See In Faith

“‘But if you return to me and obey my commands, then even if your exiled people are at the farthest horizon, I will gather them from there and bring them to the place I have chosen as a dwelling for my Name.’” (Nehemiah 1:9)

We toured Port-au-Prince by bus for several hours Saturday afternoon. I’m grateful for the members of the other team with us who were making their return trip; their continuous commentary noting small victories of the rebuilding effort added some positivism to the grim sights meeting my eyes. Effort’s biceps looked a little weak, quite honestly.

 

Someone mentioned the tent cities were often better living conditions than what was previously available as an explanation why there was little motivation to make improvements: tent cities were an improvement. But the motley collection of shacks and tarps, sardined together, blues and whites, various countries’ and organizations’ relief logos dotted here and there defined squalid. Someone else explained the sad, remnant fear associated with concrete structures. Although I understood, the prospect that permanent structures were deliberately being avoided cast a shadow on my hope for change. But sloping cascades of broken bricks and so many seemingly purposeless people softened my heart; I saw in faith the beginning of God’s promise of complete restoration, to “drive out all fear” (1 John 4:18) from the hearts of men as well as to “liberate” groaning creation “from its bondage to decay” (Romans 8:21).

"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." (Hebrews 11:1)

The warehouse, roof held aloft by double-stacked sea containers, was the first part of campus visible from the bus, bouncing down the unpaved road back. It granted me a certain degree of comfort and I was quite happy to see it. Nehemiah Vision Ministries’ campus, at least, is not the same as it was last year. The nearby village of Chambrun is not invisible to the eye of God, as some might think Haiti is in general. They are held carefully in His hands. Haiti is a thin place, and Nehemiah is raised up on a Rock within it, even closer to Heaven.

Five years ago, Pastor Pierre, a Haitian man chosen by God and faithful to his calling, began Nehemiah as a school of 25 in Chambrun. School began again that Monday, and 400 blue-uniformed children poured into campus. There is a church, a clinic, a dining hall, and a dorm for volunteer teams that was finished shortly before our arrival. A second dorm and dining hall and bath houses were going up while we were there; the cinderblock walls of a hospital showed promise; rebar marked the place where 64 children will find their future home. Plans for growing produce and rumors about a chicken farm flew around with confident possibility. A vision is growing there.

 

A vision to demolish the cultural belief that Haitians don’t help Haitians, and that help only comes from the outside. A vision to raise up those within and eradicate illiteracy and combat apathy with a biblically founded education, to feed those kids body, mind, and soul. A vision to love with the love of God, generously, without a sense of superiority, leaving integrity intact (part of our team spent a great deal of time organizing donations into a store, created so that people can obtain what they need while lessening the appearance of a hand-out; a few people were also able to spend time in the clinic, where locals can receive affordable healthcare).

We pulled the tarpaulin roof over the new dining hall our last morning; I meditated on God’s faithfulness to His promise as the bare ribs of metal piping were covered to create a cool, shady space:

“Because of the Lord’s great love, we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:22-23)

[Nehemiah has organized a child sponsorship program. $40/month goes to a child's education, healthcare, and food; 100% of the funds to the kids. Please prayerfully consider supporting the program. More information about the ministry and the kids can be found at: nehemiahvisionministries.org.]

Still Joy

“Instead, [your beauty] should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.” (1 Peter 3:4)

Calloused feet, some barefoot, beat the dust as many as five hours to make the pilgrimage on Sunday for chapel. I don’t know if the same was true of those attending the memorial service held 12 January 2011, acknowledging the one-year anniversary of the earthquake and hundreds of thousands of deaths, but the dedication and devotion of heart there revealed no difference.

If there was an Event for me in Haiti, one that irreversibly rippled my spirit and traced images on my heart, it happened during this service, in the pew at the far back. And it was quiet. Once again, the powerful emotional moment I anticipated amidst the impressive testimonies of survival and burning fervor of amazingly joyous, grateful worship failed to land.

“After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.” (1 Kings 19:12)

I dropped my arms, no longer willing to pretend, and sat down, suddenly intensely weary. Elbows to knees, head hung, pensive thoughts traveled down a road leading far from the red-and-white-striped tent I was sitting in, swiftly overtaking the mild guilt reaction I had to my own unusual desensitization.
 

A smallish hand placed itself on my knee. My face also being so near said knee, the hand was impossible to ignore; I glanced up, tossed a fleeting smile into a face so sweet I initially thought it was a child’s, and went back to what can only be described as sulking. Throughout the trip and as part of a larger pattern, I felt darkest and most attacked in those circumstances—at the worship service, and the next day at the beach—when I should have been happiest.

The hand defied rejection and I found myself embraced by and embracing the beaming young woman, a result of its stealthy work. When she stood again to worship, I stood; when she raised her hands, I lifted them in offering as well—my pale hand, covered in small cuts from cardboard, held in her dark one, cool and rough. When we sat down for a teaching, she rested in my lap. It was a tender, but relentless refusal to let me experience anything but joy those few hours.

It was an afterthought that her behavior toward me, exceedingly childish at times, indicated some kind of mental “deficiency”. I was more aware, when we exchanged a kiss farewell but still not a single word, that she was sitting in a hand cart; it was likely she had multiple sclerosis or another degenerative disease. I wondered if she was an outcast even among these poor, even while clearly seeing her security, the surety of her status as a citizen of the Kingdom. We departed with understanding; God had spoken His peace—in her nameless quiet soul, I had met the very person of Christ.

Thin Place

“But I am like an olive tree flourishing in the house of God; I trust in God’s unfailing love forever and ever.” (Psalm 52:8)

The house of God, with its "many rooms" (John 14:2), is a greenhouse; in it, we are free to grow regardless of the outside environment.

We were introduced to the idea of “thin places” near our arrival. Places where Heaven and Earth are immeasurably closer together; where the human and the divine cross paths and exchange frank stares rather than polite glances; over which the Spirit carefully hovers and keeps watch. Haiti is such a place.

It is not strange, coming from New York City—the land of sparkling lights, constant noise, and paralyzing distractions—that I had preformed notions of what experiencing such a place might be like. Quiet topped the list, as if God’s voice might sound louder, as if He operated circumstantially, boxed by the physical environment. 

In any case, tumbling through the airport, through the piles of luggage that was the baggage claim, into the cracked and pocketed street and dust-filled and diesel-fumed air registered as incongruous with my expectations. Nothing about the bus ride, rocky over rent streets, with trudging traffic and bleating horns—nothing about passing milling throngs, endless rubble, ominously watery gutters—belied the particular presence of the Comforter. Campus, a fenced-in stretch of mostly barren gravel, nestled in the valley between the two ranges of totally deforested mountains, failed to inspire hope that anything could grow there. 

But rebar pokes up amidst the sparse, spiky shrubs and stunted trees: a vision, led by the Spirit. A glimpse into large, bright eyes in a small, mischievous face left a hint. A week of glorious sunrises and sunsets, made even more varied and beautiful because of that dust, passed and without realizing any great epiphany, it dawned on me that something not only grows, but flourishes unusually there: the fruits of the Spirit.

Future children's home at Nehemiah Vision Ministries

Freedom Trail

“Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 1:6)

Since 20 November 2010, the day Haiti became a definite part of my future, I have looked with anticipation toward the coming year, filled with the expectation and—dare I say it?—hope that God has something momentous in mind for my soul. Indeed, He has already proven Himself faithful, and as usual, it didn’t happen in the way I had imagined. Or the place. Only in retrospect have I noticed the change He wrought in me began in Boston, at the pesky, pricey winter conference I had overlooked as a mere prerequisite—the short staircase needed to mount the big stage of Haiti.

What should have been an adventurous takeoff to 2011—a 23:55 New Year’s Eve red-eye to Boston—began rather anticlimactically as the flight was delayed and the few half-hearted cheers at midnight were drowned out by a passing vacuum-pushing janitor in the otherwise deserted terminal at LAX.

Adventure recovered swiftly; after rendezvousing with Courtney at the airport and settling at the hotel, we set out to wander around Boston, eventually stumbling and then embarking upon the “Freedom Trail”. Anyone familiar with my Lord’s sense of humor and/or the status of my life lately may already have grasped why that particular title might indicate something about my impending future. I, however, was not as perceptive and trotted happily and obliviously after the red brick marker in the pavement, making witty references to The Wizard of Oz. I claim that overly intense interest in the historical period in question and the absurdly delicious clam chowder for lunch distracted my reason and impaired my senses. (I’m just a little embarrassed because I only recognized that somewhat blatant sign from God as I began writing this).

Fortunately, God isn’t one to show me Thing(s) I Need to Know (ThINK) in a brief interpretable sign and hope I get it. In fact, one of the ways He tends to speak to me is to physically show me the same message in so many ways and places that it is, at some point, no longer possible to assume it’s all a big, freaky coincidence. Thus, upon reentering the conference center and seeing the theme “FREE” everywhere—capitalized just like that as if for emphasis, all over the place, on my nametag, on my program, literally projected onto the walls like the insignia of a certain superhero—my suspicions were aroused.

The talks were listed in the program: “Free Spirit”, “Free to Go”, “Free Together”, and more. The workshops leapt out at me: all on leadership and outreach, which frequently occupy my mind, the Spirit, with whom I had been consciously aware of lacking a relationship, and a healed heart. The Prayer Journey, too, focused on freedom in Christ.

In brief, I feel light of heart since the trip. I feel physically well, filled with the Spirit and His fruits, and burning with eagerness to dig deeper in the Word. I am excited to share with you what God is doing (and, of course, coming to you soon, about Haiti). I wish I could impart to you a hint of the impact the last few weeks have had on me, rather than just describe it; but you can experience a bit of the conference for yourself and be inspired.

"Free Together" is the best teaching on community I have ever heard and is well worth a half-hour of your time:

BWC 2011 Bret Ogburn - Free Together

"Let Freedom Ring" was also very convicting (about outreach) and includes an insightful and hilarious analogy relating the Holy Spirit to the water from a garden hose:

BWC 2011 Bret Ogburn - Let Freedom Ring

Bret Ogburn's other talk, "Free Admission" (a fresh take on the Gospel), and two helpful talks by Darryl Smith ("Free Spirit" and "Free to Go") are also accessible at that website.