Last night, Marcio told me his story. It started off with a discussion about the book he's writing, about him and his fiancee. Then he said, "I ran away from home when I was fifteen." Marcio's story is one that tells a full, incredible story in each separate sentence. It's like watching a James Bond movie - only this is true.
Marcio was born in Portugal. His parents, he, and his twin sister moved to Canada when he was young. At 15, Marcio saw that his parents were struggling to provide for him and his sister. His family was falling apart. He ran away. Crossed into the States twice and got arrested twice. The third time, he rode in on the underside tire rack of a semi-truck. A year later, he was living in an alleyway with cardboard boxes for a bed and a dumpster lid for a roof. An older lady, a mother herself, saw his need, befriended him, and invited him to live in her basement. He enrolled himself in school. He nearly got kicked out of school. Something about a slip-and-slide using oil and a ramp in the school building. He got involved with drugs. He started selling drugs. By the time he was 18, he had enough money to buy a penthouse, a Mustang, a flat-screen TV, and basically anything else he wanted.
And then he lost it all. The upscale housing complex kicked him out, his bank started asking questions about where he was getting his money from, his girlfriend cheated on him. He moved. He got a job. He kept doing drugs. He lost his job. The lady that had let him live in her basement offered to help him again. But she said he couldn't do drugs, and he had to go to church.
God started to get ahold of Marcio. He became involved in Young Life, a group geared towards Christian teenagers. A friend invited him to a meeting - said they were going to a club. Marcio thought "bar" and showed up at the door with two six-packs. He opened the door to a bunch of mothers, kids, and teenagers worshiping in the living room. Through Young Life, God called Marcio to Haiti.
He came the first time with a group of ten people from his church. They worked in a compound with the poorest of the poor. They cleaned out a dirt latrine so concrete could be poured in its place. They made friends with the kids. They played. And then one afternoon while they were out on the soccer field, the earth dropped. Boom! The animals started going crazy - dogs, cats, goats, pigs. Then all the birds rose up into the sky, casting a shadow over everything. And the ground started to roll. Wave after wave. Up and down. Dust, screams, palm trees and concrete crashing, and under everything, that deep, deafening roar the earth makes as it grinds against itself.
Ten minutes later came the first aftershock. Buckling the ground, collapsing ten-foot walls, burying houses. Seventy-one aftershocks followed. Three nights and two days. And in the silences between the aftershocks, people singing. Praising God that they were still alive.
Marcio saw death. He saw more death than he'd seen birthdays. He saw so much death, he got used to it. He watched a man get shot at point-blank range in the midst of a mob fighting for food for their families. One night, while walking the streets, he saw a house that had collapsed. The heavy roof had fallen down on top of the walls under it. Marcio saw a little girl pinned under that roof. From her feet up to her chest, face down, she was stuck. And she was still alive. Marcio went to her. He sat with her. He made up a name for her, an age, the story of her life. He prayed. He cried. He tried to lift the roof off the top of the little girl. It wouldn't budge. He had to go. He had to leave her . . .
. . . When he came back later, the little girl was dead.
God broke open Marcio's heart to children. God broke open Marcio's heart to the Haitian people. God broke open Marcio's heart to the heart of God.
And then, eleven days after the earthquake, a UN helicopter came. It landed on the roof and pulled out the white people who didn't want to go. In describing it, Marcio said just one word. Awful. Mothers were throwing babies at them; children were clinging to their legs, refusing to let go. One of the UN officers pointed a gun at a woman whose son Marcio had watched die. Marcio punched the officer in the face. He left the country in handcuffs.
Since then, Marcio has come back to Haiti. He spent six months of the last year here. He met his fiancee here. He drew closer to God here. He befriended the people of Haiti. He knows more people in the airport, in the stores, on the streets than, I think, anyone else on our team. He has a heart, an enthusiasm, a connection with the people of Haiti that is profound to see. It is a pleasure serving with Marcio in Haiti.
