Reflections

Reflections

I’ve been home now for a little over two weeks.  In that time I’ve traveled to and from Indiana for Grandma’s memorial service.  It was a special time of seeing family, visiting a home from long ago and sharing moments of the heart that brought us all together as one, if only for a weekend.  Now I am back in Colorado and have to gain insight on where my future goes from here.

I slipped into my prior placed of employment for a short and sweet visit on Wednesday.  I had promised I would after I returned.  Glen and Nolan were hooked up to their morning  IV of coffee before the clock hit eight.  We enjoyed some time of updates including a new bus in the lot, some new hires for drivers and a remodel in the office.  As usual, we shared laughs and stories.  Bob came in at his usual time and I gave some quick reflections on my experience in Haiti.  The shop is manned with plenty of part time drivers and Nolan has fit back into his maintenance position that he enjoyed almost ten years ago.  All is well with the department and they will be moving on with their top quality service to the college.

I had an unusual experience with my oldest daughter, Christina, the other day at Chick Filet.  She asked me to meet her over at that establishment the day after my return just to share in a late morning breakfast and visit. I had the time since Michelle was at work so I obliged.  I left early because the noise level was rather high but found out that evening that, after I left, one of the servers who reads stories to the children had asked Chris where I had been.  She gave a brief explanation and the lady asked if I would be interested in coming to her Sunday school class to share my experiences in Haiti.  I didn’t think much of it at the time but have since reconsidered.  During my last night in Haiti, after I shared my message about ‘The Toolbox’ to the base during devotions, the team gathered around and prayed for me.  One of the prayers was that I was being sent back to the States as a missionary in order to share about what God was doing in Haiti.  I mused on the dichotomy of that statement as missionaries are generally viewed upon as being sent out from the States, not the opposite.  But as various doors closed upon my return home, I’ve re-evaluated the prayer and wonder if, perhaps, other doors more in line with my faith and experiences might be opening.  I will be thinking on those thoughts in the coming weeks.

Once again I am leaning on the Lord to give placement at this place in my life.  As with the Haiti experience of leaning on God to make me feel a part of something when I felt like an outsider, I now can trust Him to open the doors to make me feel at home at my home.  It should be interesting; an opportunity to draw close to Him.

The Little Boy

The Little Boy

I was on the beach Sunday evening before dinner. My green bucket served as my stool. It was parked within three feet of the extended surf. The sun had already slipped behind the mountains across the bay and I was experiencing the beautiful yellow red sunset. I casually tossed rocks into the shallow surf as I reflected on my final night in Haiti.

I caught sight of a small boy coming up the beach. He wasn't walking fast, but he seemed focused on a specific target; me. I didn't really pay attention to him until he get within five yards of me. He was young, probably five or six, was barefoot with shorts and a pullover shirt on. He had a small kitchen knife in one hand and had rather large eyes. I watched as he walked over to me and gently moved my arm aside off of my leg and made room for himself on my lap. He really didn't climb onto it, just leaned heavily on it. He said the customary, 'bonswa', or good evening, to which I replied the same. I looked into his eyes and said, 'bien', or 'good'. He said the same back, turned and watched me toss another stone in the water, I handed him one and, with a large white smile, took it and also tossed into the water where I had. We repeated the game for a couple of minutes in silence. He turned and gazed deep into my eyes, almost as saying, 'I am different; I am the future of my people and long only for your love.' Then, as casually as scratching your arm, he straightened up, said a short word in creole, which indicated 'bye', and sauntered off. I watched as he meandered up the beach, never looking back until he disappeared.

He was the first young boy who didn't have his hand out. He wanted nothing but to experience my presence, if only for a few minutes. After that, satisfied, he continued on in his little life.

Perhaps there is a wonderful future for Haiti. That little boy and his innocent participation in my life for only a moment shows me there is.

Homeward bound

Right now I am cruising along between Dallas and Colorado Springs.  I'm at 34000 feet, on the wifi provided by American Airlines, a new first for me; I love the technology of America.  It is truly amazing.  Off to the west are the remnants of the setting sun; a deep burnt orange at the horizon gradually brightening just a little bit to a light blue.  From there it rapidly fades to a deep rich blue found only in the upper atmosphere and then black.  Venus, the morning star shines brightly above while little light clusters below show the locations of the towns over Texas.  It is a beautiful ending to a long three month venture.

I received a royal departure last night from the base personel.  I was deeply touched by their kind words and generous prayers.  I have been sent back to the States as a missionary for Haiti.  They've also requested a replacement from the Lord to fill the large gap left by my departure.  I'm assuming that is referring to the lame jokes and humor that kept many of us sane through our common laughter. 

There are many that I shall miss from the Haitian experience.  I hope to share some of those special moments in the coming week(s) as I don't feel led to close this blog out just yet.  As I settle back into the routine of real life I'm sure that God will refresh my memories with those special moments unique to Haiti and the people there.  Be sure to check in no and then to share those moments.

Thank you, Haiti, for sharing your land and culture with me for those few months.  I think I came away changed in more than only one way.  I hope I can do you justice in trying to share those special times with others in the future of my life.

The Toolbox

The Toolbox

Today, my last day with the rubble crew, was very special.  Travis had given me permission to share again.  I had decided to do a ‘wrap up’ of the prior weeks’ messages.

I began by admitting that I was a mechanic by trade.  Of course they knew this all along, but I knew it would bring a giggle, and it did.  I mentioned that each mechanic has a well outfitted toolbox, like the service truck on whose bumper I was sitting.  Each toolbox, I continued, was outfitted with tools that helped me accomplish my task at hand.  The more I knew about the tools, the better the mechanic I could be.

I reflected that, in a sense, when I became a Christian, God had provided me with an outfitted toolbox to accomplish the tasks he assigned to me.  Unfortunately, I didn’t necessarily know how to use the tools that were provided.  But He provided the means to become ‘educated’ in their individual uses.

I continued that on Monday of that week I had given them a message like that of a pastor.  It was designed to touch the heart and cause a reaffirmation of their Christianity.  On Tuesday, that role was extended to that of a teacher.  I shared with them the ‘how to’ of sharing one’s witness.  On Wednesday Francois exhorted them to have self introspection in knowing their walk with God. An exhortation, I continued, was a prodding from the Lord to get you off the fence on deciding an issue.  He exhorts, or prods you with a poker to get you to fall one way or the other.  On Thursday Francois again shared about remembering where you came from before becoming a Christian.  In other words, remember your testimony.

So, during the week the crew was exposed to the facets of a pastor, who kneads the heart; a teacher who shows you how to use certain tools, in this case a tract and your testimony; an evangelist, or one who refines your witness.  These three messengers are those who can train you to use your tools.  I also explained that they had received knowledge about some other tools in their box.  We prayed before and after each message; we developed their witness; explained how to share a tract; and showed how to express faith when God is drawing someone to Him. 

I shared that with all these tools it was time to use some of them.  So I introduced another tool; that of giving.  And with the weekend coming up it was a perfect time to practice their mechanics’ craft.  It was time for a weekend homework assignment, accountable to the group at devotions Monday morning.

In the meantime, on Thursday evening, I had emptied my duffle bag of all the items I felt I could live without.  I made a stack on my blanket that amounted to forty or fifty pounds of stuff.  It included boots, rain gear, rain boots, pants, socks, new underwear, water bottles and other misc. items that are difficult to get down here at a reasonable price.  I wrapped it up and took it this morning to devotions.

I challenged the crew to consider picking out an item or two that they would give away to someone less fortunate than themselves.  It couldn’t be family, just someone else in need.  I also challenged them to give the item away in Jesus’ name and to take their tract along in order to share why they were doing this.  I also suggested they pray with the individual to let them know they cared. 

I also shared how many of the Haitians, when they would see the color of my skin, would immediately put their hand out wanting money.  I felt as though many of the ‘Christian’ Haitians really were only that by name because it would mean they got something in return.  I suggested that the motivation for listening to the crew’s testimony would be different if they were offered something from a National rather that an ex pat (what the Haitans call people from the outside who come in to provide aid). 

I was encouraged and surprised at the work crew’s response.  After a short prayer, they reverently reviewed the items I had laid out and solemnly chose their gifts.  I almost felt we were having communion as they seemed to understand the gravity of what I was asking; give something to someone that is in need, share the reason why you are doing so, if the opportunity arises to share your tract, do it; and then pray afterwards if it is warranted. 

I personally believe that the resurrection of Haiti will only come about if it is done internally.  Nationals have to witness to Nationals.  It is only then that I sense an honest change in the hearts and minds of this mentally war torn country.

The Teacher

The Teacher

Mono had raised an interesting question the prior day.  He mentioned that he had felt impressed of God to share things with people about his faith, but didn’t know what to say.  I suppose it is a mix of not really listening to a church message or not taking the time to study on one’s own to have that knowledge at ones disposal.  But I felt that, since he directed the question at me, I could answer it for him.

On Tuesday I had prepared a quick message on tracts.  I started by sharing how having a listing of scriptures to share helps in sharing ones testimony.  I found a cheat sheet on the Roman’s Road to Salvation on the internet the prior evening and printed off some copies in English.  I knew it wouldn’t help them too much but I had some difficulty in locating some Creole information on such short notice.

So we took the sheets I printed out and went through each of the scriptures from Romans.  To save on space I’ve enclosed the link:

 http://www.greatertravelersrest.com/pdf/Salvation-The-Romans_Road.pdf   

I gave a brief explanation of each scripture and encouraged them to review the tract when they got home.  I also suggested putting the verses to memory so God could tap into them when He wanted to.

In addition I passed out a gospel tract in Creole that Pastor Pierre had found in his office the night before.  I’m not sure what was on it but it was prepared by SP specifically for that purpose.  The crew were quite happy to receive the information and promised to review it. 

It was nice to provide hungry hearts with Godly ammo.

The Preacher

 The Preacher

The rubble crew starts its day at 7:30 in the morning.  Because base devotions is later we started having a short message and prayer time by the equipment before the day starts.  Travis introduced access to a number of messages prepared by SP that could be circulated around the crew.  Many are quite inspirational but seem to lose a little impact in translation.  As a result some of the ex-pats started implementing their own bible lessons for morning devotions.

Last Monday I was asked to do our morning devotional.  Since I was asked the prior Friday I had plenty of time over the weekend to think about something relevant for my Haitian friends.  I was reminded of the scripture where Jesus asked His disciples who they thought He was.  I decided to make that my text and focus of my message.

I opened with a little background on the text of Matthew 16.13.  Jesus had just fed the four thousand.  He and His disciples loaded a boat to travel across the Sea of Galilee and then head north to the town of Caesaria/Phillipi.  This town had recently been rebuilt by Herod’s son, Phillipi.  He named it after Caesar and himself.  I can imagine the city being a vacation village of upper class Romans, probably with nicer homes and shops.  As the little entourage is approaching the town, Jesus asks His disciples who these people think He (Jesus) is.  I can see the disciples huddling together for a response and then saying that some say you are John the Baptist, or maybe one of the Prophets of Old, resurrected to do good things.  I brought the thought to today and suggested that many call Jesus a ‘good man’, or a ‘good teacher’.  Some might say He was a Prophet, like Budda or Mohammed.  I expounded a little on each of those and then came up to Jesus’ next question, directed at Peter.  He asked, who do you say I am?  Peter responded, ‘You are the Son of the Living God.  Jesus replied that the Father in heaven has revealed that to you, Peter, not man.

I followed the thought to John 6.44 where Jesus states that, ‘no man comes unto the Father except the Spirit draw Him’.  When the Holy Spirit draws a man unto God, the Father, then his heart is ready to hear what God’s messenger has to say.  I also expounded on the scripture  (Heb. 8.7-10) that states that God’s first covenant with man, the law, was flawed because man could not keep the commandments.  But with the salvation experience God writes those laws on our hearts where we are moved by the Spirit and our inner man to want to obey those laws.  (2 Cor. 3.1-3).  Because the law is written on our hearts our change in lifestyle, how we speak, how we act, how we behave and think becomes our testimony before the world that we are different.

The point for the message was that when a man has a real experience with Jesus, after being drawn by the Spirit to God, then his/her life will demonstrate a significant change that will cause people to notice.  It shows up as a byproduct of who you’ve become.

It was important to show this difference to the work crew as many Haitians have the concept that if you do what the white man wants as far as his faith goes, then you will receive gifts in return.  The concept has nothing to do with a personal relationship with God, only how to act to get something in return.  I wanted the crew to know that salvation was a personal relationship, a real experience and that a by-product of that experience is an outward expression of change visible to all you come in contact with.

I received many thanks and appreciations for sharing my heart with them that morning.  I’m not sure anyone had taken the time to share such thoughts before.   Mono took me aside later that morning and said that he felt God had impressed on him many times to say something to others, but didn’t know what to say.  I sensed his sincerity in his question and said I would address that tomorrow.

But as for that Monday, everyone of the crew was happy that they heard the Word of God in the morning.

Sadness

Sadness

Sandra Sumner, my mother in law, my friend and my other mom passed away this evening.  She succumbed to the final stages of a long illness called Parkinson’s disease.  We liked to call her simply, ‘Grandma’.

Grandma had a tough life with very few ‘breaks’ mixed in.  As a single mom she raised two generations of girls, five in total.  She was very proud of each one and showed it through her unwavering and unconditional love.  I never heard her say one negative remark about any of them, only words of concern for their well being and a longing to see them. 

She had joy every time one of her girls stopped over for some ‘mom’ time.  Unexpected trips to Goodwill or, especially, Dairy Queen or McDonalds for an unplanned milkshake registered high on her happy meter.  Unplanned outings for breakfast at Bob Evans, lunch at the Steer or dinner at the house with pizza were always welcome and appreciated.  She just liked to spend time with family.  Her family really was the center of her life and it showed in many ways.

When Grandma came over to the house in Madison she found purpose in helping Michelle out.  She would help catch up the laundry, clean the kitchen or just tidy around the house.  I suppose it is always easier to that in someone else’s home as Michelle would often do the same for her.  She helped out a lot by picking up the kids and taking them to their ball games in the summer.  She really enjoyed watching them and, if I remember correctly, didn’t miss but a small handful of games and school and church plays.  She was there for Christmas, New Years, Easter; all the holidays and many of those days in between when it was just a relief to have her around to lean on.

Grandma was one who stretched herself to watch grandkids at a moment’s notice.  She loved her grandkids and enjoyed the time she got to spend with them.  She subtly influenced their lives in many ways that reinforce the attributes they carry today.  Her participation in their growing up years formed a bond that only Grandparents can share.  It is special, different from that of a parent; one that my kids will sorely miss.

As the years went on Grandma was found to have Parkinson’s Disease, a destructive illness that robs the coordination and verbal skills of life.  She eventually moved out to Colorado Springs where her extended family helped her through the difficulty of losing those life skills.  While living with us in Colorado she passed her time picking up twigs in the yard and chasing the rabbits out of the yard.  Small holes under the chain link fence were promptly plugged with rocks or concrete rubble floating around the property and the offending rabbits were given a serious fist shaking and a rash scolding of mumbled words of warning to stay out or else.  In many ways I was glad the fence was there as it kept her corralled.  She loved the BBQ’s we had over the weekends and helped out in the preparation and clean up as much as she could. In the evenings she would sit with us around the fires we would build on the patio.  Even when it was mild out she would be bundled up in her winter coat, scarf, stocking cap, and indubitable smile that said, ‘I can do this and you can’t stop me’.  She especially continued with her love for ‘spur of the moment’ milkshakes.  For someone so small I never could figure out how she could suck one down so fast.  But as time wore on she had some incidents, like falling down the stairs, locking herself outside in the cold and dropping glass cups and then trying to clean up the mess that gave us cause for concern.  

After a number of years the extremely difficult choice for her to have professional care was made.  She was a real trooper having to be relocated a number of times to different facilities as her disease progressed.  A little over a year ago she requested being relocated one final time to Madison, her home of a lifetime to live her remaining time in familiar surroundings. 

Grandma left behind a legacy of tenacity.  Her life was overloaded with struggles that would make most people snap.  She dealt with each one as best as she knew how and then moved on.  She kept a positive, though cautious outlook on life and was able to give that enduring quality to her girls. 

Grandma, you have a large family full of kids, spouses, grandkids and great grandchildren who will sorely miss you.  We love you and look forward to being reunited with you some day.

Travels with Jims

Travels With Jims

In the three months I’ve been here I have only traveled off base on weekends once to view the countryside.  I have traveled quite a bit between base and Port au Prince with the rubble team, but not the other direction.  Jim and Jim were taking a short sightseeing trip to the west of the base this morning and invited me to come.  Since I am leaving soon I thought I had better take advantage of the offer.

The three of us left around 9:30 this morning, a Saturday, and headed west.  Within a mile of the base I already could see a small difference in the scenery.  The houses were spaced further apart from one another since it became more of a rural countryside.  They were also further off of the road, instead of right next to it.  Foliage seemed more tropical than the other direction as there were fewer people crowding it out.  Palm and coconut trees and sugar cane seemed to dominate.  Amounts of trash also declined but, then, seemed to pick up again as we approached villages.

The first little town we came to was crowded with people shopping at what must be the farmers market.  As we crossed the road bridge at the edge of town I noticed a few dozen horses and donkeys standing untethered in the creek bed.  Immediately across the bridge were scores of wooden booths full of sugar cane, grain and fruit, like bunches of green bananas or bushels of mangos.  Other individual vendors had small spots scattered on the ground that were stuffed with their wares; onions, green peppers, bags of corn or hobbled chickens.  The market extended for two or three hundred yards to the west as we slowly picked our way through the traffic and people.

Once outside of town the countryside again returned, the trash lessened and the scattered houses returned to more of a tranquil landscape.  I was impressed by the number of low mountains in the distance to the south but also eyed the treeless, lower mountains hiding the ocean to our north.  It reminded me of southern California in the barrenness of the hills; absolutely no trees, sparsely spaced coarse vegetation, and multiple erosion gullies.  It was stark contrast between the lush tropical vegetation along the flat areas to the south of the road and the harsh reality of deforestation to the north.

The road gently climbed until it leveled out above a beautiful, long and wide valley that we could see extending a number of miles towards the higher mountains.  Ahead of us the road rounded a curve and started to descend a long grade towards another village next to a large lake.  Once again we passed through a smaller marketplace and exited the town.  The road passed through the backwaters of the lake across a narrow land causeway.  On either side the Haitians were doing laundry, washing their vehicles, taking baths or just loitering.  The water nearby seemed rather dirty but the lake was rather large and provided a nice vista across the blue waters to the distant shore some kilometers away. 

The western road provided a different viewpoint of Haiti for me.  This drive had moments of delightful scenery, coconut and palm groves, rugged mountains, sugarcane fields and what I would consider a fairly tidy rural setting in comparison to the outright neglect of Port au Prince.  Some houses were painted and well kept and, one small town in particular, seemed to actually care about cleaning up their trash.  The road had a center line that was painted and had some repairs in progress .  It was fairly well paved and had only a few spots where it was neglected. 

On the return drive Jim took a side road down to a small restaurant visited frequently by the NGO’s.  It had a narrow beach with white coral sand and coconut palms.  We walked a little on the beach so as to inspect some lobster some fishermen had just brought in.  One spiny lobster was probably a four pounder and would have made a great dinner.  Another Haitian had his artsy wares spread out on the beach and insisted on us looking them over.  A quick glance didn’t reveal any Rembrandts.  We meandered up to the restaurant and I bought my fellow travelers a Coke.  We sat around a table underneath an outdoor tent, drank our sodas, watched the ocean and visited a little.  It was fun.

I was glad I went out again before I left the country.  It gave somewhat of a different perspective of Haiti for me.  Yes, I still saw many hands out looking for money, but I also saw a thriving economy of business in the market places.  It reminded somewhat of the little festivals back in Indiana where buyers and sellers come together, not just to practice commerce, but also to shake hands, visit and catch up on community events. 

At least in this section of the country, all seemed normal in Haiti.

Find or Create

Find or Create

I’ve enjoyed rediscovering old skills that have lain dormant for many years.  I was intimidated by the newer equipment when I got down here.  I didn’t know if I would be able to run it or not.  Today I spent a few hours caving in some old latrines and filling them with rubble using the new CAT backhoe.  It went well.  The old skills I had were still there; just quite rusty.  They needed some lubricating oil of remembrance and a little time to work the gears back and forth.  Eventually I found them right where I had left them.

I’m noticing that some of the people coming down from the States seem to come to find themselves.  They are unhappy with the idea of secular work, doing the same thing over and over and not deriving any other benefit but a wage.  I suppose I had that same thought.  In fact, Michelle and I talked some about that subject as I was deciding whether or not to go to Haiti.  The idea of using some of my skills and talents on the mission field seemed intriguing to me.  Other mission trips that I had been on didn’t seem to ‘click’ in the sense of doing something I was already familiar with.  For example, my trips to Latin America were related to building churches.  I had some experience in that area, but it wasn’t something I particularly knew a lot about.  My trip to Europe years ago was in relation to watching how a man went about starting an outreach overseas.  It was interesting but wasn’t something I could contribute in.  I thought an experience in Haiti would set me in a specific direction as I had experience in demolition and heavy equipment operations and repairs.  It seemed a pretty good fit.

My time here has helped me find out a little more about myself.  I miss driving the machines but I don’t miss the dirt, the noise and the maintenance the stuff takes.  There is quite a lot of down time while waiting for others to do their part in order to do my part.  They are also bouncy and very repetitive in the nature of their tasks.  I think I’ve remembered what the life of an excavating contractor really is like.  It is a dirty job.  On the other hand, I have enjoyed finishing some projects and having a grateful thanks from the owner.  It feels good to have someone else pay the bills and I get a pat on the back.

So in a short summary, I’ve found I like driving new equipment and getting a smiling face from someone in return.  But there are other things at work here.  The question of how this life style fits into place with my family relationships and what I consider the important things in my life weighs in the balance.  In some respect it has been a challenge deciding whether or not what I find in myself from being here is what I want to live with.

Kyle’s mom posted a quote from some obscure author on Facebook the other day.  It basically said, ‘don’t find yourself, create yourself’.   I’ve given that quite a bit of thought the past few days.  Yes, I can rediscover who I am down here, oil up old skills and find an outlet for them, use my talents in welding and repairs on equipment, but if I were to create myself from scratch, is that what I would want to make?  I’m thinking not.  I’ve done that for a good portion of my life.  Yes, it is here on a mission field of sorts and it does make somewhat of a difference in the lives of the locals.  But, in light of my thoughts on prior posts, is this how I want to create myself in the last portion of my life?

I’m thinking that I don’t really want to be an excavating contractor again.  I’m also thinking that I don’t want to work outside, in the heat, under great big dirty stuff that drops oil and smears grease on every portion of my body.  I’ve also found that there are other people, younger and more skilled than I who will do these things. 

I think I’ll let them.  

Up to Speed

Up to Speed

The camp has been slow on activity this past three or four weeks.  Christmas and New Years had many staff go home for extended leave periods.  They have been trickling in since the first of the year but today was the first day that everyone that left on leave returned. 

The biggest difference in camp was that the work on the expansion resumed under full steam today.  A number of new carpenters and masons came in this past week for three month stints.  In addition, the Haitians laid off at the end of December were rehired; well, many of them I should say.  As the rubble crew headed out this morning there were fifty some locals milling around the front gate wanting jobs.  When we returned in early afternoon, there were still some tires smoldering at the SP entrance where those not hired vented their anger.  I suppose with that kind of attitude I wouldn’t hire them either.

An additional number of staff in training also added numbers to our base.  Five or six new faces were at dinner tonight along with the many new faces from last week.  Rubble has hired a new operator, a friend of Francois’ who flew in with his wife.  He will start Wednesday after his orientation training.  Phillipe has good experience operating equipment and driving trucks.  He and Merriam are both in their mid twenties and should fit in easily during their 12 month stay.

Rubble crew has been working on the site of Habitat for Humanity.  They are building a small community of single family structures.  Displaced Haitians from the earthquake will be moving in soon.  I’m estimating there are around one hundred or so little two room buildings erected so far.  Along with those are fresh water wells, latrines and security.  Francois has been grading the old fields with the dozer scraping level the furrows and mounds left over from the last crop.  I was moving dirt piles and trash around and loading the trucks with left over concrete scraps that we spread on a future road as base material.  After three or four days our time there is almost finished.

Today after I pulled off of the Habitat project I moved the loader back to the Lamb Center and then drove the backhoe from base to the Lamb Center.  I’ll be using it tomorrow to demo a small structure next door.  The demo materials will be used to fill an old cistern on site so nothing will have to be transported.  Travis and Robert both had meetings with nearby mayors concerning demo work in their jurisdictions.  They said the meetings went well; it seems to open the doors for future work in their respective communities.

The dining room was full tonight, in fact we had overflow to the concrete ‘tables’ outside.  Many new faces to meet and get to know.  From the volume I’d certainly say that the captain said, ‘full speed ahead’.

Let Me Count the Ways

Let Me Count the Ways

I’ve noticed that everyone on base who is on a contract basis knows exactly how many months, weeks and days they have left until they go home.  I’ve discovered a few interesting ways of counting that time.

When I first got here I had three months,  from Oct 31 until January 30, on my term.  That’s ninety days.  After the first week it was 83 days to go.  That seemed like an awful lot so I changed it to twelve weeks left; it was a more manageable number I suppose.  Now that it is down to two weeks, or fourteen days from today, it seems quite doable.

I had brought two bottles of anti malarial pills with me.  The first bottle was a thirty day supply, the other a 45.  I found that when I filled the smaller bottle in measured increments such as seven pills to the bottle then, when I ran out of that bottle, it seemed like the time had flown faster because now I needed to refill it again.  When I looked at the big bottle brimming with those green, fat pills, I simply couldn’t grasp the concept of jugging all those in the allotted time; but when it was divided up it seemed to disappear faster. That  was manageable.

Manageable is the key word here.  One worker who returned from Christmas break said it simply, “when I come back I return to prison mode”.  That simply means he understands his return ticket is dated, there is an amount of work that has to be accomplished in that time allotment, and there is nothing he can do to change those facts.  Knowing that there is a time scheduled for his return back home makes it ... manageable.

Kimmie helps out in a cute manner.  When she writes me on facebook or makes a comment on my blog she adds the number of days left to the note.  One message had only the day count, 24, on it.  When I first saw it I had to scratch my head as I didn’t know what the lone ‘24’ meant.  The next day I grasped the concept her message simply said ‘23’.  Duh.

The long termers, a year or more contract, don’t like to talk about their remaining months.  They made the decision to come here for a long time and this, therefore, would be where their life would be for that period.  They try not to be in touch with others outside of Haiti because it forces them to live here, in the moment.  Then their lives seem to change in that their Haitian friends are now ‘family’ and their lives become intertwined locally rather than internationally.

As for me I am not long term.  I go home in two weeks, that’s fourteen days; and I am counting each one down.

The Important Stuff

Important Stuff

Sometimes it is difficult in life to discern the things that are important.  When you go overseas for a season those important things seem to crop up in the most interesting ways.  And when they do it confirms what you knew all along, but never really appreciated.

Today was a long, hot day.  I spent some time on the new backhoe trying to figure out how to dig a ditch.  Fortunately, it didn’t require an exact grade and I had a helper who did rake out the ditch to make things level.  As the day wore on rusty gears in my memory broke loose and caused my hands to remember how to work the controls without thinking.  I was remembering.  The hard part was not thinking about it, just doing it.  Another couple of days and I will operate this machine a lot better than I started to today.

A couple of other people had long days, too.  So it was decided that three or four of us would watch a movie to kind of unwind going into the weekend.  Lisa knew that I had wanted to watch Despicable Me a few weeks ago so she suggested that.  She arranged the projection equipment and I brought the computer that had it in memory.

Shortly after starting the movie a few additional people wandered in while a few left.  It was a small number of four that stayed for the show.

As the movie progressed I was consumed by memories of watching the movie with my wife and kids.  I knew where everyone would laugh, cry or make funny comments.  This crew simply watched it.  I tried my best to keep as quiet as everyone else but it simply was not to be.  I longed for Kimmie to laugh when Gru called his ‘dog’ Kyle and hearing his appropriate jocular response.  When the little ‘twinky’ guys were doing their sped up talking and mimicking, I missed hearing Jon and Stephanie  giggle along at the absurdity of it.  I wanted to cuddle with my wife when Gru read the little unicorn story near the end and hear Chris sigh when he kissed his minions on the foreheads.

I know movies can be time wasters to some extent, but I also recognize the closeness that comes from watching, laughing and participating in them with loved ones.  It forms a bond of sorts that always seems to bring a smile and a fond memory.

Perhaps it began on Friday nights years ago when the family would gather around the brand new color TV and have milkshake and popcorn night.  John and Jan would mix up some elaborate flavored malted milkshake like chocolate, peanut butter and banana.  Mom popped up some fresh popcorn with butter and put it in the great big green and white plastic mixing bowls.  Then with dad in his recliner, mom on the padded rocker and the four kids scattered on the floor in the den we would start with Wild, Wild Westor Neils favorite, The Time Tunnel, and then roll on to more important shows like Star Trek, the original, not a rerun, or Mission Impossible.  We would ooo and ahh at the special effects, laugh as a family at the humor and bask in the resolved story line.  It was a tradition that carried on into adulthood that formed a special bond that exists to this day.

I’m not necessarily saying that movies and TV shows are an answer to how a family gets close, but I am saying that those special moments of growing up together watching the new medium of TV helped to frame our family in a way that made us want to relive those memories of laughter and to be a part of something special.  As we grew older it carried on beyond the movies and expanded into a desire to be a part of each others lives in a rich and different way that is quite uncommon in our culture today.  And more than that, it has trickled down to my kids and to their cousins.  It is even a finer thing that our times together are founded in our Christian faith along with doing other fun things like cookouts, parties or campouts.  We are also discovering my mom’s wisdom in playing word games like Scrabble as they quicken the mind and prod the players to help each other by ‘friendly cheating’ and stretching the Webster’s Dictionary to its limits. 

I miss those times with my wife and kids.  I thank God that He made our family close and closeby so we can enjoy those benefits whenever we can.  I look forward to resuming those contacts when I return in a couple of weeks.  I’m also hoping that Stef is keeping up with the movie list that we have to catch up on.

It will be a grand time.

Pierre

Pierre

Last Friday I met a man on base whose name was Pierre.  This is a different guy than the Pierre I met at the gravel bars on the river.  This Pierre is a Haitian by birth but was in the US military for 25 years.  He recently retired, moved back here in 07 and started working with Pastors in Haiti. 

Pierre is a smaller man, in his early fifties I would guess and wears wire rimmed glasses that are a little crooked on his round smiling face.  He joined SP immediately after the earthquake two years ago and, because of his military training, was basically in charge of the logistics of getting the bases set up and equipped.  In time those roles were assumed by other personnel and he moved into a different role of coordinating outreach between SP and the local churches.

I met Pierre as I returned to the tents after dinner.  We introduced ourselves and struck up a casual conversation.  I had picked up some history on the guy from my prior room mate and moved the conversation over to his current role in working with pastors in the country. 

Pierre has a passion for Haiti.  You can see it in his eyes and his face as he talks about the problems in his native land.  His father and mother were both into Voodou, a native faith intermingled with Catholism.  Proponents have a strange belief system that mixes spiritism and the conjuring of spirits of dead family members to bless their life’s paths or present curses to others who have done them wrong.  Many of the Catholic saints are used to make this bridge.  It is odd, Pierre shared, how they participate in the occult one day and then go to church and honestly think they have done Christian activities.  He has a burden for teaching and instructing local pastors on Christian theology basics that can form a line of sound biblical basis’ to address these and other issues.

Another interesting thing about Pierre, he truly believes that the salvation of Haiti will only come through being taught the things of Jesus by Haitians.  He has noted that when organizations come into the country to give and share the gospel the Haitians are motivated to feign salvation in order to gain the approval and giving gestures of the people doing the ministering.  Their motivation is not to get saved, it is to be in a position of getting more.  He firmly believes that the sharing of the gospel by a Haitian national will be more effective because the message is given on their ground with their terms with no conditions.  That way God can meet them on their own turf with no pre-conceived notions that they will get something other than God’s promises. 

Pierre has found inroads into Haitian TV and radio.  He has done many programs that are aired throughout Port au Prince and the neighboring communities.  He also holds what we would call ‘tent meetings’ in order to get his message out and preach the Gospel.  His goals are to open a location in Haiti to teach the local pastors basic theology and to help rebuild churches of honest pastors that have been destroyed in the earthquake.

Unfortunately, our visit was short as it was late on Friday and he was leaving in the morning for a week long orientation in the States with SP.  I would be interested in visiting with Pierre again before I leave.  He seems to be the first man I’ve run across that believes that the NGO’s should cut back on their giving and work closer in teaching the nationals the basics of God’s Word so they can be the ones to spread the message of God’s redemption for man.

It is an interesting concept, one that I lean towards understanding and supporting.  It will be interesting to watch where this man goes.

The Legend of the Golden Rebar

The Legend of the Golden Rebar

Almost all of the structures in Haiti are concrete and masonry in construction.  I suppose it has to do with the tropical climate which means lots of rain and lots of bugs.  That means mold, mildew, termites and moisture, all of which are deadly to wood.  So concrete works quite well.  It reduces the complications to mold and mildew.  All the concrete buildings also have rebar in it.  Rebar is nothing more than sticks of steel, from three eights inch to three quarter inch in diameter.  It has a rough exterior so it binds well to the concrete, that is, if you used a good grade concrete.  When used properly with a good grade of concrete it increases the strength of the structure by a large factor.  When used with poor concrete, like Haitian concrete, it helps hold things together but at a lesser integrity.  When used with crushed coral, which has salt in it, it ends up giving a nice rust color to the inside of the concrete, and that’s about all.

Since the concrete world in Haiti is limited to cement, crushed coral with salt and other filler material like dirt and sand, the Haitians in their infinite understanding of structural steel figure that if a little works, a lot must work better.  It has, therefore, become expedient, in many respects, to use the jackhammer attachment on the excavator in order to separate the vast amounts of rebar from the granular glue called concrete.  I suppose the normal bucket would work in many instances but, as in the case of the church project, extra rebar thrown in for good measure was accentuated by extra concrete; not that it was any better quality, just more of it; a good two feet of it in places.





Looking out the window of my excavator. The hammer is in front of me, Francois is on the other unit.

The jackhammer attachment is very useful in the demolition project.  It makes short order in separating the weak concrete from the many, many, many sticks of tightly bound rebar.  Sometimes, though, it is a challenge to separate the smaller blobs of concrete that adhere too well.  They scoot around underneath the hammer bit and tend to challenge the focus of the operator.  Distractions add tension to that concentration and can make, even the most even keeled machinist, into a crazy man.


Looking down on the work project. Rebar encased concrete pillars lie in front of Francois

 The first thing I noticed as I pounded the concrete was the strange insurgence of Haitians nearby.  Their numbers grew exponentially with each pounding of the concrete bit.  I soon realized that the Haitians think each piece of rebar is made of gold.  They are quite willing to sacrifice their own life for the opportunity to yank a short section from the hammer bit as soon as it is set free from its concrete encasement.  I know this sounds ludicrous, but it is a reality that I experienced as I watched them dodge my two ton hammer to accomplish their goal.

The rebar cannot really be straightened out for anything useful.  Its only value is in scrap.  I suppose since it is said that there are no jobs for the nationals in Haiti that this is one viable way to earn income; obtain the rebar at any cost and resell it.  Unfortunately, that is exactly what they do.



More concrete pillars needing to be crushed. Some rebar is visible just left of center towards the bottom of the photo.



As I crushed concrete up I was swamped by Haitians running around all parts of the demo reach of the equipment.  I asked the crew to keep them away, but to no avail; there were simply too many of them, and this was gold for the taking.  I tried to move the rebar away from the work location but there was too much of the golden material to be found.  They descended on the fallen pillars like chickens to a feed bag of corn, pecking at them with small hammers, trying to beat me to the precious metal.  As I worked my way down the foundational pillars I would have to move concrete around.  As it was all tied together by rebar any movement by the excavator moved concrete forty or fifty feet away; along with anyone pounding on it.  It was dangerous for them; all the crews’ yelling, waving arms, ordering them out and trying to cordon them off proved fruitless.  Robert could only encourage me to be careful and continue working.

After understanding their desperation I came across an interesting way of getting them to work with me.  When I pulled a chunk of rebar out and moved away for a second, they would pounce on it like hungry wolves.  I would immediately return to that section and pound the hammer into the rebar pinning it to the ground.  Then I would look at them and wait.  When they finally moved away I would resume pounding on it.  If they came closer I would stop again.  When I first started this they couldn’t grasp the concept so we had a Mexican standoff for a few minutes.  I finally shut of the excavator gave them a cold stare and waited.  They finally wandered off and I continued.  When I had all the chunks off of the rebar section I would lay on the horn, grab it with the hammer and swing it out of the way behind me. 

This evening, at days’ end, I think they were finally getting the idea.  Don’t mess with the crazy guy on the excavator with blond hair.  He’ll make you wait.  But in the end, you’ll still get a little gold.

I'll be happy to share the gold, just don't mess with me

The Church Project

The Church Project

And so it began.

Today was an early start. The rubble crew was supposed to leave base at 6:30 for Port au Prince.  We were starting the large church demo project up there.  Everything was loaded the night before and orders were given for this morning  so it was going to be a streamlined departure.  Too bad it didn’t turn out that way.

In the morning we found that the tractor that was hauling the excavator had dead batteries.  There is an apparent power drain in the circuit and I haven’t had time to find it; so we spent the first thirty minutes charging the batteries to the tractor off of the dump truck.  Once started, someone noticed a large slash in the front tire.  Good thing is, it was noticed, as it could have been bad had it blown out on the road.  The nationals jumped into action and did a warp speed replay of the ‘To Change a Tire’ routine.  It was like watching a sped up video of something you’ve already seen in normal speed; only louder, faster talk, and quicker moves … and done in under an hour. 

The drive to the church was relatively uneventful since I am used to the crazy driving, crazy drivers and crazy traffic.  Yes, I drove; to and from.  But it was okay.  I managed and only lost my cool a couple of times; the KIA has an anemic horn that sounds like the squeaker on a deflated rubber chicken so I really don’t think anyone noticed.  The guys in the back might have been a little green from my Haitian style driving, but we all survived.

Once we arrived near the church, the excavator was unloaded in the street and then driven, or should I say threaded, down a narrow, steep dead end road.  Vendors had to move their baskets of wares so Francois would fit, the boom had to be constantly monitored to avoid the many low wires and phone lines and informal measuring of the tracks had to watched to avoid additional racing stripes on the sides of the many vehicles parked on either side of the road.

Little windy Haitian dead end



As we finally grated the excavator to a halt in front of the church we were met by six or seven ‘dignitaries’ from America who had arranged, financed and pushed the church project though.  Hands were vigorously pumped in thanks, photos were taken and slaps on the back expressing the great appreciation to us was expressed.  It felt odd meeting these white collared, perfectly groomed business and political people who made this project happen. 

After the photo ops, the real work began.  We brought one excavator from base with the jackhammer attachment on the boom.  Francois began working his way into the debris field, knocking down the corner building and working his way into the church interior.  A couple of hours later the second excavator was brought in.  It is a new unit, identical to the first one, but it is new and was just released from the Port Authority just before Christmas.  I took over the hammer while Francois started arranging the piles with the new one. 



And so it begins ....

I was surprised how quick my skills re-emerged from their dormancy.  I was reticent, at first, to work the equipment because there were so many people watching and I had never used a jack hammer before.  But after ten minutes I could do about whatever I wanted with the tool.  It will take a little longer to be as versatile with moving the excavator around, but I’ll have time to work on that tomorrow.

Lunch break around 12:30 was the standard fare of MRE’s; meals ready to eat.  Mine was chicken something or other; at least I knew what the meat was, the rest of it was recognizable.  Also had crackers, cheese, a cookie and some M&M’s – peanut.  Those were the best!

After lunch we did another couple hours of work and then loaded up to return home.  It is a long commute and we got back to base at 4:30.

Crazy driving

I’m excited that I got to have some time on the excavator.  It feels good to know that I can remember how to run this stuff; even though I’ve not run this particular piece.  The knowledge seems quite similar, though, to what I’ve done before.  Tomorrow we start loading rubble into the trucks and continue our demolition. 

It will be fun. 

Things I Will Miss When I Leave Haiti

Things I Will Miss When I Leave Haiti

Believe it or not, there are some peculiar things here in Haiti that I will miss when I leave.

 One in particular is the tap taps.  As mentioned in a prior entry, these are the intrastate people movers of Haiti.  These overcrowded, underpowered, stinky, noisy, unmaintained contraptions of transport are a major portion of Haiti’s economic survival.  They provide cheap and abundant rides ranging from down the street to across the country.  The operators are lousy drivers and have a love affair with their horns, but they are also some of the most creative artisans found in the country.  Each one of these wheeled contraptions has a unique paint scheme identifying it as a tap tap.  One can see words of blessing, wisdom, cathedral scenes of Christ’s ascension, death, resurrection; all sorts of scenes pertaining to Catholicism intermingled with color schemes and paint designs that would make Van Gogh and Picasso tilt their head and wonder. It is a part of their culture, part of who they are.  Nothing like it exists in the States except, perhaps, the collection of graffiti one sees on the railroad tanker and box cars as they rumble by at a rail crossing.  In a country full of seemingly disorder, trash and chaos, one can always know that that mosaic of dynamic colors careening at you is really your friend, your means of transport to or from your destination.

I have never really cared to travel much to other countries.  It seems that the people either scowl or frown at any move you make.  Disturbingly, I find this more and more in my own home country.  It seems odd, therefore, that a similar reception in Haiti is instantly changed to a white, pearly smile when you wave and give a thumb’s up signal.  I’ve seen nationals look askance at my presence, but when I present a friendly wave or give the universal signal that everything is cool; the inevitable ‘thumbs up’ sign, they mystically break into a huge smile.  Another thing about the Haitians, they have the prettiest smiles of anyone I have ever seen.  Their teeth are most often perfect, large and bleachy white.  Their faces light up with a brilliance seldom seen in others and their eyes glow with a sudden burst of happiness.  It is a strange marvel that surpasses understanding given the conditions they live.  But it is a fact with only a few exceptions, such as those with a hand out or a demand not met that these people seem to want to smile.  We could learn a lesson from that.

Haiti is a green country.  Granted, it has been stripped of its quality trees from the hills and there is a brown void on many hillsides, but, there is tropical vegetation that bursts out in a variety of green that lacks description.  Palm trees, sugar cane, coconut trees, banana trees, mangos, heavy grasses and an abundance of assorted fruit abound in both cultivated and wild areas.  Yes, there is the trash that captures the attention; there is the dirt and pollution that vies for the eye; there are rudimentary structures that are called homes; but it is iconic that such a dichotomy can exist; lush green vegetation amidst such ruin both in structure and in life.

I suppose it is good that there is such a plurality of green.  It brings hope in multiple ways, everywhere one looks.  And for a place so distraught, that is a reminder that God is still watching.  After all, where there are people, there can also be God’s love.

The Little Things

Little Things

There are many things that we take for granted.  Here, in Haiti, I discover more and more things every week I am here.

We actually had rain last night.  And also on Sunday, it rained.  There was no thunder or lightning, just a steady downpour that kept coming and coming.  It made me want to stay under cover, like the tin roof at the kitchen.  Of course, that sounded like someone rattling steel balls in a coffee can, but it was better than being soaked; which I was anyone since I was working outside on the grease trap when it started.  As I waited for it to stop it struck me that there was no lightning or the resonating boom from the following thunder.  I missed that.  Back in Indiana the kids and I used to sit on the front porch and eagerly await the ominous storms approach.  It was accentuated by flashes of white light following by the inevitable rumbling or crack of instant ear shattering sound. It all depended on how far away the strike was.  As I grew older I recognized more of the danger involved in those intense storms.  I now seek sturdier cover than the front porch, but, alas, I still think of those days with a smile.

I think the rain shorted one of the voltage regulators in the generator.  Toby was able to put another one it last night, but it was conditional.  The generator would run, but only at half voltage since the one he put in was defective from the start.  As a result three of the tents on that generator had to give up their air conditioning for the day.  Not too bad a deal, as I spent most of the day on the air conditioned loader anyway.  But when I returned at the end of the day and opened the door to the tent I was welcomed by a hot blast of air.  These tents really do get hot during the day.  Toby started the AC units back up after five so it is nice and cool as I write this.  Makes me appreciated the reliability of the electric grid at home; and air conditioning.

The other trade off for having electricity to the offices was that the tents got to go without internet until this evening.  Bummer; couldn’t check email, news, weather or facebook.  I’m far from a techie geek like some people I know, but, I never thought I’d say this, I missed all the above.  Tonight I’m glad the internet is back on.

It is quite hot here during the day.  Each day is a close race in getting to 95 degrees.  Today was probably 94, so it was cooler; by a hair on the thermometer.  Even so, the sudden burst of chilling cold water from the shower head makes me inhale like it was ice water.  Tonight I once again grimaced at the thought that water piped in from Antarctica was going to spray generously over me.  It did, and, as usual, I had a very short run of it.  But now it is a piece of history as I can now complain to my blog that I miss hot water.

On occasion, I have driven.  When I first got here the memories of careening around motorbikes and playing chicken with a fifteen ton Tap Tap overloaded with people, sugarcane, chickens and other mundane cargo highly discouraged me from ever getting behind the wheel of anything that moved.  In fact, I declined Travis’ offer to drive for a month and a half before I wrote my will and took the keys to something with four wheels.  It really isn’t that bad.  The key is learning to drive like them.  Be stupid, take chances and drive as fast as your vehicle can possibly go.  Learn to love the horn and keep close to your heart the Great Haitian Motto, ‘they will move’.  Actually, I’ve driven a Kia truck with a diesel motor that responds like a snail on sleeping pills, a loader that wiggle waggles like a drunken sailor, and a triaxle dump truck that sounds like the Queen Mary coming in to dock.  I like the truck the best.  It has the loudest horn.

There is an abundance of little things that pop up on a daily basis.  I miss eating with my family.  It’s nice to have common humor around the table and not have to worry about saying something wrong.  It is also different to watch movies with family.  Everyone is comfortable to laugh at silly things that others’ might not think funny.  I miss taking walks with my wife in the evenings.  Here, there is no one to share thoughts during the day, hold a hand or just be happy to be with one who gives unconditional love.

I suppose it is good to be denied so many little things because, in the long run, I will appreciate and savor them all the more when I come back.