do' a lot of times. So...don't avoid it just because it's too big for you - it won't be by the end.
Some of you may have heard the rumor that I am now back in Canada after 4 months in Haiti. Well, it's true, I am. However, due to the severe lack of posts on my part, I hope to fill in more of the blanks from the last few months before talking about what I'm doing next, so hopefully there will continue to be stories from my time in Haiti on here for the next little bit as I catch you up. To start, here is a video with two very special people on it - Steve Parliament and Jen Lempke - talking about what Haiti has done to them (and a short background cameo by me, see if you can spot it!). They were on the first 1 week team I led, starting my second day in Haiti, and returned for a second trip which ended the day before I flew home. Spending time with them was a great way to both start and finish my time in Haiti, and they talk just a little about the heart behind their return. Here it is:
Have you ever been so hungry you couldn't eat? Most of us would say no and would even doubt it possible. The natural reaction to hunger is to eat, so it makes sense that when really hungry, we would want even more. I learned recently that's not always the case.
A team that was here was walking home from ministry one day and went past a young man they thought was dead, so lifeless was his frail body, lying in the street one morning. Hours later, upon discovering he was actually still alive (though barely), the team prayed for him while offering water and food. He refused both, and didn't make any sense in anything he said, unable to even give his name consistently (Taiwan and Davidsba are just 2 of the names he has claimed, and I go by Davidsba). They got a staff member to bring him back to the base, which is where I saw him for the first time - he was skinnier than a holocaust victim from Schindler's List, covered in gray muck, and mostly just staring in one direction not responding to anything around him. He wore only a filthy pair of purple track pants he must've been wearing for months, and the shape of every bone in his body was clearly outlined against a thin layer of skin and nothing more. In 100 degree weather he was ice cold to the touch.
I took him to the hospital with a couple of translators - he was very skittish so we couldn't get him to move from the bed of the truck into the cab and it was starting to rain, so we covered him in a tarp to keep him dry. When I got to the hospital I felt like I was uncovering the carcass of an animal as I pulled the tarp off him. Once in the medical tent and many attempts with a needle they had an IV in him getting him some fluid. Once he was getting that, he fell asleep and I prayed over him for a solid hour or more. He was (obviously) very malnourished, but the hospital couldn't do more than fill him with fluids and glucose, so the final questions loomed - What can we do for him? Where do we take him?
After some praying and deliberation we decided that taking him to an orphanage run by a pastor that also happens to be a doctor would be the best option, and the pastor agreed to take him in. We took Davidsba from the hospital to the orphanage, talked to the pastor, and opened the door to let Davidsba out of the truck (he'd gotten inside after the hospital). He took one look at the orphanage and the pastor and all the children waiting at the gate, then with a determination and singleness of thought we hadn't seen him express he turned and marched down the street away from the orphanage.
I was very aware that I couldn't force him against his will to enter, to eat, to drink, or to trust. Grabbing him by the arm and forcing him to go would only mean he'd try to leave again. The translators were following him, trying to convince him with words that this was a good place. I did the only thing I could think to do - I jogged out in front of him, and as he tried to push past me I just put my arms around him and held him in place. I could feel him pushing against me with what little strength he had - at one point in his life I think he would've been able to knock me aside with ease but his own body had eaten away all his muscle. I could feel the bones of his chest pressing against my own, but I could also sense the pause in him as I held him. He was pushing, but not fighting. I began saying simple words to him - food, home, safe - and the translators did the same. And in that moment I knew the struggle within him was one we all face - our natural self hungers just as greatly for God as his body hungered for food, but somewhere along the line, after looking to the wrong things to fill the hunger for so long, we convince ourselves we don't need it or that it's not available. So when it's offered we run the other way. We fight what is good for us, fight to not be cared for, fight to hold on to the death we're destined for. God won't force us to sit and eat because we'd rebel all the more if He did. But while we are still fighting against Him He holds us and speaks words of truth to us until we choose to take the smallest of chances that maybe what He says is right. I realized his physical destitution is the same as our spiritual destitution.
Davidsba eventually relented, returned to the orphanage, and when I left that night he was mechanically lifting spoonful after spoonful of rice and beans to his mouth. He still can't communicate, and often doesn't comprehend what's going on, but he's getting prayer and food. Please pray for him, he has a long road to recovery ahead.
This is a video about a boy we nick-named invincible after some initial difficulty in repeating his name. It's also apt, as you will see there is no way someone with his physique should have survived a house collapsing on him. They found him a couple of days later when they lifted a piece of the roof and he was laying beneath it, relatively unscathed. Here's a little piece of his story:
It's been nearly 2 months since I last wrote on here, and mainly due to just having so much going on that I haven't found the time. Since I have dozens of stories I'd like to share with you, I'm just gonna try to tell a bunch of them at once in the most succinct way I can think of. I can't believe I only have a few weeks left here. I won't lie, I want to stay. There are a lot of changes happening, and leaving in the middle of them is hard. Of course, I have commitments at home, so I'm seeking God's will. More on that later, but be in prayer for that decision please.
This one time, in Haiti, a huge earthquake happened when God said enough is enough, I'm calling my people back to me. And by the tens and hundreds of thousands they responded, rejoicing that their God had never left them even in their transgressions.
This one time, in Haiti, I had a 10 year old kid helping me hammer some trusses together. He could do it faster and better than most framers I've worked with, and I've worked with good framers.
This one morning, in Haiti, most of the staff had a serious case of the runs and one of the guys was telling me how he woke up from a dead sleep the middle of the night and had to bolt for the bathroom. I replied that I'd had the same experience...except the part where I woke up. We then discussed what was better - getting the sleep, or not crapping yourself in the night like a 2 year old.
All the time, in Haiti, I'm actually so busy I only wind up taking a shower when I realize I can't remember the last time I did so.
This one time, in Haiti, I woke up in the middle of a 4.0, and waited for it to get a little more intense before running. It remained a constant, and I decided instead of losing sleep during those I'd leave it to God to tell me when to run and not fear it. If He brought me here to bring a building down on my head in the night and somehow be glorified through that, I'm ok with it. Slept right through most tremors since.
This one time, in Haiti, I drove past a guy lying dead in the street. No one was even looking twice at him, he was just another thing on the ground. He'd been there 4 hours. It's an image I'll never get out of my head.
This one time, in Haiti, I met a 12 year old boy at an orphanage that, at age 8, was sentenced to death by the government for the murders he'd committed of all his father's kidnap victims whose families didn't pay up. God rescued him.
This one time, in Haiti, I had that boy pray over me. I can only describe it as he prays like a prophet. His little hand on the back of my head reminded me how small a yes God uses to bring His peace, love, and joy.
This one time, in Haiti, there was a boy that had been in the fetal position for 15 years. We prayed all week, then baptized him, and he crawled for the first time the next day. His laugh is one of pure joy now.
This one time, in Haiti, my back had been bothering me for months. We prayed. Hasn't hurt since.
This one time, in Haiti, I heard the most haunting sound I'll ever hear - a whole city crying out in fear and pain with a single voice made of many. I hear it every time there's a tremor.
Last week, in Haiti, I visited a tent community with 575 tents in it that were still only covered by bed sheets. It's the rainy season. It would take $16000 just to get enough tarps together for them. I felt helpless. Writing that made me cry.
This one time, in Haiti, I had 100 children crowd around to thank me and say 'God bless you' over an over again after I helped drop off a measly few days worth of food. I cried then too.
This one time, in Haiti, we had half as many bags of beans with which to match the amount of rice we were dividing into family portions - the price of beans had doubled and there was a shortage. We prayed. After dividing all the food, we had portioned out more beans than normal and we still had left overs.
This one time, in Haiti, I asked a young man who it was that had taught him scripture so thoroughly. He replied that God had - for as long as he could remember the Spirit would visit him in his dreams and tutor him in the word, long before he ever had a bible.
This one time, in Haiti...no, all the time, in Haiti, church services become an undignified, completely abandoned dance party of worship before the throne of our King. We don't worship at home, we sing. Here they worship.
Most of the time, in Haiti, I can stand on our balcony and listen to the praises of Jesus echoing from every direction as different churches shout them out from where they are worshiping.
This one time, in Haiti, we had so many people coming to us for prayer in a tent community that a helicopter called in our location, thinking we were a dangerous mob. We learned this when a multinational UN security force and local police all showed up, guns ready. We got to pray for some of them too.
This one time, in Haiti, I was talking to a man who hadn't sold anything that he made for a week and was starving. He asked us, with complete and firm faith, for prayer because prayer was better and more important than food to him.
All the time, in Haiti, I get humbled by people just like that, because they get it more than anyone I've ever known. Especially me.
This one time, in Haiti, there was this massive earthquake and the nations of the world came to help those in need - only to discover they, and not Haiti, were the ones lacking everything that mattered and in need of what God is doing here. They are, one by one, taking it home to their own people that more may come and know, that THE church may come together as one, giving all they have both physical and spiritual to one another that the body of Christ may truly become the bride that calls to Him.
Yesterday I gave a basic starting point for listening prayer as an individual. Today I want to take you deeper and push you into something you probably won't be comfortable with at first. But I'm telling you, if you dive into this, you'll never look back. As I said yesterday, this takes a little practice to get used to, tuning ourselves to the movements of the spirit. What I didn't mention is it also takes being around and submission to other believers that can do this in fellowship with you (the 'do other believers confirm it' step). That's right, your walk with God requires other people.
Get together with someone that wants to give this a shot. More is better, just split into pairs or 3s. Pray over your time as I described yesterday, only this time you're asking God what He's saying to the person in front of you. Then just be silent, wait for that word or picture or physical need to come. When it does, voice it, ask if it means anything to them if it isn't self explanatory, and if it brings up more questions just keep going. Switch roles: wash, rinse, repeat. You'll be blown away by what He does when 2 or more gather to hear Him - I've had people break down weeping at the mention of joy and receive amazing healing from knowing that God is in a situation that refers to. You're not just asking for answers to questions here, you're asking for what God is saying, and it might be encouragement, it might be identity, it might be calling, it might be rebuke, it might be healing. Sometimes it's all of those wrapped up in a single word.
This is great training as (hopefully) you've got grace for one another and know that if you say something right out of left field they'll let you know without any judgement. Now, I do this with groups of people that have never met before, and that makes it so much clearer to the recipients that it's God speaking and not the person in front of them, but it may not be an environment you can replicate. No worries, God is faithful.
Don't be discouraged if you really just get a blank. Nothing is wrong with simply praying with someone. Just be real with yourself, don't hide behind that excuse because what you heard just seemed weird, or you were impatient when you couldn't put into words what was being said and gave up instead of waiting for clarity. And remember to check everything - does it exalt Christ, does it line up with scripture, do other believers confirm it, does it produce good fruit, does God bring it to pass. Share your stories here if you'd like, and any questions, I'd love to hear how this goes - I've never tried just teaching this via blog, and it's disarming as I feel the need to be there to kind of guide through all the variables that can come up. Praying and trusting God in it, asking for great things for all of you.
On my Desensitized blog Rebecca asked for some depth on the discipline of listening to God, and so I want to take a stab at that. Let me preface by saying I'm just putting up how I teach this to teams and this is not the end all be all of how God works and speaks, but is a great introduction
Firstly, recognize that there are many things vying for our attention, and in my experience those that take the longest to learn to hear the Spirit are those that simply need to spend time learning to quiet those extra voices. We break it down into 4 categories - the flesh, the world, the enemy, and the Spirit. The flesh is obvious, when we try to still ourselves to hear, our imaginations can fill the void rather relentlessly. The world is the preconceptions of what is good for us. What we've been trained to think of as success or the way to provide that is actually not centered on God, along with all those 'to do list' things that pop up when we stop moving. The voice of the enemy I'm sure needs no explanation, as it usually sounds like the first two with some lies thrown in the mix.
Then there's the goal, the voice of the Spirit. So whenever I'm trying to listen I start off by asking God to silence each of the other three in turn - giving Him my own thoughts and asking that He help me silence them; giving Him my to do list and trusting that it will be looked after as I am in faith giving Him this time; and asking that God would jealously guard my mind in this time from the enemy and his lies. In addition to these things, I ask if there is any sin in me that needs confessing. While sin does not keep us from speaking with God, it has a way of muddying the waters, much like a fight with a spouse makes it a little harder to listen to them, even if they're right, until there has been forgiveness.
That's the practical start. There's a whole other side to be aware of though, and that's your attitude, where you're sitting spiritually. Check your heart as to whether you're truly submitted to God's leadership. Usually when we ask a question, we've got a framework in which we expect the answer to fit. Do I take this job or that one, for instance. We may not even be asking the right questions. Be sure you're open to God telling you He doesn't want you working right now, for example, and trusting Him, but more than that pull back from such pointed questions. Those types of questions can be a good starting point as you get used to this kind of prayer life, but know that God desires a real relationship with you, so maybe try just listening to what He's saying today instead of always dominating the conversation with the direction YOU want to take it in. Also, pray with expectancy. Expect God to speak, whatever He may say.
So, real practical steps, cause I know so many of you need it, but know that there are more ways coming. 1. Grab your bible, a journal/writing surface of some sort, and a pen. Get to where you can be less easily distracted. Set the time aside, maybe 30 minutes as a start, and plan to do this every day for at least this week to get into it. 2. Pray, as I described above, checking your heart as you do, and if you feel the need ask Him something, or just ask Him to reveal His heart to you today. 3. Write down what He leads you to, be it verses, people, events, anything. As things are brought to your attention, if you're still not sure that it's God, just keep asking - if a person pops into mind and you're not sure why, you just give it back to God asking Him to clarify what to do with that thought. They'll come back up in a different context or mental image before long, or not at all. God speaks in a million ways, and training yourself to recognize the urgings of the Spirit is a process. 4. Check what you're hearing - does it exalt Christ, does it line up with scripture, do other believers confirm it, does it produce good fruit, and does God bring it to pass.
If you keep getting distracted, keep taking thoughts captive and persevere. As I said, it can take awhile just to train yourself to shut up. And if the whole time is spent on that, don't worry, you'll do it again tomorrow, and it's good training. First time I did this it took me 3 days of learning to be still before I started getting anywhere, and those 3 half hour sessions were great simply for the stillness. Also, if it's stuff that you need to do coming to mind, make a quick note and ask God to be over that so it can be out of your mind. I hope that gives you good grounds to start, post your comments and questions, and get going. More to come tomorrow.
Haitians are an awe inspiring people. I'm sitting on the balcony of the house we've been blessed with to house our staff and teams listening to a church service entering its fourth hour of worship just down the hill from us (I'd be there, but was sick yesterday and needed the rest this morning). The sound of hundreds of people shouting 'Hallelujah' washes over me like water to my soul and echoes around the neighborhood. That's not the amazing thing though - it's that before the earthquake, Haiti was hard soil for the gospel, and now no matter what day you drive through these communities you see and hear church after church praising God just like that, day after day, several times a day, because so many just congregate to do so at any given time. Thousands have turned to God after centuries of worshiping everything else, and they do so in a completely abandoned manner. They love simply, and they love much. And, such as things go in the upside down manner that God's kingdom tends to be, all those that are coming to help Haiti are in turn being blessed by God through the Haitian people. If I let myself think about it, I can't really believe I'm out here and seeing all this.
The physical needs of Haiti are overwhelming though. There are blocks of ruined buildings, and blocks of relief tents, including on the median in the middle of busy streets, that you know have little to nothing inside but the people who occupy them. Rubble that's been cleared from the street is just piled on the sidewalks, so as you drive you're literally driving through piles of the ruined pieces of a nation. At times it's confusing - you will see what looks like a pile of rocks and dust with a broken roof on top of it that used to be a home next to what appears to be an untouched shack with obviously inferior construction. There are entire neighborhoods that look largely intact, in between neighborhoods where no two bricks are still together. How the ground can move like that and leave something standing I cannot fathom, let alone how those two extremes exist next to one another. Those who have homes in good condition are sleeping under tarps in the street, so great is their fear of entering a building now. People are resorting to drinking water they know might kill them just to hold on a little longer, so great is their thirst. Everyone is hungry, everyone is thirsty, and children are wasting away in their mother's arms. And for 9 out of 10 people, all I can offer are prayers, and though I know that's what I'm called to do, and for a reason, and that I trust God, not being able to feed someone dying of hunger never gets easier.
We have food going out by the truck load, we're arranging water supply trucks to come to church compounds where people are living in groups of hundreds, we're setting up tarps as makeshift roofs, and we have basic medical supplies to help with the daily afflictions. All that, and we can only help a few. You never realize how much a human being needs to survive until it's life or death every day. But God is here. I walk down streets and alleys praying and I can feel Him moving. I see Him orchestrate unbelievable circumstances and series of events just to have a particular person prayed for that would otherwise be ignored. I see what He's doing in the hearts of the people that have come to help - this is a two way street of blessing God has established between Haiti and the world - when they choose to be changed by what they're seeing. All of this I've seen, and all of this I've done. I've been here 4 days.
We're not as desensitized as you'd think. I was talking with my roommate the other night, and as we spoke of various world issues and the atrocities man is capable of and our general lack of reaction to them, she mentioned that common idiom of the day - 'We're so desensitized.' And it suddenly brought together a series of thoughts that I'd been thinking over the previous weeks as I prepared to leave for Haiti - I think we actually aren't. At least, not as we believe.
Yes, in the age of youtube journalism and action movies we've definitely been exposed to a historically unprecedented amount of horrific media. Images and acts of violence or disaster and general human suffering are available all the time and only coming faster and in greater quantity. While I agree that we are less shocked by such material as a direct result of our exposure, I've realised that our lack of response is the symptom of something else - complete and utter spiritual irresponsibility.
If the problem were simply desensitization, we would watch video after video from, say, Haiti, and not be affected or moved to emotion by it at all. We would simply associate it with the same emotional set as when we watch John McClane throw the guy off the building. While this is the case for an odd few with emotional development and reality issues, in my experience what usually happens is the remote control effect - we change the channel when something threatens to call us to respond. It is entirely our choice to not go deeper. How many of these kinds of videos do we choose to watch, seeking a deeper connection to the people in these situations? When we see one, do we then go seeking more information? Do we seek a way to respond? Do we even stop to pray? Do we take any of the responsibility for our fellow brothers in Christ or even, at the very least, our fellow man, and choose to react? I often don't. I feel sorrow, but for this that or the other reason I make the choice to not go deeper. We have lots of arguments as to why we don't get behind this particular issue, most commonly that there are too many things wrong in the world and we can't fix them all (not stopping to listen to how we SHOULD respond, we assume if we can't fix it we're to leave it alone). The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few - not because God hasn't called enough workers, but because too many aren't answering. We need to step out from behind the excuses of desensitization and take responsibility for our choices about what the Spirit draws us towards.
I wrote that while killing time in an airport Tuesday afternoon. Being here, I'm reminded that not being able to change the channel doesn't change any of what I just said either. On the ground we're forced to be impacted, we're forced to look, but the choice is still ours as to what we do with it. I guarantee you that you can come down here, see all this, rejoice and cry with the people here, and still go home unchanged. You can choose to do nothing, and rather easily. I say this only to illustrate that those at home and those on the field face the same level of responsibility for the world, and can make the same choices - we're no different, any of us. How we're called to respond is vastly different, as different as what we're called to respond to. How you choose to respond though - that's up to you.
I'm putting a challenge out to all of you, and I'd love some feedback in the comments section here. First, comments on whether I'm on the ball or not about this. Second, and this is the all important one, I want you to ask yourself these 2 questions:
1. Are you listening for what God has for you (and I promise he's saying something)? Even if it's small, just for today, or right now - Are. You. LISTENING.
2. How are you choosing to respond?
Feel free to share in the comments section. Also, please pray for the 6 or 7 people that came down sick today - some of them are leaving for home tomorrow, but 3 of them are staff and they are already sorely missed.
I'm going to let you in on a little travel secret of mine: I love people watching in the airport. I've talked to friends who say they like people watching in general, and usually I agree with them that it's one of my favorite sports. I only discovered this in the last half a decade or so, and don't do it all that often, but I've picked up on at least this much - where you are makes all the difference, and my hands down favorite location is in an airport generally, and the arrivals gate specifically.
First off, there's just such a vast cross section of humanity at an airport, and many of them you can get a feel for by their luggage. There are people with backpacks; people with wheely nothing-but-business little carry on sized suitcases; people with shoulder slung duffel bags; people with pink dog print cart-like deal and a matching sweater (she just walked past me); people wearing far too little for the current climate and carrying even less - you cringe at the surprise they're in for when they exit the airport; people pushing strollers next to people pushing wheelchairs; people carrying nothing; people carrying too much. You start categorizing them, noticing the details that place them in certain jobs or social positions - pilots talking amongst themselves of their next stretch. Vacationers with their out of season tans. Businessmen in suits. Retired hippies still wandering, bald on top but long and grey on the back and sides. Soldiers in uniform. Counter culture revolutionaries with home made clothing and dreads to their waist. Soccer moms shepherding a flock of teenagers. Shell shocked fathers with mickey mouse eared children in tow. Grandpas and Grandmas holding hands as they stroll past. It's an endless list of every type of people you can think of.
And here's the part that I love the most - the moment when a greeter spots a passenger coming through the gate. One of the most genuine smiles a person can wear is worn at the moment of seeing a loved one at the arrivals gate, and it's a contagious one because it's a feeling we can all relate to. It always reminds me of a very important fact about humanity that we sometimes forget.
A few weeks ago Canada won the gold medal in men's hockey at the olympics on home ice in Vancouver. I have enough American readers that I feel the need to explain what that was like, as they may not understand the scope of it. I am not usually a hockey fan. Generally speaking, I'm just not a sports fan, but I'm especially not a hockey fan. I often state that I hope our local team would hurry up and lose so I can hear less about hockey for a few sweet months between when they are out of the running for the Stanley Cup and when the season starts again. I am often ostracized by my fellow countrymen as a result and accused of not being truly Canadian. From what I gather, it's even worse than being from Texas and loathing football. So understand what level of national pride is involved when I say that, come olympic time, I become a raving hockey fan that will scream myself hoarse in jubilation when team Canada wins so much as a preliminary round, and believe them capable of winning no matter how bad it looks. This is the kind of fandom that Olympic Hockey produces in even as drastic a critic of the sport as I, so try, if you can, to fathom what the rest of my country might look like - we love this as much or more than you guys love your football. Some 27 or 28 million people in Canada watched the gold medal game this year. To those of you south of the border, that might not sound like a lot - unless you know we only have 36 million people in our country. 80% of us were watching that game. 4 out of every 5 people. Nearly every one of them, at the very least, as frothing at the mouth nuts as me, and most of them far more so. And coast to coast, we screamed and jumped and hugged when the winning goal slipped past the US goalie. We poured into the streets with waving flags, honking horns, screaming voices, and arms thrust high with a single digit extended to the sky. My friends and I spray painted my car with red maple leafs and the 'We Believe' Olympic slogan we were so excited. For hours straight you couldn't get anywhere, which didn't matter to most of us because we were the ones clogging the streets with our flag bearing cars anyway. Cops just blocked other streets off so there would be no cross traffic to the procession of celebrating people, and coast to coast it was like this - an entire nation completely united for a few blissful hours. The only thing I've ever heard of that compares is my grandparents' stories of the celebrations when World War II was declared over.
I wish this kind of jubilation and unity could be over something more than a sporting event, I really do. I recognize the fleeting nature of that moment, how it only exists on the surface and that all the issues we allow to separate us from one another are still there. I recognize that, even here in the airport, many of those perfectly genuine smiles of joy are experienced in spite of differences, disagreements, and outright fighting between those same two people. I always hope for them that it's actually because of those differences that the joy is so genuine. But all of it, never the less, speaks to me of a truth that is amazing in the face of all the strife in this world: people are unifiable. People can move, and love, as one. I want that to be true for deeper issues, more regularly, and on a longer lasting basis. But until we start putting in that kind of effort, I enjoy the moments we have and know that it speaks of a much deeper ability built into each of us if we would but strive for the One who designed it. It gives me hope for that day when we are all unified in our worship of the King, but also hope that maybe we can get a little closer to that even before then.
And that is something I cling to as I fly for Haiti, devastated and disjointed, a far cry from unified - hope for its future.
A team that was here was walking home from ministry one day and went past a young man they thought was dead, so lifeless was his frail body, lying in the street one morning. Hours later, upon discovering he was actually still alive (though barely), the team prayed for him while offering water and food. He refused both, and didn't make any sense in anything he said, unable to even give his name consistently (Taiwan and Davidsba are just 2 of the names he has claimed, and I go by Davidsba). They got a staff member to bring him back to the base, which is where I saw him for the first time - he was skinnier than a holocaust victim from Schindler's List, covered in gray muck, and mostly just staring in one direction not responding to anything around him. He wore only a filthy pair of purple track pants he must've been wearing for months, and the shape of every bone in his body was clearly outlined against a thin layer of skin and nothing more. In 100 degree weather he was ice cold to the touch.
Haitians are an awe inspiring people. I'm sitting on the balcony of the house we've been blessed with to house our staff and teams listening to a church service entering its fourth hour of worship just down the hill from us (I'd be there, but was sick yesterday and needed the rest this morning). The sound of hundreds of people shouting 'Hallelujah' washes over me like water to my soul and echoes around the neighborhood. That's not the amazing thing though - it's that before the earthquake, Haiti was hard soil for the gospel, and now no matter what day you drive through these communities you see and hear church after church praising God just like that, day after day, several times a day, because so many just congregate to do so at any given time. Thousands have turned to God after centuries of worshiping everything else, and they do so in a completely abandoned manner. They love simply, and they love much. And, such as things go in the upside down manner that God's kingdom tends to be, all those that are coming to help Haiti are in turn being blessed by God through the Haitian people. If I let myself think about it, I can't really believe I'm out here and seeing all this.
The physical needs of Haiti are overwhelming though. There are blocks of ruined buildings, and blocks of relief tents, including on the median in the middle of busy streets, that you know have little to nothing inside but the people who occupy them. Rubble that's been cleared from the street is just piled on the sidewalks, so as you drive you're literally driving through piles of the ruined pieces of a nation. At times it's confusing - you will see what looks like a pile of rocks and dust with a broken roof on top of it that used to be a home next to what appears to be an untouched shack with obviously inferior construction. There are entire neighborhoods that look largely intact, in between neighborhoods where no two bricks are still together. How the ground can move like that and leave something standing I cannot fathom, let alone how those two extremes exist next to one another. Those who have homes in good condition are sleeping under tarps in the street, so great is their fear of entering a building now. People are resorting to drinking water they know might kill them just to hold on a little longer, so great is their thirst. Everyone is hungry, everyone is thirsty, and children are wasting away in their mother's arms. And for 9 out of 10 people, all I can offer are prayers, and though I know that's what I'm called to do, and for a reason, and that I trust God, not being able to feed someone dying of hunger never gets easier.
We have food going out by the truck load, we're arranging water supply trucks to come to church compounds where people are living in groups of hundreds, we're setting up tarps as makeshift roofs, and we have basic medical supplies to help with the daily afflictions. All that, and we can only help a few. You never realize how much a human being needs to survive until it's life or death every day. But God is here. I walk down streets and alleys praying and I can feel Him moving. I see Him orchestrate unbelievable circumstances and series of events just to have a particular person prayed for that would otherwise be ignored. I see what He's doing in the hearts of the people that have come to help - this is a two way street of blessing God has established between Haiti and the world - when they choose to be changed by what they're seeing. All of this I've seen, and all of this I've done. I've been here 4 days.
A few weeks ago Canada won the gold medal in men's hockey at the olympics on home ice in Vancouver. I have enough American readers that I feel the need to explain what that was like, as they may not understand the scope of it. I am not usually a hockey fan. Generally speaking, I'm just not a sports fan, but I'm especially not a hockey fan. I often state that I hope our local team would hurry up and lose so I can hear less about hockey for a few sweet months between when they are out of the running for the Stanley Cup and when the season starts again. I am often ostracized by my fellow countrymen as a result and accused of not being truly Canadian. From what I gather, it's even worse than being from Texas and loathing football. So understand what level of national pride is involved when I say that, come olympic time, I become a raving hockey fan that will scream myself hoarse in jubilation when team Canada wins so much as a preliminary round, and believe them capable of winning no matter how bad it looks. This is the kind of fandom that Olympic Hockey produces in even as drastic a critic of the sport as I, so try, if you can, to fathom what the rest of 
my country might look like - we love this as much or more than you guys love your football. Some 27 or 28 million people in Canada watched the gold medal game this year. To those of you south of the border, that might not sound like a lot - unless you know we only have 36 million people in our country. 80% of us were watching that game. 4 out of every 5 people. Nearly every one of them, at the very least, as frothing at the mouth nuts as me, and most of them far more so. And coast to coast, we screamed and jumped and hugged when the winning goal slipped past the US goalie. We poured into the streets with waving flags, honking horns, screaming voices, and arms thrust high with a single digit extended to the sky. My friends and I spray painted my car with red maple leafs and the 'We Believe' Olympic slogan we were so excited. For hours straight you couldn't get anywhere, which didn't matter to most of us because we were the ones clogging the streets with our flag bearing cars anyway. Cops just blocked other streets off so there would be no cross traffic to the procession of celebrating people, and coast to coast it was like this - an entire nation completely united for a few blissful hours. The only thing I've ever heard of that compares is my grandparents' stories of the celebrations when World War II was declared over. 
