I worried often about Maggie, if she was getting sicker, if she had food, and if she was healthy enough to take care of herself and Tika. As time went on, my worry turned to fear. It was my worst fear that I would find out she died; that one of the diseases she battled finally won. I was afraid of her leaving behind her young daughter.
Madanm Silfiz was in the worst situation of anyone we have taken in. We found her living in a hut in the jungle alone. She laid in her bed all day due to being blind, not being able to walk, and having no wheelchair or crutches to help her. There was a nearby family that would check on her, give her food occasionally, and sometimes bathe her, but this family didn’t have much patience or love for Madanm Silfiz.
“I certainly didn’t plan for a worldwide pandemic to happen in my first year back in the field,” I shared with her. “None of us knew that this would happen,” she said. “But the Lord knew. And He still called you.” She encouraged me to sit with that, not as a reason to either stay or go, but rather to really give everything back to the Lord and seek Him in each situation.
I’m in a country I’ve never been to and I’m staying for the year; it’s really hot and there is no A/C; I don’t know where anything is; and I don’t speak the language. As I write this down I have to admit: that’s terrifying! … Living in Haiti is hard. I can do hard things though, with the help of Jesus.
On Saturday February 9th, Team Haiti was excited to be leaving for the mission field after being one of the last teams to set out. We said our final goodbyes to our community in Louisiana and hit the road. Our fun in the van on the way to New Orleans was soon interrupted by news of “manifestasyons” happening in Port-au-Prince, the capital of Haiti and the airport we were meaning to fly into the next day.
This is Madam Eliana. She has been a dear friend of the FMC missionaries in L’Asile, Haiti for years now, and is just as eager to spend time with us new missionaries as she is to share stories about those from three years ago. On our visits to her humble Haitian home, we sit on the front porch, the place she often chooses to sleep because she prefers the cool air and solid ground to the bed inside the dark front room.
Suffering is not something I encountered often in the United States. Emotional suffering I am closely acquainted with, having suffered with depression for most of my adult life, and still continuously fighting that battle. But physical suffering was new to me when we moved to Haiti. I knew that in theory – “out there” – there were people who suffered. I didn’t see them face to face until I moved here though, and even then I didn’t truly see suffering until we had spent more time in the villages that surround us.
The Lord has been speaking loudly and clearly to me and Beaux these last few weeks about exactly what ministry he wants us to dive into here in L’Asile, and we are excited to share it with you! The first few months at a new mission post are spent learning the language, learning the town, getting settled in, figuring out where…