February 25, 2010
I realize as you read my posts that many of them speak of deep sorrow. Were I to write them in any other way, they would not convey the life that my Haitian friends endure each and every day. Within that struggle, however, is a great joy that lives within them. And therein lies the enigma of life in Haiti. We in America and in highly industrialized countries take so much for granted. The water will almost always come on when we turn the handle on the sink. The toilet will almost always flush each and every time. And even if it does not, there are a thousand and one plumbers in the yellow pages that we can call for help. How many of us ever wonder if the lights will go on the second we flip the switch? Even in the midst of an occasional gasoline crisis every 20 years or so, if we’re patient in line we can always get the car filled up. If we’re sick, there is our primary care physician or the local “Quick Medical Center.” And at last resort, we can go to the ER of our choice at one of several top hospitals within a short drive from our house. One of our Aslan Haiti teens once said to Lynn Ann, “We are so blessed by God to have sunshine almost every day in Haiti. Because of this we do not have to rely on electricity.” What an attitude of humility and thankfulness!
There is hope, but that hope is tempered like fine steel in the furnace of great affliction, great sorrow and great sacrifice. I must tell you that our sweet Haitian mother died on Tuesday. The raging infection in her body was just too progressed for our doctors to be able to help her. Joseph had rushed to purchase a number of important medicines, but she died before he returned to the hospital.
As I said in my last post, Aslan was so privileged to give this precious soul the opportunity to pass from this life to the next in a comfortable hospital bed, with a team of doctors and nurses at her side. She was awake and aware when we took her to the hospital, so I know she understood that we loved her.
Yesterday afternoon, Joseph and I took her father on our motorcycle to purchase a coffin in which to lay his daughter to rest. Aslan paid for this, because the family is so very poor. Many Haitians borrow money for their loved one’s funerals; and most of them spend the remainder of their lives trying to pay back these debts. Joseph and I also took a large bag of rice by her hut. When her mother came out, she hugged me and cried softly on my shoulder for several minutes. Everyone in the family (about 13 people) thanked us again and again for caring so much. This morning a group of her relatives walked to our land to tell Joseph how much it meant to her family and friends for us to do the things we’ve done. In the picture below, you can see the carpet on which she was carried into the hospital. She was later moved to a hospital bed.
Jesus tells the story of a servant who comes in from working in the fields and then immediately begins to prepare for his master. He explains to His followers that this servant is only doing what is expected of him. We only did what Christ expected of us to help our friend. But I want for each of you to know again that it was also a privilege to be a part of this story and to serve our friend. Had we not stopped by the little wooden hut on Sunday afternoon, we would only have known that another life in Haiti was lost. In closing, I want for you too ponder these beautiful words written long ago.
Love had he found in huts where poor men lie;
His daily teachers had been woods and rills;
The silence that is in the starry sky;
The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
– William Wordsworth
