Moringa

“I will like to take you to de prayer place,” Kervens said as he took hold of my hand to lead me across the orphanage property. Several boys joined us along the way, until we came to the ‘Prayer Place’, a small clearing of land on the top of a cliff that overlooked the ocean. “Dis is where we come to pray.”

With the beautiful Canal du Sud in view, we thanked God for His love for us. We thanked Him for caring for our physical and spiritual needs.

We finished with an ‘amen’ and the boys went back to their usual antics. Caleb, however, scurried up a tree.  “He bring for you benzolive,” said Kervens. “Ben-zo-live?” I asked. “Wi.” This was not a Creole word I had learned. So I looked up at Caleb, who was now clear above our heads, climbing a skinny, gnarled tree whose small leaves I could not identify from the ground. Then I saw the flowers, the clusters of small, yellow-white flowers that could only belong to...could it be?!? Moringa!!!

Caleb came down with a large branch of moringa leaves which I quickly divided amongst us. “Manje, manje, sa se bon bagay!” I said. Eat, eat, this is good stuff!  The boys looked puzzled, but after seeing me chew on the leaves, they all took a bite. Judging from their faces they did not like it. I was not surprised. Haitians, I had learned, did not like moringa.

On my first trip to Haiti, I brought with me several packages of Moringa Oleifera seeds. I was so excited to give them to Enock, the orphanage farmer, currently enrolled in a Haitian horticultural program. Moringa, considered to be one of the most nutritious plants on the planet, is a true superfood. In poverty stricken areas of Africa, moringa is grown because of it’s superior nutrient content - 92 vitamins, 46 antioxidants, high in protein, amino acids and omega 3's - and has helped reduce malnutrition and mortality rates during famine. Health food stores in America sell the powdered leaves for upwards of $50 a pound! The best news is that moringa is indigenous to Haiti and grows like a weed on the island. I was sure this Haitian farmer would be delighted to get these seeds for the orphanage.

 Enock held the precious seeds in his hands. “Oh, I know what dis is. Benzolive. Yes, we feed dis to kabrit la.”

“The goats? You feed this to the goats? No, my friend....sa se bon mange pou moun. People should eat this!!!”

My Haitian farmer and his friends chuckled. "People don't eat dis." They then gave me that look.  The look I was becoming accustomed to. The “ke blan femn se fou” look.  The ‘that white woman is crazy’ look.

I may be crazy, but I am also stubborn. On my next trip to Haiti, I brought even more moringa seeds to Enock. He was still not impressed. I offered to sprout them during my stay and plant a hedgerow, as moringa makes a great edible fence. The seeds never made it back to the orphanage to sprout. Enock always ‘forget.’

I pledged to bring back more Moringa seeds on my next trip, but this time with a well made plan. I was determined to get seeds in the ground. I once read that Johnny Appleseed purposefully planted apple tress all over America in the early 1800's. If Johnny Appleseed could do it, so could I. Somehow I could convince Haitians that moringa is bon bagay...

On my last day in Haiti, we were driving our pick-up to Port. It was market day outside of Grande Goaves and we were stuck in traffic. Looking out my window, I saw it......a HUGE flowering moringa tree on the side of the road! “Benzolive...benzolive!” I jumped out of the truck and grabbed a branch. I went to the back of the truck and offered some to my friends. They politely refused. Enock was in the truck. “Kristi, Kristi...,” he said, shaking his head, embarrassed. He took a small cluster of leaves, obviously to be polite, then hid them in his hand and lowered it out of sight. I soon realized why.

Across the street from us was a group of young men sitting on the side of the road. They saw me jump out of the truck - I’m easy to spot in Haiti - and eat from the tree. They were now hysterical laughing. Almost doubled over, each of them. They laughed and pointed at me, and I knew just enough Creole to understand. “Look at that stupid, foolish white woman. She is eating what is for the goats. She will give herself a stomach ache. She is crazy! Li fe fou!”

When I got back in the truck, my driver Meschac confirmed what they had been saying. Now he was obviously embarrassed and quickly drove us away from the tree and out of town. I turned the radio up. We drove along Route Nationale #2 and I ate the whole branch of moringa myself. The leaves were sweet and nourishing...

I started thinking during that drive. Where exactly is the disconnect here? In Haiti, one thing is for certain. You will encounter disconnects, inconsistencies and complexities. Now here was another I needed to ponder: Haitians go hungry, they are malnourished. They have little to no export crops. And yet, growing wild on their island is a nutritious superfood that Americans are willing to pay big bucks for. However, if you eat it, you are called crazy and are made fun of. This confused me, but I knew there had to be an answer in His Word.

I thought of this:

“What comes first is the natural body, then the spiritual body comes later.” 1 Cor 15:46

The Apostle Paul was talking of the first Adam, a natural man, and Jesus, a spiritual man. There is a principle here: the lower life proceeds the higher. Things that we see in nature seem to reveal what is going on in the spirit. Jesus often used farming analogies to prove spiritual points: the sower and the seed, the grain of wheat, the mustard seed, the budding and barren fig tree, the flowers of the field.

So why do Haitians prefer things like 'Miami rice' and white bread - nutritionally void foods - over something like moringa, one of the most nutritionally life-giving foods on the planet? Why do they spend their money on what is not good for them? Why do they dismiss something good for them and feed it to the goats?

Jesus posed a similar question when he spoke,

“They have forsaken me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water.” Jeremiah 2:13

I found this to be very true in Haiti. Despite the tremendous number of Christian missionaries and churches and Bibles and VBS’s that come to Haiti, I did not find many Christians there. The people practiced vodun. The churches practiced vodun. The children practiced vodun. Haitians loved vodun, not Jesus.

“For although they knew God, they neither glorified him as God nor gave thanks to him, but their thinking became futile and their foolish hearts were darkened.” Romans 1:21

Haiti is a country that has not chosen life. They have not chosen natural life and they have not chosen eternal life. Physically and spiritually, Haitians are perishing.

I think about Johnny Appleseed, real name: John Chapman. Chapman, an American pioneer and eccentric horticulturist, provided food, cider and agribusiness to thousands of American settlers. He was also a Christian. Chapman saw himself as planting not only seeds but the word of God. He believed everything on earth corresponds directly to something in the afterlife, so the natural world and the spiritual (or mystic) world are intimately interwoven...An apple tree in bloom is both a natural process and a "living sermon from God."” (http://www.straightdope.com/columns/read/2141/whats-the-story-with-johnny-appleseed)

Hmmm. On my next trip to Haiti, I will bring even more moringa seeds. Johnny Appleseed believed that if you study and love nature, it would promote your spiritual growth. Perhaps I just need to start putting seeds in the ground and see who would like to join me. Perhaps the boys and I will plant some more trees at the “Prayer Place.” Let the others laugh. Let them call us crazy. People thought John Chapman was crazy. Yet he almost single handedly fed the new nation of America naturally...and spiritually...because of the seeds that he sowed.

“Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up, grew and produced a crop, some multiplying thirty, some sixty, some a hundred times.” Then Jesus said, “Whoever has ears to hear, let them hear.”

“This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live.” Deut 30:19

To learn more about moringa, please watch:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NcZzUkevbao&feature=related

If you would like to buy moringa products, please consider donating seeds to Haiti:

http://moringafarms.com/products/

Email me for more information: krisglow@yahoo.com

Vicious Love

Two-thirds of the way into my last trip, I decided I hated Haiti. For a brief moment, I told myself I would never come back. I took a deep breath, exhaled the hate, and kept on loving. 

It had been a challenging morning. I had a lot of work to complete before the rains came. Once the rains hit, the children would pour indoors, along with the mosquitoes, a chicken or two and a lot of mud.

My simple breakfast of tree-fruit, black Haitian coffee and an egg hit the spot. Breakfast was eaten in usual fashion - in silence - as is Haitian custom. The only sounds were the children’s spoons dipping into metal bowls of Dominican farina and the incessant meowing of the kitten. 

I had taken a liking to the new kitten. It was an orange on white calico, though slightly grayed from living in the dirt. We were all a bit dingy, in fact. The dogs, puppies, chickens, goats, children, me. We were dirty. 

But the kitten was cute and fluffy and represented to me a purity and innocence that I couldn’t find elsewhere in Haiti. 

Haiti is hard. Haiti is dark. Haiti is poor. Haiti is rough. 

Holding this small, soft, purring kitten was therapeutic for me. It soothed my emotions that tended to get a little raw after a day of ministering in one of the most devastated countries on the planet. 

I ate my breakfast, savoring the fresh abricot and bananas from the yard. I scooped a bit of the egg yolk onto my finger to give to the kitten meowing at my feet. He was excited and eagerly licked off the egg. I was pleased to see this little creature so satisfied when - CHOMP! - in his hunger and excitement, he bit my finger, it’s fang piercing through flesh. By the time I pried his jaws off my finger I was gushing blood. 

I ran to the sink. I reached to turn on the water and remembered that we HAD no running water and I hadn’t yet made my morning trip to the well. I let the finger drip blood and I watched the sink turn red. I can’t believe my fuzzy little kitten is so...vicious!  I hate Haiti! I exhaled.

I wrapped my finger in a baby-wipe and returned to the breakfast table. The eyes of all 25 children were glued on me, waiting to see my response to the attack. I did not want to assimilate into Haitian culture that was cruel to animals. I did not want to kick the cat or throw stones at it or worse. I sat down, smiled and said to the children, “Li grangou!” He is hungry. Then, looking down at the kitten, once again at my feet, I said, “Ti chat, tanpri pa manje mwen!” Little cat, please don’t eat me! ...in as loving a tone as I could muster. I went back to silently eating my abricot. The children returned to their farina. 

I wanted to hate that cat. I wanted to kick it and throw stones at it. But the cat was poor. It was hungry. It was only doing what it needed to do to survive. 

“God did not say the poor will always be good, kind, or thankful, and yet, He always calls us to love them.” ~Heidi Baker

This is what I’ve realized about Haiti: Haiti is not a nice culture. The people are not very warm and kind. They don’t always smile. They don’t embrace. They can be complicated and deceiving and edgy. They don’t like each other and they certainly don’t like you. You are not necessarily welcome. Whatever is in your suitcase or backpack or pockets is all you’re good for. Give it out and go home, blan. Or give your phone number so we can contact America in hopes of getting OUT of this God forsaken country you CHOSE to come to!

And yet we must counteract this mentality with love. We must be the first to smile. We must give hugs. We must love in the face of hate. We must give until it hurts. We are called to love and to serve the poor, the unchurched, the unlovable and unlovely. In a country where people are in survival mode - where they fight every day just to live - we do what we can to introduce them to real Life. What we have to offer is Life more abundant, a Drink that will never leave you thirsty, Food that will satiate forever. 

“People are not always nice, but Jesus is always wonderful. As I focus on the grace of God, the joy eventually returns.” ~Heidi Baker

This is what I’ve also realized about Haiti: The only thing really wonderful about a typical day ministering in Haiti is...Jesus. Anything else you want or need will not be satisfied in Haiti. No matter how much you want to help Haiti or how much you want to serve the poor, Haiti will NEVER love you back. Haiti will only hurt you. How wonderful to meditate on Jesus all day long, when everything around you seems bleak and hopeless and cruel. How wonderful to know Jesus who always satisfies. How wonderful to be in a place that forces you to conclude that God is always good. 

It is this truth that helps you go the extra mile, give your cloak, turn the other cheek, lend without hope of repayment, prefer others before yourself, lay down your life for your friends, love not your life until the death.

Exhale all the hurt, the pain, the blood, the tears...and inhale love. Let your suffering produce perseverance, your perseverance character, your character hope. Then the love of God shed abroad in your heart will shine as bright as the noonday sun and the light of Christ will be a beacon in a dark place. Even a place as vicious as Haiti. 

“You love until there is pain; you love through the pain, until all that remains is love.” ~Mother Theresa

LOVE/HATE

Things I HATE about Haiti:

• mosquitoes, roaches and bedbugs
• goat organs for breakfast
• dead bodies on the side of the road
• roosters and dogs at 4 in the morning
• mystery rashes
• the EDH “Direktor”
• vicious Haitian kittens
• Esai’s meltdowns
• the Cayes meatmarket
• 4-year olds Vodun dancing
• entrail soup
• being an American woman in the Third World

Things I LOVE about Haiti:

• timoun yo
• joumoo and abricot
• princess movies and jwi at the UN
• the Simple Life
• swimming with Donald in Port Salut
• getting your water from a tree
• moto rides to town
• making chanm chamn 
• missionary slumber parties
• mountain climbing in Toussaint
• bucket showers under the stars
• being an American woman in the Third World

A Price To Pay...

An American friend of mine living in Haiti was put in jail - a Port au Prince penitentiary, actually. For those unfamiliar with conditions in Haitian pentitentiaries, think hell on earth, think sleeping in disease and defecation, think grown men crying, think you would rather be dead and you may very well be if you find yourself there.

I have another friend who is in Haiti right now, though in better circumstances, praise God. He is an missionary with a heart like the Apostle Paul’s, tearing it up for Jesus in the poorest and most dangerous country on this side of the planet. He had been in several Haitian villages last week, preaching on discipleship. 

He has been on the island of Hispaniola a long time, long enough to see thousands of missionaries come and go. Haiti, in fact, is the most visited country on the planet, seeing more aide and missionaries per capita than any other country in the world. Yet, it remains the most poor and unchurched. Why is this? My friend mentioned discipleship. 

We are told to

“...go and make disciples of all the nations...” Matthew 28:19a

But the church falls short. We go, we baptize and then we leave.

Why don’t we disciple more? Perhaps because much of the time, discipleship does not involve a lot of fruit. It consists of tilling fallow ground, of getting ripped up by overgrown thorns and moving heavy offensive stones. Preparing the soil is half the battle and it is hard work. Sometimes, after all the labor, the ground produces very little, if at all. And sometimes, if there is an abundant harvest, you are not the one to reap it. 

"I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow." (1 Cor 3:6)

Missions is hard work. Discipleship is hard work. Short term missions trips, however, are more popular than ever. Short term missions trips remind me of a pick your own blueberry farm. For a small fee, one can drive to a blueberry patch and pick all the bluberries you want and then go home with a bucket full of fruit. Easy in, easy out, and very gratifying. 

100 years ago, it wasn’t like this.  There were no pick-your-own-blueberry farms. A 100 years ago, people grew their own food. If you wanted to grow blueberries, there was a high price to pay. People knew the real cost and hard work of toiling the earth to produce fruit. Missions work was different back then, too. 100 years ago, a missions trip meant packing all of your belongings into a pine coffin and setting sail... 

Don’t get me wrong. Blueberry farmers need extra help at harvest time. There are millions of blueberries that ripen all at once and the extra hands keep blueberries from rotting on the vine. Perhaps some of those folks coming around at harvest time will get so enamoured by the abundance, that they will become inspired to do the hard work of raising their own fruit. Some people just need to experience how sweet a blueberry tastes when it’s picked fresh to even start liking blueberries.... 

Still, chosing to plow fallow ground, clear out rocks, chase away pests and critters, water, weed, prune, fertilize...still does not guarantee a harvest. 

I think of my friend in the Haitian pentitentiary. He moved to Haiti as a missionary when he was 18. He has lived there 20 years, some of those years in Cite Soleil, considered to be the poorest and most dangerous ghetto on the planet. He toiled tirelesly. It seemed his whole life was taking a pickax to hard, dry, lifeless soil. Today, after all of his love and dedication to the country and people he loves, he sits in a prison cell. Where is his fruit?

His last words in this video are eerie to me, as we wonder if we will ever see him again....

“I won’t live long enough to see the real change in Cite Soleil.” ~Zeke Petrie

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgj0eWn86Oc

Moses did not enter the Promised land. He traveled with the Israelites for 40 years, but when it was time for for them to cross over, he did not get to go in. Perhaps Zeke is paying the price to disciple in the country of Haiti - paying a price to see that nation cross over into the Promised Land. 

My other friend is paying too. In his 12 years on the island of Hispaniola, he contracted deadly dengue fever twice, developed asthma, and is living a life of singleness. I mean, what woman wants to toil in a garbage dump all day long and then not be able to take a hot shower at night? Many women I know will pay $4.99 for a small triple-washed box of local organic blueberries from Whole Foods, but they won’t pay the price. 

There’s a price to pay for preaching the gospel. Church history proves this. Paul, Steven, Peter and countless other saints were stoned, burned, flogged, ripped apart by lions, tortured, imprisoned or hung upsidedown on a cross. They toiled for the sake of Christ and they payed with their lives. Jesus is our greatest example of martyrdom. He layed down His life. The Good News is that He rose again. And so shall we...

There is promised fruit. Perhaps not in this lifetime. We may have to wait until Heaven to reap our harvest. There is always fruit once you get to the Promised Land. As Joshua said as he scouted out Canaan, a land flowing with milk and honey, “The fruit is abundant!” See Numbers 13. 

Are we willing to pay the price? Are we willing to not just ‘go’ into the land, but to stay and do the hard work of discipleship? Even when we are covered in dirt and our back aches from carrying away stones? When we are dog tired and discouraged and ripped up by thorns? When the crop is infested with bugs and the fruit is not ripening and the sun is scorching? When we have to carry water from miles away because the rains won’t come and when the rains do come a flood carries away the crop? When a harvest does come but we cannot taste it’s sweetness? 

Are we willing to believe God’s promises that our labor will not be in vain? 

Will we count the cost? Will we pay the price? 

For the hope set before us, will we endure the Cross?

“Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Won’t you first sit down and estimate the cost to see if you have enough money to complete it? For if you lay the foundation and are not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule you, saying, ‘This person began to build and wasn’t able to finish.’ 

“Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Won’t he first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand? If he is not able, he will send a delegation while the other is still a long way off and will ask for terms of peace. In the same way, those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be my disciples.”  ~Luke 14:28-33

"From that time many of his disciples went back, and walked no more with him. Then said Jesus unto the twelve, Will ye also go away?" ~John 6:66-7

twinkle, twinkle...

I was on Facebook before Bible study the other day. A worship leader friend of mine posted something funny about sight reading the song “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.” Not being a musician, I didn’t think much of it;  I’m not sure I even got the joke. A few seconds later, however, the strangest thing happened. As if on cue, one of my neighbor’s children began her recorder lessons. The song her plastic windpipe made across the lake? “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star”. Needless to say, the song stuck in my head. So I was taking a shower, getting ready, and thought it only appropriate to sing...  

“T-winkle, t-winkle, wittle star... how i wonder what you are...” I love to sing in the shower, but this time I found myself singing in a little child’s voice. In doing so, almost worship-fully, I sensed the wonder of being God’s child. I was singing a song to my Abba, the creator of the universe. I was His little girl, singing to Him my little song. 

As I rode my bike to the Bible Study, I continued singing. Yes, I bicycled through my Pine Ridge Estates neighborhood singing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” at the top of my lungs. Welcome to my world. 

When I got to the Bible study, we ate, we fellowshipped, we worshipped. Then our Pastor put on a video for us to watch. It was Lou Giglio’s “Indescribable,” a presentation on the heavens telling the glory of God; the expanse of the universe declaring the work of His hands. 

As Lou began to describe the greatness of God, he said something like, “We’re not talking about twinkle, twinkle, little star here, folks. We are talking about something... indescribable!”

God had my attention. 

The universe is unfathomably huge. God is so present in my life. 

Yet, I am small. I loved the words of Astronaut Neil Armstrong, after seeing the planet Earth for the first time from space:

“It suddenly struck me that that tiny pea, pretty and blue, was the Earth. I put up my thumb and shut one eye, and my thumb blotted out the planet Earth. I didn't feel like a giant. I felt very, very small.”

I started thinking about my own smallness in light of God’s greatness. I started thinking about my life, and how tempting it can be to think you are ‘center of the universe’. I thought about my next trip to Haiti, how miniscule I feel, how inconsequential and inadequate in light of all the need. Oh, how small a mission I have there, to these little oprhans in the poorest country on this hemisphere. Seemingly nameless children, found on a tiny island on a tiny little planet amidst billions and billions of planets and stars and galaxies in a universe too big to calculate, too big to even comprehend. 

And yet, God sees these orphans. He loves these children and is mindful of them. He has counted the numbers of hair on their heads. When they get their hair braided and beaded and barretted, if they lose a few hairs, God re-counts. 

 “When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?” Psalm 8:3-4

Why is man special? Because he was created for relationship. To walk with God and talk with God in the garden. I rode home that night after a beautiful night of fellowship and prayer, my bicycle cutting the balmy Florida air. I realized I was small - I was so small - and yet so loved by a Love whose breath, height, depth and width was infinite. I was created for relationship.

I put the brakes on, hopped off the bike and looked up into the sky, wanting to talk to God, wanting to see the stars He had made and glory in them. But when I looked up, the dark sky was only loosely speckled with starlight. Naples, Florida had too much artificial light for the stars to genuinely shine. I thought of Haiti. In one of the poorest parts of the world, the stars shone brighter than I have ever experienced. 

I longed to go back to Haiti. I longed to see the children. My plane ticket bought, there is relief, except from the need for provision. I need a lot of money for this trip. I need alot of medical supplies donated for the children. I need a lot of logistical factors to come together. I need a big God to deal with my teeny little world. I thought of these words by my favorite Catholic saint, 

"It is needful to remain little before God and to remain little is to recognize one's nothingness, expect all things from the good God just as a little child expects all things from its father; it is not to be troubled by anything, not to try to make a fortune. Even among poor people, a child is given all it needs, as long as it is very little, but as soon as it has grown up, the father does not want to support it any longer and says: "Work, now you are able to take care of yourself". Because I never want to hear these words I do not want to grow up, feeling that I can never earn my living, that is, eternal life in heaven. So I have stayed little, and have no other occupation than of gathering flowers of love and sacrifice and of offering them to the good God to please Him.”
                                                                            ~St Therese of Lisieux

So I continue singing my little song to God:
“...up above the clouds so high...like a diamond in the sky...”

There are more stars in Haiti than in Naples, Florida. This is why I am going down again. To marvel at His creation, to marvel in His love. To glory in the God of the universe who’s eyes are on the sparrow, who loves the ‘least of these’. 

Who can count the stars?

Who can count the grains of sand? The very hairs on the top of my head?

God knows my little dreams, and the little desires of my heart. 

He knows how many orphans are living in Haiti who need His love. 

He counts the stars.

I can’t wait to return to Haiti and count them with Him...

“To whom will you compare me? Or who is my equal?” says the Holy One.Lift up your eyes and look to the heavens: Who created all these? He who brings out the starry host one by one and calls forth each of them by name. Because of his great power and mighty strength, not one of them is missing.”

              ~Isaiah 40:25-31

To watch Lou Giglio's sermon "Indescribable" click here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BUtuEOA0WD8&feature=related

Life or Death?

I was talking to a DR friend the other day about Haiti. I have a month off from work this summer and want to go back down. I have a several options of where I can go, but I’m trying to hone in where God may be leading me to move full time. Yes, I want to move to Haiti. Crazy, huh?

However, decision making is not my strong point. Never was. Big decisions trip me up so bad it’s ridiculous. Intuitively, I know a lot. Intuitively, I am to go on the foreign mission field. Intuitively, I am to give my life to the poor. Intuitively, I am to go to Haiti. But exactly where in Haiti? I wish I had the faith of Abraham who left his homeland not knowing where he was going. A country like Haiti only increases my anxiety to have a well made plan. Lord, increase my faith! But, for now, when faced with a decision, I investigate, evaluate, gather information, pray and enlist the counsel of trusted friends... 

So I was Skyping with this friend, and during some smalltalk, he asked me what I was doing. Sitting outside, I said. I happened to be on the deck of my beautiful Florida cottage on the lake. Fragrant jasmine vines encircled my chaise where I sat with my laptop, enjoying the sun. I told him about my day up to that point which included a farmer’s market and lunch with a few girlfriends. 

He marveled that I was outside, as it is rainy season in Hispaniola. It had been downpouring and flooding where he lives for days. Rainy season in Haiti means lots of rain. It also means mud, floods, mosquitoes, suffocating humidity, hurricanes and disease. I realized, with my big sunglasses on, I was trying to enlist myself into a world that is simply not as kind as Naples, Florida. Hello. 

I thought about being back in Haiti. In the poorest country of the Western Hemisphere, there are no farmer’s markets with free coffee, gluten-free scones and organic arugula. There’s just not. There are also no lazy Saturday afternoons spent idly in the sun, sipping cold herbal tea and doing a little vinyasa yoga before settling into a good book. For a moment, my friend’s laid down life of serving the countries of DR and Haiti challenged me... convicted me.

Then it occurred to me...that thought. The thought that keeps creeping up on me lately. It’s the sinister tempting whisper that says: you could just not go back. I could just succumb to the comfort of America and relax. The voice is correct, I don’t have to go back to Haiti. I am choosing to go to Haiti. But Haiti was hard. Haiti was difficult. Haiti was frustrating and challenging and hot. Haiti is full of potential heartache and sickness and difficulty. And I choose to go back!?

I’ve been toying around with the idea of moving to the DR, simply because life isn’t so extreme there, and Haiti is only a bus ride away. It’s my attempt at making things easier, I suppose. My pastor wasn’t too keen on the idea. “Kristin, I can’t see you anywhere but the uttermost. You’re just not cut out for compromise. You won’t be happy...”

Happy? I tried to imagine myself in Cite Soleil, on the top of a garbage pile, giddy. 

(Note: If I choose to move to Cite Soleil, it will be confirmed that I can’t make a logical decision!)

I remember writing my epitaph. I was living in a New York ghetto and signed up for grief and bereavement training because of the inner-city ministry I was involved in. Trauma and sadness came with the territory. Part of the training included writing your own epitaph. As I write this blog, I feel like I’m there again. I can’t remember what my last epitaph said, probably something like “She gave her life to the streets of West Hill.”

My epitaph would now say this,

“If you try to hang on to your life, you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake and for the sake of the Good News, you will save it.” (Mark 8:35 NLT)

If I go back to my Lazy Saturday afternoons, my herbal tea, my comfort...I will lose my life. Like a vapor in the warm Florida sun, it will just vanish. However, if I give it all up for the Gospel, I will really start living. Jesus said so and I bank my eternity on it. 

Figuring out how/where/why/when is becoming less and less important. In a life or death situation, sometimes even the luxury of planning must be forsaken. All I know is that I want out of Naples. You can have your organic gluten-free scones and everything else Naples, Florida has to offer. Give me mudslides, give me malaria, give me Jesus.

Just go, I hear another voice saying. This voice is also a whisper, but it’s peaceful and hopeful and safe, the voice of my Shepherd. 

The uttermost is wooing me, “...into a land I will show you.” (Gen 12:1)

"You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had. 

Though he was God, He did not think of equality with God      

as something to cling to.

Instead, he gave up his divine privileges;
    he took the humble position of a slave
    and was born as a human being.
When he appeared in human form,
    he humbled himself in obedience to God
    and died a criminal’s death on a cross.
Therefore, God elevated him to the place of highest honor
    and gave him the name above all other names,
that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
    in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,
    to the glory of God the Father." 

(Philippians 2:5-11)

Medikal Klinik La

“I don’t know what’s going on. I just had it working this morning!” 

Doctor Jay looked puzzled as he tinkered with the blood pressure machine, tightening valves, checking for connection, beginning to look unnerved for the first time that day. 

“I just can’t figure out what’s wrong,” he said to the interpreter, who then began to explain the situation in Creole. Our patient, a Haitian mountain pastor, had come down the mountain for the free medical clinic we were conducting at the orphanage. He was a small bearded man in his early forties who’s main complaint had been tansyon wo, high blood pressure. 

Once translated, he just chuckled at the news of the broken machine la. This I found was common among our circle of Haitian friends. When life became frustrating or difficult or complicated, everyone just giggled. There seemed to be few alternatives in a nation like this. Life had been distilled to laughing it off.

“Why don’t you come back tomorrow,” Doctor Jay told the smiling man, who thanked us in Creole, and went on his way, exiting past the long line of villagers waiting to come in. 

This was not the only issue our little clinic experienced that day. We had hauled several suitcases of donated medical supplies and a retired Bonita Springs doctor with us, over the ocean, through customs, across the country of Haiti by bus to the orphanage. Other than naturopathy, I had no real western medical experience, but I was assigned as the doctor’s assistant. It was my job to document the orphan’s health as well as establish medical records for a new clinic being built on the property. 

Halfway into the first day of the clinic, I documented stomach aches, asthma, thrush, malnutrition, worms, diarrhea, AIDS, fungus, scabies....and now high blood pressure. I looked at the table where our supplies lay and realized, we are not prepared for this. Our supply table was laden with American supplies: some band-aids, antibacterial creams, vitamins, cold remedies, and a broken battery-operated blood-pressure machine. Here in the poorest country of the Western Hemisphere, band-aids weren’t going help. 

I walked out of the clinic that day through the sticky Haitian mountain mud, somewhat discouraged, but comforting myself with the knowledge that this was a scouting trip. Take one step, God will be faithfull, take another, God is faithful. 

At the dinner table that night, I decided to take the next step. Sharing our dinner of bouyon kabrit was Junior, a young farmer. He was raised at the orphanage and it was his desire to give back. “I want to do a lot here,” he told me in calculated English that afternoon. “Bon tè?” I asked him as we looked out at healthy crops of banana, pineapple, corn and cabbage. “Good land,” he replied, and smiled. That evening I handed him a packet of Moringa seeds, the ‘miracle plant’ indigenous to Haiti. Moringa is proving to be one of the most nutritious plants on the planet, decreasing infant mortality rates and saving lives in famished parts of Africa. It is easy to grow and is actually grows wild in on the island of Hispaniola. 

“Oh,” one of our Haitian pastors said dismissively, “I know what this is. We feed it to the animals.” Junior shot me a puzzled look. “Oh, no!” I said, “You should feed it to people!” The pastor looked at me like I was a blan fou, until our host’s wife chimed in. “Oh, I remember this. I know this! Moringa, yes. My mother made tea with the flowers for l’oppression....” Asthma. “It made the breathing fasil.” Easy. 

“What else did she do?” I pulled my chair a little closer. 

“For TB, tuberculosis...pas problem. Galanga. Make the tea, strong, vert. Drink it every morning for 7 days. 7 days later... healthy. Pa plis maladi!” Ginger leaves, who knew.

“What about skin disease, what did she do for skin disease!?” 

“The ocean. Everyday my father take a bath in the ocean. He was very healthy. No problems. Bèl po. And moringa, yes, I know this well. Anpil byen.”

Junior put the seeds in his pocket and gave me a smile.

The next day, the line for people to get into the clinic was twice as long as the day before. Word had gotten out in the village. Knowing I would be there for hours I took a walk outside before we began. I came across the kitchen where a small group of women were preparing raw chicken by rubbing it with orange peels. “Prezève?” I asked, and they nodded yes. To preserve. 

Orange peel, I remembered from naturopathic medicine, is a natural astringent and strong anti-bacterial. It is also anti-parasitical. I saw a pot of rice in beans cooking in the corner above a small pile of burning sticks. I remembered another anti-parasitical: cloves. Traditional Haitian rice and beans is flavored with cloves...

Once back in the Clinic, Doctor Jay and I called in the first patient. It was going to be a long day. Several people in, I was already fighting discouragement. We simply didn’t have the supplies on this trip for the issues were were encountering. I took to reaching into my back pack and giving away my own supplies: coconut water for electrolytes, homeopathy for stress, black walnut tincture for worms, saline spray for allergies, magnesium for pain. It is more blessed to give....

While checking the vitals of yet another villager, the door to our room swung open and three young girls skipped in, giggling, “L ap fè mal! L ap fè mal!” Sophia, one of the girls who lives at the orphanage, ran to me with a small cut on her arm which had oozed a little blood. “Ranje m' ” she said, in her typical sass. I cleaned the cut and applied a band-aid. I then gave her a dozen or so loud smoochy kisses on her arm, which made her giggle out of the room with the other laughing orphans in tow. 

But looking at that band aid - that big, awkward, white plastic American-made band-aid - on this little, brown, Haitian orphan's arm - a girl who may have never worn a band-aid before in her life, was surreal. Like many Haitians, she was resilient, self-sufficient, strong. Her cute, skinny knees were scarred and calloused from probably a hundred uncared for falls on rocks and concrete. What was my blan band-aid going to do for her? Hadn’t my kisses and concern been enough? Wasn’t that an aloes des jardins plant I saw growing by the dormitory?

Later that day, the mountain pastor returned, this time san yon bab, without a beard. “Kote se bab ou?” the translator asked, recognizing the bearded man from the day before. We were glad he came back. The blood pressure machine had been working fine all day after some tweaking and a fresh battery. Our translator gave us the explanation: the man shaved his beard because he thought it was keeping the blood pressure machine from working. When we put his arm in the cuff, however, the machine mysteriously stopped working, again. I pondered the power of the lwa. I even wished I had a fèy doktè here to teach me a thing or two...

Again I glanced at my table of neat rows of colorful, shiny boxes of American supplies. We are SO not prepared for this! After finishing up for that day, I left the clinic to trudge through the mud once again. During our walk, I looked up at a mango tree, laden with fruit. “No child is sick during mango season,” I heard our host say. And yet, we had seen at least a dozen people today with malnutrition. Our translator explained, “No, they don’t eat mangoes. They are only sold at market.” That night, I struggled to scrub the mountain mud off my shoes. I began to see that the issues of Haiti are as complex as the mud is sticky. Here we were to help, but how do we help?

On my last day at the orphanage, a village woman and schoolteacher approached me. In broken English, she said, “Madame, is very nice to known you,” and continued to talk in Creole to my translator. He listened, and then shook his head before rebuking her and sending her on her way. “I am sorry, lady,” he said to me. “She asked you for money for her school; I told her she couldn’t do that, that she shouldn’t ask you for money here.” 

I wondered what I was doing here, in Haiti. My once bulging suitcase that barely made weight a the terminal was now deflated and empty, carrying only some muddy clothes and some rocks as souvenirs. I had no money left in my pockets, but for 2 single dollars I was saving to buy a water in the airport. I had no money back at home. I looked at the woman as she walked off, sensing her resiliency, sensing her strength. I was exhausted. I had nothing to give her, nothing left. Realizing my own inadequacy to do anything for Haiti, I sensed the presence of God. I remembered Peter’s words in the third chapter of Acts, "I don't have any silver or gold for you. But I'll give you what I have. In the name of Jesus Christ the Nazarene, get up and walk!" The only thing I really had to offer Haiti, is Jesus. 

“Why does this surprise you? Why do you stare at us as if by our own power or godliness we had made this man walk?” It’s always about Jesus. 

At the airport on the way back home, I met a woman who was also returning from a medical clinic in a tent village in Port Au Prince. “It was wild,” she exclaimed. “So many issues! We weren’t prepared for the need we encountered. But we did what we could. One of our doctors performed some surgeries with an Exacto knife... without painkillers... in the mud.” 

She asked me if I was going to return. “Of course,” I said.

“Good,” she replied, “Because the need is great.” 

The issues of Haiti are complex. 

The need in Haiti is great. 

My Jesus is greater.

And He told me to go. 

Not by might, not by power, not by human wisdom, not with band-aids, not with silver and gold. 

“‘By my Spirit’, says the Lord.”

Ayiti, mwen pral retounen.