I arrived in Haiti for the second time post-quake roughly 90 days after it struck. The first thing that I thought was that not much had changed since I was there last. Still lots of buildings half-standing or crumbled into a pile. Still all sorts of people everywhere. Still tents all over, though way more this time than the last time. Progress? If you look real hard, you can see small outbreaks of it. None of this, for whatever reason, was on my radar.I am often way too concerned about the individual to take notice of the whole. Often this gets me into trouble, but it is what it is, this is me. I am not one to look out at the massive 2,000 tent village in what used to be a soccer field I'd drive by and think about 20,000 people living in there. I drove past it last weekend and took note of the two kids, brother and sister perhaps, sitting along the edge in clothes it looked like they had been wearing since the day their world literally came crashing down. I am not the right person to deal with the 20,000, I am the person to deal with the 2. I get asked a lot "What about those 350,000 orphans in Haiti? How do you help them all?" The answer? I am not concerned with 350,000 orphans. That problem is beyond me. There are people much wiser than I who can handle them. I am concerned with about 250 of them that I know and love.
I don't do big. I do one by one. I am not a big fan of going into an area with 1,000 people and shaking their hands each once while giving them a box of food. Not me. I am much more inclined to sit with 15 kids for 3 hours and hug them all multiple times, talk about life and allow them to forget Janaury 12th for a while. Make them smile and laugh, wipe away some tears, encourage them and show them love and grace. I am more the guy who sat with Lovely at Good Samaritan last Saturday afternoon and studied US State Capitals with her for next weeks test while mixing in questions about how she is doing now living at the orphanage since the earthquake. As we mixed up the capitals of the Dakota's, she shed a tear talking about the older sister she hasen't seen in a while. I gave her a little hug, wiped her tear away and reminded her of Bismarck (north) and Pierre (south). One kid, one moment, this is what I do. Don't get me wrong, the people who do big are literally saving the world. They are heroes who feed kids and keep them alive. I am just not one of them, it is not how I am wired. It is not what I do well. I am not good at keeping emotions out of it. I am emotionally involved with each kid I know in Haiti. I take everything with them personally. They are sad, I am sad. They are happy, I am happy. That is just me, not going to change. God made me this way, argue with Him about it if it is a problem. I am just going to deal with it; this is me and this is what I do.
Of course, does it really matter? Who cares how I am wired or why I do what I do or say what I say? Am I really important enough for you to care? Not likely, and that is a good thing because none of this is about me. I only write the above paragraphs so you have an idea behind what I am about to say and why I am about to say it. It would be helpful to frame the following thoughts in the knowlege that I have no idea what to do with 350,000 orphans, or 8 hour feeding lines or corrupt governments. Not my job.
So, what, then, is my job? My job is Christella at Freedom Grace in Jacmel. Christella who 18 months ago was a child slave in some God-forsaken corner of Haiti and today is a light that shines like a star in the night. Christella, big bug eyes and all, who knows all about suffering and even more about love. This is the girl who worked in abusive conditions from ages 8-10, but as an 11 year old is a mother figure to the other girls in her orphanage. Where two years ago you would find her washing clothes or cleaning dishes before sleeping on the concrete floor, today you find her helping 2 year old Fabiola get dressed and carrying her lunch to school for her. Once a giver, always a giver, but at least this time she is giving out of love, not out of fear.Christella gives and gives, more than I think I will ever know. Maybe she has given too much already, like her childhood. So, what is my job? What does a small picture guy like me do? I spend as much time listening to Christella as I can. I make her laugh. I do things for her like carry her bag, hold her hand, kiss her cheek and goof around with her. I pray with her and pray for her. I make her feel like she doesn't have to give, at least for a few days. For a few days she can just be an 11 year old girl. Not a former slave, not a little momma, just a kid. Sometimes being nothing for a day is everything you ever wanted.
I am bad at big, good at little. I have a hard time talking to adults, they are confusing. I know, I am one of them, and I confuse myself most days. They have all sorts of preconcieved notions about things they really know nothing about. They think they can fix the whole world even though they have very little idea what the world is like. They think that their little bit of life experience makes them experts on everybodies experiences. I do to, I am guilty as charged. I don't do big very well.
That is why as I walked towards Freedom House in the twilight last Friday night and heard "Matt" in a tiny little voice, I was ready to go to work. Somebody was looking for me. One person, I do one person really well. Out of the shadow walked Deborah, a sweet 12 year old I have know for years. She used to live one place, and now lives in another, but found me none the less. She needed to talk. I needed to listen. This is what I do.
You know who does big picture really well? Haitian kids. They do it much better than me. One day, maybe I can be a little bit more like them. They don't look at today, they don't seem to dwell on yesterday, they are forever fixed upon tomorrow. Even though it seems most days like the tomorrow they are dreaming of will never come, they dream none the less. Better to strive for something that you may never reach than to do nothing at all, right? Movement is always better that stagnation. Hope is always better than giving up.
Giving up...not so sure this has a translation in Creole. Giving up just doesn't seem like an option. My great friend Pastor Abraham built a school for 600 kids out of bamboo, leaves, old sheets and tarps a few weeks ago so the earthquake didn't rob the communities kids of their education too. It can have the buildings if it wants, but it isn't going to take away their learning. Education is the key to success, it is the last great hope for breaking the cycle of poverty. The earthquake didn't stop Abraham, it was just one more way to look evil in the face, laugh and keep on with his mission. Abraham, big picture guy.
So what does all this mean? Why have I now written for a half an hour about 3 kids, 1 pastor and a whole bunch of things that go on in my head? Does big picture and small picture matter? Doesn't it take both to change the world? Lots of questions...if you're looking for answers, you're asking the wrong guy. Those are big picture questions...I am a little picture guy.
Ask me about Yviolene's impression of Max or the way she smiles when you tickle her. Ask me about Fabiola's favorite color. Ask me about Jessica's thoughts about her mother. Ask me about how Linsley shakes her hips when the music starts playing or the way that looking into her eyes changes your life. Ask me about why Mirlande is so shy and Jesula is so wild.
God bless the big picture people. Haiti would be a nightmare without the UN, World Vision and Save The Children, to name just a few, right now. Millions of living kids would otherwise be dead without them. They are some of the heroes of the narrative of this travesty. They are big picture and their big picture literally saves the lives of children. Good for them, I pray they continue to do their work.It just not my work. I can't do it. It is not what I go to bed at night thinking about and wake up in the morning mulling over. I fall to sleep wondering about where Carmesuze is sleeping tonight. I wake up concerned for the scabies the little boy at Petionville has. I wonder how Nostaline remembers her parents and how Cynthia is making out in her new Canadian-Army-built bunk house. Not such important stuff to most people, but important to me. It may seem like little things, things that aren't life and death, things that don't matter in the big picture of Haiti...but there we go again, big picture, well, that's just not me...I don't do big very well.
