Today was the hardest day, by far. This morning, we went to Camp Corail for the last time, which is the camp with over 5,000 people. The craziest thing is that we met the camp manager who was my TA in my Economic Development class! He was the one who pretty much enabled me to ace my class. So anyway, we invited people to accept Christ and about ten youth did. Afterwards, the oldest girl who was 13, asked that I go pray at her tent for her grandmother who was sick. As we were walking back from praying, I asked her if she had any questions. She asked where she should go to church. We get those questions a lot because the camp is so isolated, but I asked her which churches were around. Without skipping a beat, she said that her dad had killed her mom, her brother, and her sister, and she couldn't leave the camp because her grandma was afraid that he would try to kill her as well. While I was still shell-shocked, my friend Daniel shared that a church was anywhere where believers gathered. We introduced her to the pastor who plans on returning and following up with people. As we were about to leave, she asked me for my name, and after I told her, she says, "My sister's name was Gabrielle." And at that point, I'm not sure how I didn't just break down in tears--I was frustrated that I couldn't do more than tear up though. I didn't know how to make the reality sink in.
My former TA invited us to go to a different part of the camp that afternoon, where another 1,000 people had been placed just that past weekend. I had another flurry of emotions, far more intense than the morning. We went to share the Gospel and invite people to a service. We didn't get past one tent. We had almost finished sharing with the owners of the tent, when a man practically ran to us and asked if we were Christians. I said yes, and he said he wanted to pray right now to accept Christ--it kinda took us aback but we gladly prayed with him. While we were praying a bunch of guys (his construction worker friends) came over and started laughing and making fun of him; after we finished praying, he explained that they were laughing because they didn't believe he was for real because he drank a lot but he told them he was for real. So then we asked the six or seven young men who had come over if they wanted to hear the Gospel. They agreed, and there was one young man named Jude, who was particularly vocal and stopped us to discuss a bunch of different points. I was grateful for that. But while I was sharing with them, some guys came up and started trying to talk to the two girls I was with. And by "talk to", I mean hit on. So I tried to stop it by telling them that they didn't speak Kreyol. The two guys just started cursing me out, saying I presumed that they only spoke Kreyol, and called me every curse word in the book. Didn't expect that--thankfully, Jude, tried to get them to calm down and they finally left. The toughest part was that they thought I was trying to demean them, but they were so angry and hateful that I couldn't really explain myself.
So I went back to sharing the Gospel and this one guy (not Jude) was being really responsive, but as we shared about Jesus suffering with us, and I shared about how the people in Haiti weren't alone during the earthquake because Christ was there and had suffered, Jude got really upset. He said, "You mean, Jesus was there when my mom and dad were crushed in the earthquake? When babies, 1 day old, were dying and their brains were spilled onto the floor? He was there? Now I'm all alone. I should have died too. What kind of God is that? He's a mean God." After that, he just walked away and said I can't accept that. It just broke my heart. Because I can totally understand where he's coming from, in the sense that I can understand how that would push you away from being able to believe that God was so sovereign and loving at the same time. And I don't know why I was so surprised by his reaction, but no one had ever been that honest about their loss with us yet. Most people have remained joyful and that's what surprised most of the students. But I'm grateful God gave us a glimpse of this reality before we left. Because yes, Haitians are resilient and strong and joyful. But Haitians are also suffering tremendously, and God cares about that reality just the same. I'm still trying to process everything. I don't really know how to do so, so I'd appreciate prayer for that.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
Raising up Samuel's
God's doing something daily in Haiti. I never expected I'd blog this much but I can't keep this stuff to myself. Our team went to Camp Corail the other day, which is one of the largest IDP camps with about 2,000 families, to share the Gospel. They asked me to stay to translate and minister to the people here in the medical clinic's waiting room. At the clinic, we were able to pray with a family who shared that they had been Christian but after the earthquake, had lost everything (their house, all their clothes) and had stopped going to church, primarily because they didn't have clothes to wear to go to church. We shared that the most important thing was your personal relationship with God and your outward appearance isn't what matters to God, but it's still heartwrenching. The awesome thing was that the mom did come to church with her beautiful baby that Sunday, and we were able to pray with them again.
But back to the trip to Camp Corail: When the team got back from the IDP camp, one of the staff members, Hsiang-en Tsui shared that he had met a woman whose baby who was only one day old. She was a Christian before the earthquake and before she became pregnant, but because of difficulty conceiving a baby, she became frustrated with the Lord and walked away from God. She became pregnant and regained faith in the Lord, but three months later the earthquake hit. She was on the third story of a building but survived the earthquake and because of the experience, she knew that God loved her and her unborn baby. She understood God's providence and plan for her. She has continued her faith since, even through the hardships of living in an IDP camp while pregnant, and having to give birth to a baby in the tent where she lives, in the bed where she sleeps. While we sat and talked, we learned that the baby did not have a name, and Hsiang-en suggested 'Samuel" (pronounced 'Sam-well' in Creole) because the woman's story was similar to the story of Hannah and her son Samuel in the bible (1 Samuel 1-2). The woman liked the name and told her husband, who had just walked into the tent. He agreed that the name was good and they took it.
When the staff leader shared that story, one of my friends, Daniel, burst out laughing. And I was like, what's so funny? He reminded me that while we were praying a few mornings ago, I had read Hannah's prayer, and asked God to raise up Samuel's in Haiti, to stir up a spiritual revival in this country. It's crazy how I had completely forgotten that, but it was just evidence that God is at work here like whoa, answering prayers and raising up leaders in the next generation. Please join me in praying for this generation and all that God has for Haiti.
But back to the trip to Camp Corail: When the team got back from the IDP camp, one of the staff members, Hsiang-en Tsui shared that he had met a woman whose baby who was only one day old. She was a Christian before the earthquake and before she became pregnant, but because of difficulty conceiving a baby, she became frustrated with the Lord and walked away from God. She became pregnant and regained faith in the Lord, but three months later the earthquake hit. She was on the third story of a building but survived the earthquake and because of the experience, she knew that God loved her and her unborn baby. She understood God's providence and plan for her. She has continued her faith since, even through the hardships of living in an IDP camp while pregnant, and having to give birth to a baby in the tent where she lives, in the bed where she sleeps. While we sat and talked, we learned that the baby did not have a name, and Hsiang-en suggested 'Samuel" (pronounced 'Sam-well' in Creole) because the woman's story was similar to the story of Hannah and her son Samuel in the bible (1 Samuel 1-2). The woman liked the name and told her husband, who had just walked into the tent. He agreed that the name was good and they took it.
When the staff leader shared that story, one of my friends, Daniel, burst out laughing. And I was like, what's so funny? He reminded me that while we were praying a few mornings ago, I had read Hannah's prayer, and asked God to raise up Samuel's in Haiti, to stir up a spiritual revival in this country. It's crazy how I had completely forgotten that, but it was just evidence that God is at work here like whoa, answering prayers and raising up leaders in the next generation. Please join me in praying for this generation and all that God has for Haiti.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Beauty in the Broken
Today was my favorite day of this trip, so far. This morning, we deviated from our usual visits to IDP camps, and visited a Christian high school. Our team gathered with the high school students in the chapel; we worshipped and a couple of us shared our testimonies. After translating for multiple people, I was so grateful to be able to share my testimony in Kreyol. The fun part is when all the kids get really surprised that I can speak Kreyol. After our testimonies, some of the Haitian students shared theirs. And Jimmy, one of the coolest, most faithful Haitian students I met, shared his testimony about being hospitalized only two days before but he didn't want to miss the chance to share the Gospel with people, so he came today. He invited students who hadn't accepted Christ into their hearts to do so, and six students got up.We had a beautiful time of worshipping and praying for them. Afterwards, a bunch of students wanted to talk to me (some were just guys trying to holler, lol, but others were really sweet girls). Right after we were done, I said hi to this one girl who had a stank face on. She said hi and I learned that she was in her third year of high school, but we didn't talk for long. But after ten or so minutes, she came up to me and asked if we could talk one-on-one. When we sat down away from everyone else, she asked if we could be friends. It was so sweet, and I said of course; I started asking her questions about her faith background and she shared that she was Catholic. I asked her if she had a personal relationship with Christ and shared a bit about what that looked like, and she admitted that she didn't but she'd like to have one. We prayed together and I knew this was for real. Afterwards I asked her what she thought about the service we had and she said, "A lot of things changed for me today." She shared that before today, she didn't believe in God because her dad had abandoned her and she couldn't believe a good God would allow that. I was able to share with her about all my dad conflicts, and how I felt like I had lost two dads, but how God had promised to never abandon her and that He had proven Himself to me as my perfect father. We talked about forgiveness, surrender, and how God didn't intend for these relationships to be broken the way they are. I was just blown away because I was able to speak into those places of deepest hurt in her life, and share from experience that God could restore her and would be with her in those places--it was such a privilege.
As we were finishing talking, one of the other girls who accepted Christ during the service came to talk to me. Her name was Kattia Gabriel, and we bonded over having a similar name. I asked her what had drawn her to accept Christ; apparently, she was in a bad car accident that morning and she realized she could have died, so she felt the urgency of accepting Christ. She also shared that her mom had died and her dad had also abandoned her, so I was able to share with her the reality of God being our perfect and constant Father. I'm going to be honest and say that this was the first time during this trip I was really excited about people praying to accept Christ, because the other ones, I wasn't able to know how real they were. That's problematic, I know, because it's not about me knowing whether they're legit or not, because they still made a step towards God.So that's probably something God's going to need to work on in me. But it was just really cool to see God at work in these young women's lives, and it's amazing how God works through the most difficult parts of your life to speak to other people, even if those parts are still broken.
As we were finishing talking, one of the other girls who accepted Christ during the service came to talk to me. Her name was Kattia Gabriel, and we bonded over having a similar name. I asked her what had drawn her to accept Christ; apparently, she was in a bad car accident that morning and she realized she could have died, so she felt the urgency of accepting Christ. She also shared that her mom had died and her dad had also abandoned her, so I was able to share with her the reality of God being our perfect and constant Father. I'm going to be honest and say that this was the first time during this trip I was really excited about people praying to accept Christ, because the other ones, I wasn't able to know how real they were. That's problematic, I know, because it's not about me knowing whether they're legit or not, because they still made a step towards God.So that's probably something God's going to need to work on in me. But it was just really cool to see God at work in these young women's lives, and it's amazing how God works through the most difficult parts of your life to speak to other people, even if those parts are still broken.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Blan Yo Kite Ou! Translation: The white people left you!
So after a super intense update, here's a lighthearted story:
Blan Yo Kite Ou! Translation: The white people left you!
That's what the Haitians were yelling at Jessica, Dee, and me (two of the other students) as we ran through their village. Why were we running, you ask? Because the bus of CCC students was pulling away, with everyone else in it except us.
Our team went to an IDP camp this afternoon to share the Gospel; our team's experience (Jess, Dee, and I) was unique from the beginning.I was the translator. So we were going into the IDP camp and a man who told us that he was one of the camp organizers came over to us and asked us to come with him to pray for certain people who were sick. I asked him if there were also people who weren't believers there, and he said yes. So naturally, we followed him (with permission). We ended up going further and further away from the rest of the group. But anyway, we prayed for a couple older Christians who had difficulty walking. And as we walked away from them, this little toddler comes running up to us screaming bawling his head off. And everyone starts laughing around us, so we asked what was wrong. The little kid was screaming, "Blan yo ap pran'm!!" (The white people are going to get me!). He was apparenty running away from the rest of our team because he was terrified they were going to steal him. Our guide was his dad so the little boy jumped into his arms. I tried to comfort him by speaking Kreyol and telling him we were nice people (blan = foreigners as well, so I was also a "blan") and he stopped crying for a bit.Then I asked if I could hold him. He looked at me and yelled, "NOOO!" We hadn't won him over yet. So later on, I started making funny faces at him to try to make him laugh. He kinda smiled...until Dee stepped into his line of vision and smiled. The kid promptly started to cry again. This happened twice. We never won him over.
So we continued to talk to different people in the village, two who were Christians and one man who said "Not yet" to our invitation to accept Christ, which has been a common response. He asked us why God would create us if he knew we would sin, so we delved a bit into the theology of free will and so on. His name is Alfred; please pray for him. And the last man we spoke to was named Yves; he accepted Christ and shared that he had been thinking about it for a while, which was cool. So while we were praying with him to accept Christ, Jess and Dee hear the bus driver honking the horn but they assumed that the driver was just warning everyone it was time to go. We ignored it and kept praying. When we finished, we noticed that more and more people were coming into the village. Then they told us that the team had left. So we started running. In the wrong direction. So the guy we were with had to redirect us. And so I start running full speed. And as we're running out of the village, all the Haitians are laugning and yelling at us, "The white people left you!" We finally get into the "parking lot" as the bus is pulling away. The best part was that no one knew we were gone. Yes, they were going to leave us. My group and the little boy we met had opposite fears. He was freaked out that our team was going to take him. We quickly got freaked out that we were going to be left. God has a sense of humor. Thankfully, it was totally worth almost being left to see Yves decide to accept Christ as his Lord and Savior.
Gabrielle
P.S. Don't try this at home, kids.
Blan Yo Kite Ou! Translation: The white people left you!
That's what the Haitians were yelling at Jessica, Dee, and me (two of the other students) as we ran through their village. Why were we running, you ask? Because the bus of CCC students was pulling away, with everyone else in it except us.
Our team went to an IDP camp this afternoon to share the Gospel; our team's experience (Jess, Dee, and I) was unique from the beginning.I was the translator. So we were going into the IDP camp and a man who told us that he was one of the camp organizers came over to us and asked us to come with him to pray for certain people who were sick. I asked him if there were also people who weren't believers there, and he said yes. So naturally, we followed him (with permission). We ended up going further and further away from the rest of the group. But anyway, we prayed for a couple older Christians who had difficulty walking. And as we walked away from them, this little toddler comes running up to us screaming bawling his head off. And everyone starts laughing around us, so we asked what was wrong. The little kid was screaming, "Blan yo ap pran'm!!" (The white people are going to get me!). He was apparenty running away from the rest of our team because he was terrified they were going to steal him. Our guide was his dad so the little boy jumped into his arms. I tried to comfort him by speaking Kreyol and telling him we were nice people (blan = foreigners as well, so I was also a "blan") and he stopped crying for a bit.Then I asked if I could hold him. He looked at me and yelled, "NOOO!" We hadn't won him over yet. So later on, I started making funny faces at him to try to make him laugh. He kinda smiled...until Dee stepped into his line of vision and smiled. The kid promptly started to cry again. This happened twice. We never won him over.
So we continued to talk to different people in the village, two who were Christians and one man who said "Not yet" to our invitation to accept Christ, which has been a common response. He asked us why God would create us if he knew we would sin, so we delved a bit into the theology of free will and so on. His name is Alfred; please pray for him. And the last man we spoke to was named Yves; he accepted Christ and shared that he had been thinking about it for a while, which was cool. So while we were praying with him to accept Christ, Jess and Dee hear the bus driver honking the horn but they assumed that the driver was just warning everyone it was time to go. We ignored it and kept praying. When we finished, we noticed that more and more people were coming into the village. Then they told us that the team had left. So we started running. In the wrong direction. So the guy we were with had to redirect us. And so I start running full speed. And as we're running out of the village, all the Haitians are laugning and yelling at us, "The white people left you!" We finally get into the "parking lot" as the bus is pulling away. The best part was that no one knew we were gone. Yes, they were going to leave us. My group and the little boy we met had opposite fears. He was freaked out that our team was going to take him. We quickly got freaked out that we were going to be left. God has a sense of humor. Thankfully, it was totally worth almost being left to see Yves decide to accept Christ as his Lord and Savior.
Gabrielle
P.S. Don't try this at home, kids.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Background: I'm in Haiti on a missions trip with Campus Crusade for Christ from July 12-Aug 8th.
So there's a verse that says "Don't boast about tomorrow because you don't know what the day may bring." I read that verse Saturday morning and I think God was trying to warn me. The one line from my last update stated that I wasn't emotionally overwhelmed at all--that was completely thrown upside down on Saturday. We went into Port au Prince and while we had driven out from Port au Prince on our way from the airport the day we arrived, all we saw were some of the tents from the IDP camps. But on Saturday we drove by huge buildings and homes that had completely crumbled and entire neighborhoods that were in shambles. And it broke my heart because it looked so much like it did 6 months ago. And you knew there were people probably still buried under all of that concrete. As we passed more and more buildings, I grew sadder and angrier at the ame time. Tears started to roll down my face, and it was my first time crying since being here--and I usually hate crying but I felt like I needed to cry. We were going to a Campus Crusade for Christ meeting with the Haitian students, so when we finally arrived, some of the girls prayed with me and as they prayed, I was able to really cry.
Then we went into the meeting, which like most Christian meetings, started with worship. It was really tough to sing, 'Glory to God' but then I thought about the students who live in this reality everyday, and are still singing with all their heart. And the Lord broke through to me through the lyrics of "Blessed be your name/in the land that is suffering/ though there's pain in the offering/ Blessed be your name." And I was reminded of the powerful reality of Jesus choosing to enter into our suffering Here I am to worship: "Light of the world, You stepped down into darkness/ Humbly you came to the earth you created/ All for love's sake became poor." So yeah when I left there, I was feeling allright but then they decided to drive through downtown.
I don't really know how to explain it, but the vastness of the devastation unbearable. As we passed crushed house after crushed building, I didn't want to look anymore. Every crumbled home I saw signified another family devastated. And it broke my heart that babies and children were growing up in these conditions and with this being normal...having to constantly walk around or through rubble. It was hard to drive down roads where the last time I had rode down them, there were bodies on the sides of them. But the worst part, which I can't entirely explain why, was seeing the National Palace. A lot of the other students were taking pictures of it and I couldn't at all. I couldn't even look at it. It grieved me so much because it was one of the things that all Haitians prided themselves in--even when I thought it was a bit too much, people would tell me about how they wished it was more beautiful. And to see that completely destroyed just made me weep.
It was also hard because there were fifty other students on the bus, all processing everything very differently. A lot of people were just snapping away with their cameras; some (like the two people next to me) were crying; other people were trying to lighten the mood by singing. But that was so frustrating and I finally couldn't take the singing anymore and asked them to stop. But I learned the lesson that people will deal with things in very different ways, and I can't judge people's responses as some being better than others. Once we left Port-au-Prince and returned to the camp, I could barely talk to or look at anyone, because I didn't know what to say. But I was part of the prayer team and we were in charge of leading the large group that night. And they asked me to lead prayer and share about my experience on the bus ride--I was kind of hesitant but one of the leaders, Rachel, encouraged me to because she felt that it still wasn't real for some people and could feel like a movie, so it would help them to see from my eyes. As Rachel and I prayed about our prayer time that night, I felt like the Lord told me, "I'm calling you to bridge the gap." And as we prayed, the chapter Isaiah 62, came to mind and God showed me that as hopeless as things seemed, there is real hope and Isaiah 62 is what God wants to do in Haiti. It was a powerful time of prayer where we prayed for Haiti's restoration and also for our team's unity and "bearing with one another in love." I felt so encouraged and grateful that all things are possible with Christ, even though it seems impossible in our eyes.
Prayer Requests:
I'd really appreciate it if you all would continue to pray for Haiti's restoration, our team's unity in the Holy Spirit; we're going to different IDP camps to share the Gospel and distribute food throughout these next two weeks. And more and more people are starting to not feel well, so prayers for our health. I've also felt that the level of spiritual warfare is increasing, so prayers for all of that would be really great.
So there's a verse that says "Don't boast about tomorrow because you don't know what the day may bring." I read that verse Saturday morning and I think God was trying to warn me. The one line from my last update stated that I wasn't emotionally overwhelmed at all--that was completely thrown upside down on Saturday. We went into Port au Prince and while we had driven out from Port au Prince on our way from the airport the day we arrived, all we saw were some of the tents from the IDP camps. But on Saturday we drove by huge buildings and homes that had completely crumbled and entire neighborhoods that were in shambles. And it broke my heart because it looked so much like it did 6 months ago. And you knew there were people probably still buried under all of that concrete. As we passed more and more buildings, I grew sadder and angrier at the ame time. Tears started to roll down my face, and it was my first time crying since being here--and I usually hate crying but I felt like I needed to cry. We were going to a Campus Crusade for Christ meeting with the Haitian students, so when we finally arrived, some of the girls prayed with me and as they prayed, I was able to really cry.
Then we went into the meeting, which like most Christian meetings, started with worship. It was really tough to sing, 'Glory to God' but then I thought about the students who live in this reality everyday, and are still singing with all their heart. And the Lord broke through to me through the lyrics of "Blessed be your name/in the land that is suffering/ though there's pain in the offering/ Blessed be your name." And I was reminded of the powerful reality of Jesus choosing to enter into our suffering Here I am to worship: "Light of the world, You stepped down into darkness/ Humbly you came to the earth you created/ All for love's sake became poor." So yeah when I left there, I was feeling allright but then they decided to drive through downtown.
I don't really know how to explain it, but the vastness of the devastation unbearable. As we passed crushed house after crushed building, I didn't want to look anymore. Every crumbled home I saw signified another family devastated. And it broke my heart that babies and children were growing up in these conditions and with this being normal...having to constantly walk around or through rubble. It was hard to drive down roads where the last time I had rode down them, there were bodies on the sides of them. But the worst part, which I can't entirely explain why, was seeing the National Palace. A lot of the other students were taking pictures of it and I couldn't at all. I couldn't even look at it. It grieved me so much because it was one of the things that all Haitians prided themselves in--even when I thought it was a bit too much, people would tell me about how they wished it was more beautiful. And to see that completely destroyed just made me weep.
It was also hard because there were fifty other students on the bus, all processing everything very differently. A lot of people were just snapping away with their cameras; some (like the two people next to me) were crying; other people were trying to lighten the mood by singing. But that was so frustrating and I finally couldn't take the singing anymore and asked them to stop. But I learned the lesson that people will deal with things in very different ways, and I can't judge people's responses as some being better than others. Once we left Port-au-Prince and returned to the camp, I could barely talk to or look at anyone, because I didn't know what to say. But I was part of the prayer team and we were in charge of leading the large group that night. And they asked me to lead prayer and share about my experience on the bus ride--I was kind of hesitant but one of the leaders, Rachel, encouraged me to because she felt that it still wasn't real for some people and could feel like a movie, so it would help them to see from my eyes. As Rachel and I prayed about our prayer time that night, I felt like the Lord told me, "I'm calling you to bridge the gap." And as we prayed, the chapter Isaiah 62, came to mind and God showed me that as hopeless as things seemed, there is real hope and Isaiah 62 is what God wants to do in Haiti. It was a powerful time of prayer where we prayed for Haiti's restoration and also for our team's unity and "bearing with one another in love." I felt so encouraged and grateful that all things are possible with Christ, even though it seems impossible in our eyes.
Prayer Requests:
I'd really appreciate it if you all would continue to pray for Haiti's restoration, our team's unity in the Holy Spirit; we're going to different IDP camps to share the Gospel and distribute food throughout these next two weeks. And more and more people are starting to not feel well, so prayers for our health. I've also felt that the level of spiritual warfare is increasing, so prayers for all of that would be really great.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Amazing Grace
Apparently I can also pass for homeless. On Palm Sunday—which is the day that Jesus entered Jerusalem and was welcomed by the people who laid down palms before the feet of the donkey he was riding—I gathered with a mixed group of “homed” and homeless individuals outside for a Palm Sunday service. The church hosting the service is called the Welcome Church. The Welcome Church hosts a drop in center, holds weekly indoor services that include the homeless, and on the last Sunday of every month organizes an outdoor service in central Philadelphia in front of one of Philadelphia’s largest and most beautiful cathedrals.
I was dressed in a rather mismatched way that day; I was wearing two different colored jackets, my jeans were loose fitting and hadn’t been washed in a few days, and my hair was messy from the wind blowing it around. When the priests and volunteers organizing the service brought out the coffee, I intentionally chose to line up for a cup with the other homeless men and women. As I sat enjoying my coffee, one of the homeless men came up to me and introduced himself as "Lester." (Name changed) We chatted for a little well, and then Lester asked, “Are you out here….with us?” Without asking, I knew what he meant. Was I homeless?
I was immediately put in a dilemma. I wanted to say yes, because I didn’t want to draw any line of difference between him and myself, but at the same time I couldn’t lie. So I shook my head “no,” and watched as something changed in his eyes. A few minutes later, he drifted away. I spent the rest of the time before the service talking with a few of the other homeless men and women as much as I could. They never asked me if I was homeless, and from their conversations with me they seemed to assume that I was.
Nevertheless, I couldn’t help being bothered by what had happened between Lester and I. Earlier I had listened in on a conversation between a priest and one of the homeless men. The homeless man (I never learned his name) was loudly proclaiming that he had never done drugs, never been in jail, and never committed a violent crime, “Like all these others”—pointing his finger around the gathering. I felt immediately that he was trying to put himself above them, and say, “I’m not like you—I’m better than you are.” I also felt that this was what I had done to Lester by saying, “I’m not homeless.” Shortly after observing this conversation, the service began.
At the close of the service we all sang Amazing Grace. As we did so, tears came to my eyes. I was standing next to a homeless woman, "Mary," who had shared some stories of her life on the streets with me beforehand. I couldn’t help thinking, “Despite what anyone may or may not have done, I am no better than Mary or anyone else standing here. We are all wretches, saved by Grace, and welcomed to the table of Christ in forgiveness and love.” I realized that while there was a difference between Mary, Lester and myself in that I had a home and they did not, in God’s eyes we are the same, and He welcomes us in the same way.
Jesus stepped down from His throne in heaven, beckoning to all “come.” Suddenly the words, “Come to me, all you who are weary, all you who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest,” had new life for me. In our little circle stood tired men and women: men and women with houses or apartments, shuttling endlessly between work and home, burdened with the cares of life, and men and women living on the streets, carrying bags on their backs and in their arms, cold and hungry, and without rest. To them, and to us, Jesus says, “come…for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
What is that yoke? What is that burden? Micah 6:8 tells us, “What does the Lord require of you? To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly before your God.” Jesus was a living example of this justice, mercy, and humbleness. He threw the money changers out of temple, healed the crippled, and welcomed a prostitute in love. Then, after living a perfect life, He chose to die a sinner’s death. That the Lord, the God of heaven and earth, in His holiness would sacrifice Himself, choose by His grace and mercy to call us also holy, and welcome us all as equals to His table, is truly Amazing Grace. --- Anna Hunt
Saturday, February 20, 2010
I've decided to run in World Vision's 5k for Haiti on April 3rd, 2010. To be honest, I don't really like running but I can't imagine a better cause for me to put aside my own preferences. The fact that I can run at all is a miracle; everyday, I'm reminded of how close I was to being crushed by rubble. Through my participation, I hope to raise as much money for the people of Haiti as possible. My team's motto is "5k for 500k!"
I'm choosing to lead a team (Hope for Haiti) in this World Vision race because not only does World Vision have a tremendous presence in current humanitarian relief efforts in Haiti, they also do incredible long-term development work and will be in Haiti for many years to come. World Vision has been working in Haiti for 30 years and currently has 370 staff on the ground in Haiti. Your donation will help provide urgent supplies needed for survival: things like water purification tablets, food, and tents. World Vision will also help provide continued support to Haiti as they rebuild and recover...a long process for a country already struggling with poverty.
It would mean so much to me if you would join me in this effort and help me to reach that goal. You can partner with me and stand with Haiti by sending a monetary gift or by deciding to run as well(there's also the option of running a half-marathon)! I pray that as you consider joining me, either financially or physically, that you would remember the children, Marie-Olene, Woodson, and Emmanuella, that I wrote about in a past entry. I'm attaching a picture of Marie-Olene to this one. Your partnership will enable more children just like her to get a meal or vital medical treatment, and help to rebuild their country. Whatever you choose to do, please continue to pray for the children and families devastated by the earthquake in Haiti.
The problems in Haiti are overwhelming. But I know there is something we can do. Whether you can give $10 or $10,000, no amount is too small. And if you are unable to partner, please feel free to forward this email on to anyone you know who you think may be interested in joining.Again, thank you for all of your prayers and support.
To donate or join a team, please visit: http://twv.convio.net/site/TR/TeamWorldVision/General?px=1048841&pg=personal&fr_id=1160
To learn more about World Vision, visit http://www.worldvision.org.
To learn more about Team World Vision, visit http://www.teamworldvision.org
Much love,
Gabrielle Apollon
Thursday, February 11, 2010
I read this today. Got kinda knocked over by it.
The Long Silence, by John Stott
At the end of time, billions of people were seated on a great plain before God’s throne. Most shrank back from the brilliant light before them. But some groups near the front talked heatedly, not cringing with cringing shame – but with belligerence.
“Can God judge us? How can He know about suffering?”, snapped a pert young brunette. She ripped open a sleeve to reveal a tattooed number from a Nazi concentration camp. “We endured terror … beatings … torture … death!”
In another group a black boy lowered his collar. “What about this?” he demanded, showing an ugly rope burn. “Lynched, for no crime but being black!”
In another crowd there was a pregnant schoolgirl with sullen eyes: “Why should I suffer?” she murmured. “It wasn’t my fault.”
Far out across the plain were hundreds of such groups. Each had a complaint against God for the evil and suffering He had permitted in His world. How lucky God was to live in Heaven, where all was sweetness and light. Where there was no weeping or fear, no hunger or hatred. What did God know of all that man had been forced to endure in this world? For God leads a pretty sheltered life, they said.
So each of these groups sent forth their leader, chosen because he had suffered the most. A Jew, a [black], a person from Hiroshima, a horribly deformed arthritic, a thalidomide child. In the center of the vast plain, they consulted with each other. At last they were ready to present their case. It was rather clever.
Before God could be qualified to be their judge, He must endure what they had endured. Their decision was that God should be sentenced to live on earth as a man.
Let him be born a Jew. Let the legitimacy of his birth be doubted. Give him a work so difficult that even his family will think him out of his mind. Let him be betrayed by his closest friends. Let him face false charges, be tried by a prejudiced jury and convicted by a cowardly judge. Let him be tortured. At the last, let him see what it means to be terribly alone. Then let him die so there can be no doubt he died. Let there be a great host of witnesses to verify it.
As each leader announced his portion of the sentence, loud murmurs of approval went up from the throng of people assembled. When the last had finished pronouncing sentence, there was a long silence. No one uttered a word. No one moved.
For suddenly, all knew that God had already served His sentence.
(HT: John Stott’s The Cross of Christ)
The Long Silence, by John Stott
At the end of time, billions of people were seated on a great plain before God’s throne. Most shrank back from the brilliant light before them. But some groups near the front talked heatedly, not cringing with cringing shame – but with belligerence.
“Can God judge us? How can He know about suffering?”, snapped a pert young brunette. She ripped open a sleeve to reveal a tattooed number from a Nazi concentration camp. “We endured terror … beatings … torture … death!”
In another group a black boy lowered his collar. “What about this?” he demanded, showing an ugly rope burn. “Lynched, for no crime but being black!”
In another crowd there was a pregnant schoolgirl with sullen eyes: “Why should I suffer?” she murmured. “It wasn’t my fault.”
Far out across the plain were hundreds of such groups. Each had a complaint against God for the evil and suffering He had permitted in His world. How lucky God was to live in Heaven, where all was sweetness and light. Where there was no weeping or fear, no hunger or hatred. What did God know of all that man had been forced to endure in this world? For God leads a pretty sheltered life, they said.
So each of these groups sent forth their leader, chosen because he had suffered the most. A Jew, a [black], a person from Hiroshima, a horribly deformed arthritic, a thalidomide child. In the center of the vast plain, they consulted with each other. At last they were ready to present their case. It was rather clever.
Before God could be qualified to be their judge, He must endure what they had endured. Their decision was that God should be sentenced to live on earth as a man.
Let him be born a Jew. Let the legitimacy of his birth be doubted. Give him a work so difficult that even his family will think him out of his mind. Let him be betrayed by his closest friends. Let him face false charges, be tried by a prejudiced jury and convicted by a cowardly judge. Let him be tortured. At the last, let him see what it means to be terribly alone. Then let him die so there can be no doubt he died. Let there be a great host of witnesses to verify it.
As each leader announced his portion of the sentence, loud murmurs of approval went up from the throng of people assembled. When the last had finished pronouncing sentence, there was a long silence. No one uttered a word. No one moved.
For suddenly, all knew that God had already served His sentence.
(HT: John Stott’s The Cross of Christ)
Monday, January 18, 2010
Untitled
You say you are close to the oppressed and brokenhearted.
Then you must be buried underneath the rubble,
Bled into the dusty streets,
Cried from hoarse dry throats.
Where were you when the walls fell?
You know each torn body,
You call them by name.
Where were you when the mountains rolled into the sea?
You hold each child,
You ache with hunger,
You weep.
--Anna
Port-au-Prince, January 12th, 2010
Hi everyone,
First and foremost, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your prayers and thoughts. All of the emails and facebook messages were overwhelmingly beautiful and I was told that so many of you were on conference calls praying for our team and Haiti. So thank you. I'm writing this email because I want you all to know what happened in Haiti but at this point I can't answer questions of "how was it?" or "what was it like" very well and I'm not sure when I'll be able to. It's hard for me to process everything still, so this is one of my first attempts to do so. I've posted the full story on our blog, but I've pasted the last three paragraphs below because they're the most important. So I'm going to share what happened from my point of view and ask for your prayers.
I guess I have to first explain what I was doing there. I was in Haiti from January 7th to January 14th. I was part of a research group from my school (there were 6 students and 1 professor who leads our research team). I'll try to give a brief summary of our research: since after the hurricanes in 2008, Haiti was becoming more stable and a lot of people saw this next season as a window of opportunity for Haiti to develop well. We were focusing on how the private sector can impact state building and development in Haiti. We went to Haiti to do interviews with key stakeholders in this process (government, the UN mission (MINUSTAH), NGOs, private sector, etc). We had five days of jam-packed, incredible, eye-opening interviews before the earthquake hit, and ironically, some of Monday's interviews highlighted the need for a greater focus on the environment in Haiti. But it was truly an incredible experience, and to hear about the exciting developments that were taking place. I also got to see my grandma, my great-grandma, my uncle and one of my cousins on Sunday, which was lovely. So that was what happened before Tuesday afternoon.
So right before the earthquake (3:53pm Haitian time), we had just finished a meeting at the Hotel Christophe, which was the main UN building that completely collapsed. We drove to a different UN building (UNDP) for another meeting that was supposed to start at 4. We had driven up a hill and seen all the school kids in their uniforms coming out of school, and commented on how cute they all were. Our driver had just parked the car on top of the hill in the UNDP parking lot and people had started getting out of the car when the earthquake started. I was still in the car. I honestly thought it was a bomb at first; I kept thinking to myself, Haiti doesn't get earthquakes. I don't really know how to describe how it felt, except terrifying. Once it stopped, we heard screaming and we went to look over the rail to see the other side of the hill. The road that we had just been on, including the cars that were on it and the buildings on the side, were completely demolished by rocks that had fallen from the hill above. I could see a woman's arm flailing and hear her screaming. I burst into tears; the other students ran down there to help but my professor told me to stay, because I was a wreck I think.
All of the people from inside the UNDP building ran out and thankfully, that building did not collapse. I felt absolutely helpless and for a while I was just sitting in the parking lot, crying. The guys, along with other Haitians, were able to get that woman out from under the rocks. A bit later, they started carrying injured people into the parking lot (there was a gate to get into the compound). We had one doctor and a couple of us were trying to help in any way we could; all we had were first aid kits though to treat gaping wounds and broken limbs. The doctor had gone out to bring people in, and had put tape on the heads of people she was worried about but couldn't carry herself. So she asked me to go find and bring this girl with tape on her head. As I ran out there, I passed a school that was completely flattened, and I started freaking out until someone reminded me that the kids had already left school. It was already getting dark but thankfully, I found the little girl and carried her inside; her grandmother and little brother who were also under rubble came in afterwards.
As the night went on, more and more people came in, with worse and worse injuries. I sat by children who were by themselves and sang or prayed with them to calm them, and myself, down. I spent most of the night with a little boy (8 years old, I think) who was all by himself and didn't even know how to get to his house. He had a broken wrist and multiple head wounds, and was in so much pain. As I write this, the injuries don't sound so bad but the scariest thing was not knowing how serious it was. He kept asking me if he was going to die; I reassured him that he wouldn't but it was difficult to make him believe me when people around him were screaming in agony and two or three people had already died in the parking lot. Every time an aftershock occurred (about 4-5 times that night), it would set off another round of screaming and praying. I couldn't really sleep because of the aftershocks, the cold, and the fact that the parking lot cement isn't exactly comfortable. I tried to call my grandmother and uncle but the communication lines weren't working; I was able to send texts to a friend and my uncle to tell them I was okay. But when I thought about my grandmother as I was comforting people, I had this strange feeling that they were all ok. Later that night, I finally reached my uncle and he confirmed that they were all fine.
One of the scariest parts was when our team talked about evacuation, and we were told that the international staff may be the only ones that would be taken out and we'd have to leave everyone else there. Thankfully that didn't happen. The next morning, we walked over to the outside of the other UN building and all of us who were in the parking lot (injured, local and int'l staff) were driven to the UN logistics base. The devastation we drove by was unbelievable. It all felt unreal. It was weird because in many places, one building would remain while the ones next to it were completely flattened; that pattern repeated throughout the city. And the roads were filled with people walking. Where, I don't know. But walking. The truck we were in had to turn around and go different routes multiple times because the roads were blocked by debris. When we got to the UN base (by the airport), we were overjoyed to see two of the people we had met from MINUSTAH and they had survived although they were in the building. We heard that most of the people in the building were still unaccounted for, but there was still hope that they could be found alive. One guy we had met survived by jumping out of the window on the 6th floor; his two legs were broken, but he was alive.
That morning, we sat together for a while; then the doctor sent news that she needed help in the infirmary. So we went; I can't explain what it was like when we got there. The only description I could find was hell on earth--the agony was almost unbearable. But people did--and we just had to get to work; those first few hours are a blur. So many people were calling out to me, "Dokte!" because they thought I could help them. All I could do was listen to them and beckon the doctor to come to them when she was free. I found the little boy I had been with the night before; thankfully, he seemed much more stable physically but all he wanted to do was go home to see if his family was there. We had a bit more medical supplies but not enough/the right stuff; people would ask me for pills to take away the pain and I couldn't give them any. At that point, there were about three doctors for about 120 patients. There were about ten-twelve volunteers. Almost everyone had a fractured limb and , most had multiple injuries. There were two babies with injured mothers. I did my first splint, after assisting a doctor to do one; the poor woman who I worked on, her bone was sticking out of her leg...I had to clean the wound out with little alcohol wipes and then put the stick, and wrap it with gauze. The first time I did it, the stick was crooked, so I had to readjust it--honestly, the night of the earthquake, I desperately wished I could be a doctor to help more. But the next day, I wanted to never see anything like what I saw again. We tried to assist the doctors in any way we could: getting the supplies they needed, translating, etc. I'm trying to think of more details, but like I said, it's a blur now.
We went back to the other part of the UN to eat and while we were in one of the buildings, an aftershock occurred and we all ran out. You can only imagine how that affects the people who were already injured in the infirmary. We spent a couple of hours resting after that--to be honest, part of me wanted to go back to the infirmary but another part of me really, really didn't because of how sad and terrible it was. As we walked back to help that evening, my friend prayed with me that we would comfort the people and bring them peace. And there was such a difference from that morning and that evening; that morning, there were multiple times where I was frantic and would forget what I was supposed to do next. But that evening, I was blessed to spend time with three little girls. The first was Emmanuella, who is 14; she has the sweetest demeanor. I asked her if she'd like to pray--she started, and what blew me away was, she prayed for me before she prayed for herself. She thanked God for me being there and prayed that God would use me how He wanted to. And then she prayed that she would be able to draw closer to Him and that He would use her as well. There was an indescribable strength in her prayer. After she finished, she asked for my email. And she said, God sent youu here to be with me. The next girl, Shalinda, was still in her school uniform. I was able to pray with her and her mom. The last girl, Marie-Olene, wasis seven years old and was all alone. She had a broken wrist, but her arm was so swollen and she was in such pain. It was gruesome. I don't know how to explain the time I spent with her, but she's the most beautiful child I'd ever seen. I made her laugh by making silly faces and telling silly stories. My favorite part is when she interrupted me once to touch my hair and ask me if it was real. Some things never change. lol. She shared how she didn't live with her mom, but with her aunt. I was just grateful I could be with her, and her smile is one of the most precious things in the world. As I looked into her big brown eyes, I kept telling her how strong she was and that she wasn't alone at all. Later that night, a man across from her died--the doctor desperately tried to revive him, but to no avail. And Marie-Olene asked me why he had a sheet over his head, and if he was dead, and I couldn't tell her yes. I just said I don't know. I wish I could have stayed by her side all night.
But we had to distribute food--that was the first time we had food to give them. A lot of people couldn't eat on their own, and had to be fed. By that time there were about 150 people. The president of Haiti and his wife visited the infirmary that day. That night, this little boy started screaming, "Ca fait mal! Ca fait mal! (It hurts!). When I got to him, I smiled to try to comfort him, and to my surprise, he stopped crying and smiled back at me. He's probably four or five years old and he has two broken legs. It was amazing to me, and I def think more was going on than just me smiling at him. He was so strong and peaceful. I kept telling him that he was okay, and I know that he is. When he'd fall asleep, he would have nightmares and so we'd wake him up to comfort him. His name is Woodson. The next day, his dad had left, presumably to take care of other family members, but this child was left alone. Another man who didn't know him and could barely walk stumbled over to him to take care of him. That night we went to sleep, praying that the people would survive that night--most of them had blankets but it got so cold at night. But some more doctors had rushed in from the University of Miami that night, and we were so thankful. That night we slept in a bus.
The next morning, we went back to the infirmary; some people had left because we didn't have much to care for them with and they hoped they'd find a hospital that had more doctors and more supplies. At first I was scared because I couldn't find the little boy I was with from the first night, but he just refused to stay in his bed; he had become really attached to another guy from the team, and he'd just keep asking for him and would say "Kenbe-m" over and over (hold me). I spent most of the next morning (Thursday) taking care of patients and distributing food; more and more people came, with terrible injuries. My friends were picking cement bits out of people's wounds. More doctors came in with more nurses, which made us happy. But as the doctors went around looking at the different patients, they stopped at Marie-Olene and stated that she'd lose her hand, because it hadn't been properly taken care of in time. I can't describe the feelings... We had been told that we would probably be leaving that day to the Dominican Republic on a helicopter, but when the time came when they told us we had to leave immediately, I was heartbroken. I had to walk away so fast and not look back because I was afraid I would break down in front of the patients. As we walked out of the infirmary, we all broke down. When we got to the logistics base, we found out that the students and our professor who tried to get stuff from the hotel in which we were staying were unable to get stuff from most of our rooms because it was partially destroyed; my friend couldn't open the door into our room due to the rubble.
So we left Haiti with the clothes on our backs, and I didn't have any ID on me (never doing that again...), but I was grateful to be alive. Leaving Haiti tore my heart, but I also knew that there was very little we could do in the state we were in: no change of clothes, no money, nowhere to sleep. This was my first helicopter ride, but it was not fun; we were able to take one of the patients in really bad condition to the DR to be treated but it smelled terrible. The difference between the DR and Haiti was so striking. So at this point, I've written a lot. I think you can delete the previous sentence. We were well taken care of in the DR, by the Canadian embassy and the Clinton Foundation; after three days, we had our first shower. We bought clothes to change into. And the next day, we went straight to the Canadian embassy to get emergency travel documents, and the Canadians took care of my ticket back to Montreal. I broke down when I found out I had to travel alone, because I had thought one other girl would be able to come on the same flight, but it was sold out after they bought mine. These are little things obviously, but I think it was a bit of a tipping point or something. I had a four hour layover in Newark that I was dreading but my friend Sy, Sy's mom, and my aunt, Tatie Micka, came to see me and it was soo good to see them. It really meant a lot to me. I made it to Montreal and it was wonderful to see my family. So now I'm in Montreal until I can get my passport, which will hopefully be by Tuesday.
Like so many people, I’ve asked the question, “Where was God in all of this?” And I asked God that question. I felt like the Lord responded, “I was there, through you, and many others who were caring for people.” While that doesn’t answer all of my questions, it did give me a certain sense of peace, in the sense that I am so grateful that I was able to be there to help people in any way, even if it was so little, because there was practically no one there to assist them at that point. Although it was incredibly difficult and horrific, it was worth it to comfort one child, to hold one person’s hand. And I pray that you’d use your resources, your time and your heart to help people inI Haiti as well. I saw the desperate need firsthand, and I implore you to contribute as much as you can. When I get back to New York, I will figure out how I will contribute, and I will keep you all posted about that if you want.
Most of this story has been about what I saw and experienced, because I felt like I needed to share that. I am grateful for the exact location we were when the earthquake hit; everywhere else we could have been/were a few minutes earlier collapsed. Honestly, it's difficult to say that when so many others were crushed. I'm also incredibly grateful for the team of students I was with, and our professor. They worked tirelessly, gave all that they had, were the best comforters you could ask for, and inspired me to keep doing all I could for the people. Please pray for my team's psychological well-being and healing; emotionally, I've been going through waves of intense sadness and then periods of numbness. But the Haitians that remain in Haiti and those who have lost loved ones now need to be the focus of our prayers and efforts. As you've probably seen on the news, they desperately need medical doctors, medical supplies, food, water, and so much more. This is really one of those things where we're going to need everyone's skills and resources, but the efforts have to be well coordinated. Please pray that that would happen and please contribute as much as you can. While I was on the ground, I saw and heard of Partners in Health, the Red Cross, Doctors without Borders, and World Vision doing great work.
But the greatest heroes are honestly the Haitian people. While there’s so much on the news about looting and such, I pray that you would put yourself in their shoes, pray for them, and contribute your resources. I don't understand how people can call it looting when people are starving, have absolutely nothing, and have no other options.But please pray that the violence that has begun can be stopped. I can just say that I saw Haitians digging out strangers, feeding strangers, and doing all they could. Wednesday night, two parents who were there with their injured child chose to go around the entire hospital and ask each person if they’d like prayer. People would come up to tell me about people who were doing really badly, that they didn’t even know. I’ve never seen such strength and compassion in my life, and their prayers are what strengthen me. Again, thank you for all you've done so far, and please do all that you can.
With love,
Gabrielle
First and foremost, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your prayers and thoughts. All of the emails and facebook messages were overwhelmingly beautiful and I was told that so many of you were on conference calls praying for our team and Haiti. So thank you. I'm writing this email because I want you all to know what happened in Haiti but at this point I can't answer questions of "how was it?" or "what was it like" very well and I'm not sure when I'll be able to. It's hard for me to process everything still, so this is one of my first attempts to do so. I've posted the full story on our blog, but I've pasted the last three paragraphs below because they're the most important. So I'm going to share what happened from my point of view and ask for your prayers.
I guess I have to first explain what I was doing there. I was in Haiti from January 7th to January 14th. I was part of a research group from my school (there were 6 students and 1 professor who leads our research team). I'll try to give a brief summary of our research: since after the hurricanes in 2008, Haiti was becoming more stable and a lot of people saw this next season as a window of opportunity for Haiti to develop well. We were focusing on how the private sector can impact state building and development in Haiti. We went to Haiti to do interviews with key stakeholders in this process (government, the UN mission (MINUSTAH), NGOs, private sector, etc). We had five days of jam-packed, incredible, eye-opening interviews before the earthquake hit, and ironically, some of Monday's interviews highlighted the need for a greater focus on the environment in Haiti. But it was truly an incredible experience, and to hear about the exciting developments that were taking place. I also got to see my grandma, my great-grandma, my uncle and one of my cousins on Sunday, which was lovely. So that was what happened before Tuesday afternoon.
So right before the earthquake (3:53pm Haitian time), we had just finished a meeting at the Hotel Christophe, which was the main UN building that completely collapsed. We drove to a different UN building (UNDP) for another meeting that was supposed to start at 4. We had driven up a hill and seen all the school kids in their uniforms coming out of school, and commented on how cute they all were. Our driver had just parked the car on top of the hill in the UNDP parking lot and people had started getting out of the car when the earthquake started. I was still in the car. I honestly thought it was a bomb at first; I kept thinking to myself, Haiti doesn't get earthquakes. I don't really know how to describe how it felt, except terrifying. Once it stopped, we heard screaming and we went to look over the rail to see the other side of the hill. The road that we had just been on, including the cars that were on it and the buildings on the side, were completely demolished by rocks that had fallen from the hill above. I could see a woman's arm flailing and hear her screaming. I burst into tears; the other students ran down there to help but my professor told me to stay, because I was a wreck I think.
All of the people from inside the UNDP building ran out and thankfully, that building did not collapse. I felt absolutely helpless and for a while I was just sitting in the parking lot, crying. The guys, along with other Haitians, were able to get that woman out from under the rocks. A bit later, they started carrying injured people into the parking lot (there was a gate to get into the compound). We had one doctor and a couple of us were trying to help in any way we could; all we had were first aid kits though to treat gaping wounds and broken limbs. The doctor had gone out to bring people in, and had put tape on the heads of people she was worried about but couldn't carry herself. So she asked me to go find and bring this girl with tape on her head. As I ran out there, I passed a school that was completely flattened, and I started freaking out until someone reminded me that the kids had already left school. It was already getting dark but thankfully, I found the little girl and carried her inside; her grandmother and little brother who were also under rubble came in afterwards.
As the night went on, more and more people came in, with worse and worse injuries. I sat by children who were by themselves and sang or prayed with them to calm them, and myself, down. I spent most of the night with a little boy (8 years old, I think) who was all by himself and didn't even know how to get to his house. He had a broken wrist and multiple head wounds, and was in so much pain. As I write this, the injuries don't sound so bad but the scariest thing was not knowing how serious it was. He kept asking me if he was going to die; I reassured him that he wouldn't but it was difficult to make him believe me when people around him were screaming in agony and two or three people had already died in the parking lot. Every time an aftershock occurred (about 4-5 times that night), it would set off another round of screaming and praying. I couldn't really sleep because of the aftershocks, the cold, and the fact that the parking lot cement isn't exactly comfortable. I tried to call my grandmother and uncle but the communication lines weren't working; I was able to send texts to a friend and my uncle to tell them I was okay. But when I thought about my grandmother as I was comforting people, I had this strange feeling that they were all ok. Later that night, I finally reached my uncle and he confirmed that they were all fine.
One of the scariest parts was when our team talked about evacuation, and we were told that the international staff may be the only ones that would be taken out and we'd have to leave everyone else there. Thankfully that didn't happen. The next morning, we walked over to the outside of the other UN building and all of us who were in the parking lot (injured, local and int'l staff) were driven to the UN logistics base. The devastation we drove by was unbelievable. It all felt unreal. It was weird because in many places, one building would remain while the ones next to it were completely flattened; that pattern repeated throughout the city. And the roads were filled with people walking. Where, I don't know. But walking. The truck we were in had to turn around and go different routes multiple times because the roads were blocked by debris. When we got to the UN base (by the airport), we were overjoyed to see two of the people we had met from MINUSTAH and they had survived although they were in the building. We heard that most of the people in the building were still unaccounted for, but there was still hope that they could be found alive. One guy we had met survived by jumping out of the window on the 6th floor; his two legs were broken, but he was alive.
That morning, we sat together for a while; then the doctor sent news that she needed help in the infirmary. So we went; I can't explain what it was like when we got there. The only description I could find was hell on earth--the agony was almost unbearable. But people did--and we just had to get to work; those first few hours are a blur. So many people were calling out to me, "Dokte!" because they thought I could help them. All I could do was listen to them and beckon the doctor to come to them when she was free. I found the little boy I had been with the night before; thankfully, he seemed much more stable physically but all he wanted to do was go home to see if his family was there. We had a bit more medical supplies but not enough/the right stuff; people would ask me for pills to take away the pain and I couldn't give them any. At that point, there were about three doctors for about 120 patients. There were about ten-twelve volunteers. Almost everyone had a fractured limb and , most had multiple injuries. There were two babies with injured mothers. I did my first splint, after assisting a doctor to do one; the poor woman who I worked on, her bone was sticking out of her leg...I had to clean the wound out with little alcohol wipes and then put the stick, and wrap it with gauze. The first time I did it, the stick was crooked, so I had to readjust it--honestly, the night of the earthquake, I desperately wished I could be a doctor to help more. But the next day, I wanted to never see anything like what I saw again. We tried to assist the doctors in any way we could: getting the supplies they needed, translating, etc. I'm trying to think of more details, but like I said, it's a blur now.
We went back to the other part of the UN to eat and while we were in one of the buildings, an aftershock occurred and we all ran out. You can only imagine how that affects the people who were already injured in the infirmary. We spent a couple of hours resting after that--to be honest, part of me wanted to go back to the infirmary but another part of me really, really didn't because of how sad and terrible it was. As we walked back to help that evening, my friend prayed with me that we would comfort the people and bring them peace. And there was such a difference from that morning and that evening; that morning, there were multiple times where I was frantic and would forget what I was supposed to do next. But that evening, I was blessed to spend time with three little girls. The first was Emmanuella, who is 14; she has the sweetest demeanor. I asked her if she'd like to pray--she started, and what blew me away was, she prayed for me before she prayed for herself. She thanked God for me being there and prayed that God would use me how He wanted to. And then she prayed that she would be able to draw closer to Him and that He would use her as well. There was an indescribable strength in her prayer. After she finished, she asked for my email. And she said, God sent youu here to be with me. The next girl, Shalinda, was still in her school uniform. I was able to pray with her and her mom. The last girl, Marie-Olene, wasis seven years old and was all alone. She had a broken wrist, but her arm was so swollen and she was in such pain. It was gruesome. I don't know how to explain the time I spent with her, but she's the most beautiful child I'd ever seen. I made her laugh by making silly faces and telling silly stories. My favorite part is when she interrupted me once to touch my hair and ask me if it was real. Some things never change. lol. She shared how she didn't live with her mom, but with her aunt. I was just grateful I could be with her, and her smile is one of the most precious things in the world. As I looked into her big brown eyes, I kept telling her how strong she was and that she wasn't alone at all. Later that night, a man across from her died--the doctor desperately tried to revive him, but to no avail. And Marie-Olene asked me why he had a sheet over his head, and if he was dead, and I couldn't tell her yes. I just said I don't know. I wish I could have stayed by her side all night.
But we had to distribute food--that was the first time we had food to give them. A lot of people couldn't eat on their own, and had to be fed. By that time there were about 150 people. The president of Haiti and his wife visited the infirmary that day. That night, this little boy started screaming, "Ca fait mal! Ca fait mal! (It hurts!). When I got to him, I smiled to try to comfort him, and to my surprise, he stopped crying and smiled back at me. He's probably four or five years old and he has two broken legs. It was amazing to me, and I def think more was going on than just me smiling at him. He was so strong and peaceful. I kept telling him that he was okay, and I know that he is. When he'd fall asleep, he would have nightmares and so we'd wake him up to comfort him. His name is Woodson. The next day, his dad had left, presumably to take care of other family members, but this child was left alone. Another man who didn't know him and could barely walk stumbled over to him to take care of him. That night we went to sleep, praying that the people would survive that night--most of them had blankets but it got so cold at night. But some more doctors had rushed in from the University of Miami that night, and we were so thankful. That night we slept in a bus.
The next morning, we went back to the infirmary; some people had left because we didn't have much to care for them with and they hoped they'd find a hospital that had more doctors and more supplies. At first I was scared because I couldn't find the little boy I was with from the first night, but he just refused to stay in his bed; he had become really attached to another guy from the team, and he'd just keep asking for him and would say "Kenbe-m" over and over (hold me). I spent most of the next morning (Thursday) taking care of patients and distributing food; more and more people came, with terrible injuries. My friends were picking cement bits out of people's wounds. More doctors came in with more nurses, which made us happy. But as the doctors went around looking at the different patients, they stopped at Marie-Olene and stated that she'd lose her hand, because it hadn't been properly taken care of in time. I can't describe the feelings... We had been told that we would probably be leaving that day to the Dominican Republic on a helicopter, but when the time came when they told us we had to leave immediately, I was heartbroken. I had to walk away so fast and not look back because I was afraid I would break down in front of the patients. As we walked out of the infirmary, we all broke down. When we got to the logistics base, we found out that the students and our professor who tried to get stuff from the hotel in which we were staying were unable to get stuff from most of our rooms because it was partially destroyed; my friend couldn't open the door into our room due to the rubble.
So we left Haiti with the clothes on our backs, and I didn't have any ID on me (never doing that again...), but I was grateful to be alive. Leaving Haiti tore my heart, but I also knew that there was very little we could do in the state we were in: no change of clothes, no money, nowhere to sleep. This was my first helicopter ride, but it was not fun; we were able to take one of the patients in really bad condition to the DR to be treated but it smelled terrible. The difference between the DR and Haiti was so striking. So at this point, I've written a lot. I think you can delete the previous sentence. We were well taken care of in the DR, by the Canadian embassy and the Clinton Foundation; after three days, we had our first shower. We bought clothes to change into. And the next day, we went straight to the Canadian embassy to get emergency travel documents, and the Canadians took care of my ticket back to Montreal. I broke down when I found out I had to travel alone, because I had thought one other girl would be able to come on the same flight, but it was sold out after they bought mine. These are little things obviously, but I think it was a bit of a tipping point or something. I had a four hour layover in Newark that I was dreading but my friend Sy, Sy's mom, and my aunt, Tatie Micka, came to see me and it was soo good to see them. It really meant a lot to me. I made it to Montreal and it was wonderful to see my family. So now I'm in Montreal until I can get my passport, which will hopefully be by Tuesday.
Like so many people, I’ve asked the question, “Where was God in all of this?” And I asked God that question. I felt like the Lord responded, “I was there, through you, and many others who were caring for people.” While that doesn’t answer all of my questions, it did give me a certain sense of peace, in the sense that I am so grateful that I was able to be there to help people in any way, even if it was so little, because there was practically no one there to assist them at that point. Although it was incredibly difficult and horrific, it was worth it to comfort one child, to hold one person’s hand. And I pray that you’d use your resources, your time and your heart to help people inI Haiti as well. I saw the desperate need firsthand, and I implore you to contribute as much as you can. When I get back to New York, I will figure out how I will contribute, and I will keep you all posted about that if you want.
Most of this story has been about what I saw and experienced, because I felt like I needed to share that. I am grateful for the exact location we were when the earthquake hit; everywhere else we could have been/were a few minutes earlier collapsed. Honestly, it's difficult to say that when so many others were crushed. I'm also incredibly grateful for the team of students I was with, and our professor. They worked tirelessly, gave all that they had, were the best comforters you could ask for, and inspired me to keep doing all I could for the people. Please pray for my team's psychological well-being and healing; emotionally, I've been going through waves of intense sadness and then periods of numbness. But the Haitians that remain in Haiti and those who have lost loved ones now need to be the focus of our prayers and efforts. As you've probably seen on the news, they desperately need medical doctors, medical supplies, food, water, and so much more. This is really one of those things where we're going to need everyone's skills and resources, but the efforts have to be well coordinated. Please pray that that would happen and please contribute as much as you can. While I was on the ground, I saw and heard of Partners in Health, the Red Cross, Doctors without Borders, and World Vision doing great work.
But the greatest heroes are honestly the Haitian people. While there’s so much on the news about looting and such, I pray that you would put yourself in their shoes, pray for them, and contribute your resources. I don't understand how people can call it looting when people are starving, have absolutely nothing, and have no other options.But please pray that the violence that has begun can be stopped. I can just say that I saw Haitians digging out strangers, feeding strangers, and doing all they could. Wednesday night, two parents who were there with their injured child chose to go around the entire hospital and ask each person if they’d like prayer. People would come up to tell me about people who were doing really badly, that they didn’t even know. I’ve never seen such strength and compassion in my life, and their prayers are what strengthen me. Again, thank you for all you've done so far, and please do all that you can.
With love,
Gabrielle
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