Logan in Haiti

This past trip to Haiti was about a lot of things, but those are details that will bore you.  What this trip was mostly about was giving Logan a chance to visit Haiti and see where his parents have been going for more years than he has been alive.  We wanted Logan to see what it was all about, to see where huge pieces of our heart live.
    We set out not knowing how Logan would handle all of it.  He is 8.  What do 8-year-old’s know about poverty and orphans?  What do they know about the socio-economic dynamics of Haiti that land kids in our orphanages?  What would he understand about the poverty all around Haiti?  Would he even get it?
    What we found out was that none of that junk mattered to him.  He saw the poverty, extreme in some spots, and understood it, but didn’t dwell on it.  He looked past it, more concerned about the kids and if they got to school or not, whether or not they had anything to play with and where they took a bath.  He wanted to make sure that somebody was at least trying to help them with all of that.  As long as somebody was doing something, at least there was hope.  To him it was simple, they need some help and somebody should be helping them. 
    When it came to the kids in our orphanages that is where Logan was a star.  I had no idea how he would handle it.  He speaks no Creole; they speak no English.  What would they do all day?  Well, any moment that I spent worrying about that we clearly a waste.  Logan played with the kids, both boys and girls, for hours everyday without needing any translation.  He made up games with the girls; he played soccer with the boys.  He went over to the boy’s home each afternoon and gathered, organized and brought the kids over to the girl’s to spend the afternoon with us.  It was no big deal to him; they were just other kids to play with.
       Beyond the playing, however, were the relationships built while he was playing with them.  He quickly formed bonds with several of the kids in his age range.  He also became very attached to a few of the smaller ones.  They became pretty attached to him too.  It was rough leaving, for all 3 of us and for the kids.  It is clear that God has put all of us on each other’s lives for a very special purpose, a purpose that we are just beginning to realize and develop; a purpose that clearly includes Logan, who is now counting up pennies to figure out how quickly he can get back.  He figure that if somebody has to help, why not him?

Looking After "Neverbugs"

There is a line in one of my favorite movies, Hook, where Peter Pan (Robin Williams) is leaving the “lost boys” and heading back to reality. He is giving them instructions and choosing their new leader. When he gives the chunky kid the leadership sword he tells all of them that they are responsible to take care of anybody who is smaller than they are. The tiniest lost boy? He is responsible for taking care of "neverbugs"…little ones.

That line reminds me of one of the coolest kids that I know, Christela Nelson. Christela is the oldest sister at Freedom House Grace girls home in Jacmel and she takes care of all of the "neverbugs" there. She is the constant mother, for all of her soon-to-be 13 years of life. She looks out for the group, counts heads, dishes out food, and carries smaller kids to bed when they pass out on the floor at night. I have begun to call her Manmi Christela, I am hoping it rubs off on some of the girls because I think she has earned the title.

Christela came to the home in the first group of girls back in 2009. She came from being a child slave, or restevek, as they are called in Haiti. I have not talked at great length with her about that time of her life; it would serve little purpose other than to quench my appetite for knowledge. I am certain it wouldn’t be helpful for her to replay those scenes in her mind just for my sake. What little I do know about her specific case is that it was abusive (as by definition any restevek case would be) and that she worked really, really hard.

As she turns a page in her life and turns into a teenager in the coming weeks, I am struck once again by the change in her situation. She is a giver. She gives. This is what she does. It’s who she is. She used to give out of fear, abuse and because she was mandated to by the adults in her life. She gave, and gave and gave of herself to no end. Today, she still gives, but for a different reason. Christela gives out of love, a love that seems to ooze out of her. If you ever have met her, you know what I mean. She used to give because she had to, now she gives because it is the language of her heart. Once a servant to man; now a servant to God.

As her 13th birthday approaches, I am hoping to be a little more like Christela, a little more able to look out for those smaller than me, a little bit better at giving out of the love that God has put in my heart. I want to be a little bit more like her, taking care of the "neverbugs" that God has put in my life…

Heroes in their Superman Underwear

Superman. Spiderman. Anikan Skywalker (before he became Darth Vader). Tim Tebow. Tom Brady. Michael Jordan. Martin Luther King, Jr. Mother Theresa. These people are all heroes to somebody. They are all heroes to more than somebody, they’re heroes to millions. They have all accomplished great acts of rescue and of getting the bad guy (even if just in a movie or comic book). They have performed a great feat of athletic greatness or changed the lives of millions through their moving service and speech. Legitimately, they are thought of as heroes, and that is ok with me. It is not my place to tell anybody who his or her heroes should or shouldn’t be.


My kids will tell you that I secretly like watching Star Wars with them. It is hard to find a bigger sports fanatic than me, you can verify that with my wife who will regale you with stories of me watching a football game on TV and while tracking two basketball games on my laptop. I am a big fan of Mother Theresa, MLK and plenty of other activist leaders. However, none of these people are heroes to me. To me, the word just takes a different meaning I guess. I find my heroes in people who overcome situations that they didn’t choose to put themselves in. I am not saying that is a universal definition that we all should follow, that is just how I look at it.

So who are heroes to me then? There are plenty I cold choose from, but I keep coming up to these 12 boys. These heroes do not seem to have superpowers or a platform to show their greatness to the world. In fact, nobody really knows them at all. Their names wouldn’t be found with a Google search and they don’t have a Facebook page. They certainly don’t look like Supermen, in fact they wear Superman underwear, secretly hoping, perhaps, to have a little bit of his super powers themselves…if they only knew.

The 12 boys at Freedom House Grace Boys Home in Jacmel, Haiti are, for me, a group of heroes. They do have superpowers; they have changed the world. Maybe they haven’t stopped genocide or saved a sinking ship. Maybe they can’t see through walls or fly above the city fighting crime. Superpowers don’t have to work like that though, do they? Isn’t it a superpower to overcome being a child slave? Is it a superpower to lose your mom and dad at age 5 and still thank God everyday for His faithfulness? The powers to smile and have hope, despite the hopelessness that you have known your whole life is a super power, isn’t it? I think that it is, I think that they are doing something that I am not sure that I would be able to do. That is heroic. Their example has changed my life. Their ability to smile, hope and praise God for what they have, despite all of the garbage that they have been through in their short little lives is something that changes my life every single day. I want to be more like them. I think that they have a lot more in common with the heroes who adorn their underwear than they think, in fact, to me, Superman’s got nothing on them.

24 Months Later...10 things to remember

January 12th marks 2 years since the devestating earthquake that struck Haiti.  We all remember those harrowing hours and days right after the devestation.  Our friends in Haiti, both Haitian and American, were on all of our minds and in all of our hearts as we yearned for information that we couldn't get.  We couldn't get phones to connect to our loved ones in Haiti.  Even though Anderson Cooper did great reporting, he couldn't report on everybody.  We scoured the news and watched the broadcasts for a glimpse of one person that we were dying to see alive and well.  Those first 48 hours, though nothing in comparison to those in Haiti of course, were dreadful and terrifying for all of us who could only watch the news unfold on our TV screens.

For weeks Haiti was on  the front page of all of the major newspapers and was the lead story on almost every newscast on television.  People sent money to the Red Cross, World Vision and dozens of non-profits that did heroic work all throughout the country.  Rappers, rock stars, country singers and teen pop stars came together and sang songs to raise awareness and money for the survivors of the devestation.  Governments around the world sent money, troops and supplies that saved countless lives.  For a few weeks Haiti was the center of it all and a bright light was shining on the needs of the people.  The world came together, at least for a short time, and united around the common goal of saving the lives of the Haitian people.  

It has been 24 months since the earth shook and breath was snatched from so many.  For most people Haiti is now a distant memory, surpassed in their counciousness by other stories that have come and gone, other diasasters, other needs.  I am not going to complain about that.  This is the reality of the world that we live in.  People move on.  It is what it is.  Do I wish that the world was still enagaged with Haiti and committed to working together to lift its people out of the harrowing life that so many of them are entrenched in?  Of course I do, but I also understand how this works.  If you are not personally connected, you move on.  I was touched and moved by those who suffered in Japan last year, but I don't think about them now.  I don't have a connection there, so my mind moves on to where my heart is. 

As this anniversary comes and goes, I have 10 things that I would ask that all of our friends and family remember on this day when Haiti will be back in the news...

1.  Remember my friends Jeff and Deb Denlinger (AWAKEN Haiti), Gerritt and Julie VanWagenen (Haiti Under God) and all of the other missionaries from across the world serving the needs of the Haitian people full-time on the ground in Haiti.

2.  Remember Freedom House Grace girls Edna and Nailovy and the other kids across Haiti who became orphans 24 months ago.

3.  Remember that for all of the bad things that happen in the world, it is still a good enough place that when confronted with suffering and pain, we can still come together and reach out to those in need.

3.  Remember that God is really big and that no matter how scared and frustrated we are sometimes, He can take even the worst circumstances and find ways to make something good come out of them.

4.  Remember how you felt when the first pictures came out of the devestation that happend that late afternoon.  For a few minutes remember the how you felt, what you thought and the prayers that you said.

5.  Remember how it made you think about who is important in your life.  Remember how you squeezed your kids a little tighter that night or rememebered to tell your spouse how much you loved them.  Whatever extra you did that night, when you thought about how devestated you would be if this happened to your family, do it again today in honor of those that lost children, parents and spouses in the wreckage.

6.  Remember the 2 million or more in Haiti who are still living in a temporary tent or shelter.

7.   Remember all of those who are suffering from the after effects of the earthquake, like the cholera epedemic that has struck hundreds of thousands who were already living in the worst kinds of conditions.

8.  Remember that each person who died, along with each broken heart that they left behind, isn't just a number in a news report or a statistic to look at, but that they were each created in God's image and loved by Him.

9.  Remember how you wanted to just fly over to Haiti and snatch one of those cute kids up and take care of them.  You know you can't do that, but you can still take care of them in other ways.  Remember how you felt and ask yourself if you still want to help those kids.

10.  Finally, remember that though we live in a world full of tragedy and pain, there is light at the end of the tunnel, and that light is Jesus, who will walk with us through both the good times and the tragedies in each of our lives. 

Matt

Who He Is

Abandoned and alone. Mom is gone. Dad is gone. She has nowhere to run, nowhere to turn. Who is going to tuck her in at night now?




He is lost in his own world. Nobody asks for him, nobody worries about where he is going to sleep at night. Where is he supposed to go now?



Her son is gone. The day the earth shook it took away her pride and joy, it took away her heart. It shook her whole world and tore it apart. How will she go on?



So much pain, so much loss, so much confusion. Where was God in all of this? Was He off looking somewhere else when her mom passed away? Was He working on something else when his parents left him on the street? Was He saving some other person’s child while hers took their last breath? Did He just forget about them? Were they not important enough to save?



When all of these questions are swirling in the wind, God showed up. Actually, He was always there, we just didn’t all see Him. We were looking in all the wrong places.



When her mom died it was God who held her in His arms, calmed her fears and gave rest to her weary little soul. It was God who got her to the right people and the right places. It was God who brought her into her new home, her new family of girls who have suffered losses just like her. He didn’t abandon her in her time of need He saved her from it.



As he wandered lost and alone it was God who took him by the hand and guided him where he needed to be. It was God who touched his heart and gave him the strength to push through. It was God who led him to his new brothers, where he can live, learn and love with other boys in need.



Her little boy did not die in vain. It was God who carried her little angel into the heavens. It was God who gave her strength and the power to honor her little boy by living a life that matters. It was God who opened the door for her to come to her new community, find people to walk her through her loss and love her through her pain. It was God who gave her rest and assured her that He would take care of her. He knows what she is going through, He once lost a son too.

God is who He is. He gives rest to the weary and cares for the orphans. He loves the lost and He finds the wandering soul and guides it home. This is what He does, this is who He is. How blessed are we to play small roles in His amazing plan of redemption? How humble to be small characters in His story. What a privilege, what an honor, what a burden. May we all do it knowing that He is who He is and we are who we are. He will do His part and we should do ours. When we do, the whole word has no choice but to see His love and know who He is.

Don't Speak (Edna's Story)

Kids should be seen and not heard...or something like that.  I am not really sure what that is supposed to mean, but I have heard it alot.  Sounds kind of dumb to me, but whatever, to each their own.

There is one kid, in particuluar, that I would love to hear the next time I see her.  Silence is deafening sometimes.  Hearing nothing can be really loud.

She talked on January 11th.  She talked January 10th and 9th too.  She talked alot of days before that day.  January 12th she stopped talking.  She hasn't talked since.

What is there about her silence that is so loud it keeps me awake at night?  I was on a porch with 24 girls, 23 of whom say "Daddy Matt..." followed by a question like 3 times every minute.  There was so much noise it sort of sounded like a swarm of bees was buzzing around.  It was that 24th girl, the one who hasn't talked in 9 months that was driving me nuts.  Her silence was a drum pounding in my head...it still is.

What is there in silence that gives her comfort?  What does it allow her to forget?  Maybe she just doesn't have anything to say.  She is only two, so it is not like I expect brilliant philisophical thoughts...but a word or two would be nice.  The house mom tells me that she has the ability to talk, just not the desire to.  What did she see that she doesn't want to talk about?  Her parents died in the earthquake.  Maybe she saw them die, maybe she didn't.  Who knows?  It is not like she has told anybody.  Either way they are gone.  Maybe she doesn't want to talk to anybody else except them.  Maybe she just doesn't know what to say.

Who can blame her?  What would you say in her shoes?  What would I say?  What is there to say?  The more I try to think about it, the more I side with her.  Maybe saying nothing is the best way to say everything.  If she talked I wouldn't be writing this.  You wouldn't know much about her story.  Silence...sometimes it says alot.

 

In Memory of Monise

They say it is better to have loved and lost than to have not loved at all. It is better to have experienced something great and lost it then to have never experienced it in the first place. Feeling something, sometime is better than feeling nothing, ever. Really? Is any of this true, or is ignorance truely bliss?

Running...laughing...dancing. Scenes running through my head, her beautiful face playing the lead. Crooked little teeth...so skinny you could see through her. Dress hanging off of her boney shoulders. Scenes I want to delete.

Sometimes the best things in life are the memories that you want to forget. They ignite you. They awaken you. They spur you on. They inspire you to do whatever you can to keep them from replaying in another persons life. It is the scenes that scare you that you remember. The ones that make you cry that you replay over and over. They are the ones that keep you awake at night. They are the ones that make it hard to breathe. They are the ones that change the world. Good memories make you smile...bad memories make you change.

There she was. Scared. Alone in a sea of people. Lost in the crowd. Forgotten. A face I had seen a hundred times before...I wish I could see it just one more time.

Injustice destroys life. It takes what has been built and it knocks it down. If grace is when you don't deserve something good but you get it anyway, what is it called when you didn't deserve something bad, but you got it anyway? Ungrace? Anti-grace? Life?

Life...something that we all get for free and lose at a price.

So here we are, the reality of now, literally worlds apart. I am here wondering what could have been. She is there, glad it's over. Maybe she just had enough. Maybe God looked down on her and decided that He could no longer let the injustice win. Maybe she had enough poverty, enough sickness, enough pain. Maybe this was her grace.

We may miss her. We may wonder "why" and ask "what if", or think about what we didn't do that we think we should have. We may ask questions that we will never have answers to. We can cry. We can be sad. We can even be angry and confused. We can also remember the time we had with her. A moment here. A memory there. The privalege of the time that we did get with her. We didn't do anything special to get to know her, but we had the honor. Maybe that was some of our grace.

So...they say it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. It's not that easy, it doesn't really work that way, it's not that simple...don't believe me? Try it.