Hey, all, from the mountains, sea, and sweat of Haiti! I have arrived. More or less awake, surprised at the coolness (that might not be quite an accurate word), and ready for anything . . . I think.
My plane flew in Monday afternoon, and we took the bus ride through Port-au-Prince, and out to the staff house. I met the rest of the team, all six of them: Liza, Steve, Jenny, Marcio, Mark, and Josh. We are finishing up learning how to lead the teams coming in this summer (the first of which arrives on Saturday), and we're going to the swimming pool tomorrow. Yeah. The swimming pool. Am I on vacation or a mission's trip? Oh, and, team from last year . . . We have running fans. And a refrigerator. And we're currently grilling hamburgers and french fries for lunch. I thank God for seeing fit to spoil us.
But some things haven't changed. We walked down the street yesterday on our way to a tent city. The streets are still filthy, the air is still muggy, the buses still see how close they can get without actually crashing into each other, and God is still good. Shopkeepers were selling plastic shoes, jeans, and candy. Little kids were staring at me with wide eyes and yelling, "Blanc! Blanc!" with a shy smile. Yesterday I ate peanut butter and jelly for lunch and spaghetti for dinner. Two of my favorite meals. I fit right in.
In the tent city, we prayed for a despairing teenage girl whose father died before the earthquake, who couldn't go to school now because there wasn't enough money, and who had earlier in the day swallowed Bleach. On purpose. Her name is Rita. We prayed for her. Please continue praying. There is more than one Rita in Haiti, and God knows every single one of their names and every single one of their stories.
Haiti is broken and beautiful, a little dog is yapping furiously down the street, and God is good. All the time.
Merci Jesi.
