How do you describe Christ's love?

In Haiti, street vendors or "marchands" line almost every inch of the sidewalks. Everything is sold on the streets: cell phone parts, pills, water, vegetables. Mostly women sell produce, and many times, their children spend the day on the street with them. As we started picking children up off the street to teach them, my heart broke for the children that spent their days sitting on a rock in the blazing sun (90+ degrees). People (parents or other guardians) also have children sell for them, and those children can't leave their "posts".

But yesterday was a victory, because I had been asking this girl's mother for several days if she could come to our program, and she finally agreed! Her name is Rudline and she was 9 years old. When we had almost arrived to my grandma's store, we saw another tiny boy selling bread in the sweltering sun. His mother wasn't out with him but the woman selling bread next to him agreed to allow him to come with us. His name is Lesly and he's 8 years old (he looked like he was 5 or 6). We were exhausted from the day before when we taught at a school, to which we hiked for an hour and a half to get there, so we just decided to work with two children that day. During our math lesson, we found out that Lesly had never been to school, so we started with just identifying numbers. But this kid started doing addition and multiplication with us! I was blown away.

In our Bible study, I asked them if they knew if Jesus loved them. Lesly point-blank admitted that he did not; I was kind of dumbfounded. Because the majority of people in Haiti have been exposed to Christianity, when I've asked children that question previously, they all responded, "Yes." So I attempted to share the Gospel with them, and share how much Jesus loves them. I now give mad props to people who work with children, because to make the profound simple enough to understand is tough. Please keep these children in your prayers. Much love,
Gabrielle

Let the Little Children Come to Me

One of the biggest lessons that I have learned while doing missions and ministry work is the the need to be flexible and patient. Things rarely go according to plan, and the unexpected always occurs. These past few days have been a great lesson in both areas. As a team, we have experienced delays in our original schedule, which was to go to two rural areas in Haiti and hold summer educational programs for children who would otherwise not have a chance to go to school.

Instead of heading out to Kenscoff and Jacmel this week, as planned, Gabrielle, Ms. Apollon and I found ourselves still in Petion-ville, (an urban suburb of Port-au-Prince). It was rather frustrating for us as a team. A few days ago, as we were on our way down to Gabby's grandmother's shop in Petion-ville, Gabby said, "Let's steal some children!" There were certainly plenty of children in the city who didn't have educational opportunities. Gabby's idea was for us to 'steal' these children, (with parental consent, of course) and run a school out of her grandmother's shop.

Our first 'catch' of children was rather a small one: two young boys, Jacob and Sadrac. We had a soccer ball, some paper, and assorted crayons and markers. After kicking the soccer ball around for awhile, we did some drawing with the children, and offered them water to drink. Our second day was slightly larger, about eight children. This time, we planned two activities: soccer and art, which would run concurrently. Afterward, we taught them a Bible lesson, gave them crackers, juice, and water, and sent them home.

Today was a whole different deal. We went to Place Boyer, a sort of public park where a lot of the street children hang out. We found several boys playing with a makeshift soccer ball, and invited them to come with us. A few agreed, and then ran off to get their friends and bring them along. When we finally headed back we had a motley crew of twelve kids. When we arrived, there were three or four more waiting for us. As I looked around at each child I prayed that God would show me His face in each one.

When we arrived at the shop, there was chaos waiting for us. Several Haitian ministers, pastors and individuals were in a hot argument about where our team should go in Haiti, what we should do, and who we would work with. They had taken up the space we had formerly used for our 'school,' so we spread ourselves out on the concrete in front of the store. As we began separating the kids into groups, I couldn't help thinking of the verses in Matthew, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for of such is the kingdom of heaven."

These were the people to whom God's kingdom belongs. They weren't necessarily the ones we thought we would work with, nor were they the easiest: fights and quarrels kept breaking out among them, and it was hard to keep the group under control, especially when we brought out the water, snacks, and juice. Yet as Matthew wrote, "Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'" (Matthew 25:40). These children were among the 'least'--the outcast and dregs of society.

As part of our lesson, we read to the children a Kreyol poem which ends with, "Who are you? Is it society that tells you who you are?...What can you do to change the world?...Tell me who you are, then each of us can bring/A stone for the reconstruction of the world." Our hope is that while we are in Haiti, we will not only be bringing our own small stones for the reconstruction of Haiti, but that we will also be able to tell children on the margins of society who they are in God's eyes, so that they too can impact the world.--Anna Hunt

Small things with Great Love

"We can do no great things, only small things with great love."
The past few days, I feel like God has been teaching me the power of loving and serving Him through unconventional and unexpected ways, and recognizing the truth in this quote of Mother Teresa's. In mission trips, there's usually a specific group of people that you're ministering to, and I've been focused on doing just that: working with the kids in Kenscoff. This past week, there have been a couple of delays as we've tried to follow the Lord's leading and I'm not going to lie, I was kinda ticked off by it. But I had to learn that God is bigger than my presumptions of who I’m supposed to be ministering to, and how to go about that.

So the other day, after our first trip to Kenscoff was delayed, someone knocked on our door. It was an elderly man who cleans my grandma’s yard, and he asked if she was there and/or if she had left his pay with us. I replied that she hadn’t and left, thinking that encounter was over. But my mom started talking to him and invited him to sit down. I could tell immediately that he was really poor, by his attire and the evident strain on his face. But when my mom told me that we were going to make a meal for him, I was exasperated because 1) we didn’t have much food and she didn’t check what we had before she offered him food and 2) we didn’t even know how to turn on the stove here (external gas valves involved). Can you tell my heart wasn’t in the right place? Finally, I find him a coconut to take with him, my mom finds some food and we figure out how to turn on the stove. And as we sit down and he begins to share his story, my eyes were slowly opened to my callousness. And the verse that came to mind was Hebrews 13: 1-2: Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares". And I realized that we probably gave him the only meal he would eat that day. He shared about how he hadn’t been able to go to church for a long time, because he had no money, and that no one had prayed with him specifically. We sang some worship songs and prayed with him; one of his last statements were, “I don’t know where you guys came from, but I know God sent you here, to pray with me.” I’m so grateful that my mom took the initiative to minister to him; through her and that man, God helped me realize the narrowness of my vision and reminded me how every knock, every encounter, could be an opportunity to do a small thing with great love. I’ll end with the man’s name: MesiDieu, which means “Thank you God”. Thank you, God.

Gabrielle

Nou Bouke

"Nou Bouke" I saw this spray painted on the walls of several buildings yesterday as we were riding the bus home. In Kreyol it means "We are tired." I can't help but think, of what?

These past few days, I've been reading a lot in Isaiah and the Psalms. In both, God often appears as a God of wrath, bringing Justice to the earth. A lot of those images make me feel uncomfortable. I want God to be a God a peace, love and reconciliation. I cringe away from passages where God is 'riding on a swift cloud' of judgment (Isaiah 19:1).

Yet, as I sit on the buses and tap-taps of urban Haiti, I am confronted with the poor and the oppressed. Roadside vendors who eke out a daily living on less than two dollars a day. Street children with no education and no home. Slums built practically one on top of the other, and rubbish strewn through the streets. I can't help but think that a God of justice is not a God from whom these people would cringe.

Instead, this would be good news! David promises us in the psalms, "A little while, and the wicked will be no more; though you look for them, they will not be found. But the meek will inherit the land and enjoy peace and prosperity...better the little that the righteous have than the wealth of the wicked; for the power of the wicked will be broken, but the Lord upholds the righteous" (Psalm 37:10-11, 16-17).

This passage begs the question: who are the wicked? Micah 6:8 tells us, "What does the Lord require of you? To seek justice, love mercy, and walk humbly before your God." God asks that we use our resources, talents, and time to pursue His justice and mercy. In Haiti, 80% of the country lives on less than two dollars a day. Perhaps the message I saw spray painted on so many walls was written to the other twenty percent, and to people like myself, a middle class American citizen.

Nou bouke. We are tired. As David so eloquently wrote, "Out of the depths I cry to you, Lord; Lord hear my voice." (Psalm 130:1). Can I shake myself out of my comfortable middle class status to hear this cry? How would God have me use my time, my talents and my resources while I am here--and not only here--but everywhere in the world where there are poor and oppressed who call for Justice. Mwen bouke. I am tired: tired of living comfortably. I choose to serve an uncomfortable God, who not only loves and forgives, but who tears down and destroys so that Justice might come to the earth. ---Anna Hunt