There is a boy here in Haiti whose name is Gyver. He is the oldest son in his family. He has two younger brothers and a younger sister. His mother's name is Atuna (ah-TUNE-uh). I don't know where his father is. Gyver and his family live in a tent. On a wide, flat concrete slab mashed between a barbwire-tipped wall and a fence along with dozens and hundreds of other tents.
Gyver reminds me of Jesus. The first time we met him, he prayed passionately for our team to be filled with the Holy Spirit. The second time, he encouraged us not to become distracted in serving God (2 Timothy 2:4). The third time, he preached to us. Standing up with his Bible open in his hands. For 45 minutes.
Gyver is fourteen.
It's raining in Haiti tonight. A deluge of wide, thick rain that's been pouring down with a steady pitter-patter for the last two and a half hours. I got half-drenched running from the front gate to the truck parked ten feet away. The roads looked like rivers tumbling along at flood stage. Women had set out overflowing, sloshing buckets outside to catch the rain run-off. Motorcycles appeared in danger of drowning. Everything was soaked. I made it safely back to the staff house and watched the lightning play across the sky, felt the rumble of the thunder, listened to the rain tip-tapping against the roof.
And all the while, Gyver and his mother and his sister and his two little brothers lived in their tent on that slab of concrete along with dozens and hundreds of other tents. Where does Gyver go when it rains? How does he speak to God? What does he think of us? If it rains all night, does he get any sleep? Is he drenched? Is he cold? Is he exhausted?
Where do you go when it rains? How many times have you spent the entire night outside in a downpour? How often have you had to wear sopping wet clothes until your body heat finally made them dry? How often have you heard a 14-year old preach for 45 minutes? How many kids remind you of Samuel in the Old Testament? Of John the Baptist? Of Jesus?
The longer I stay in Haiti, the more clearly I see that our stuff (cars, houses, clothes, furniture) has no worth when it comes to who we are. Stuff can be nice, comfortable, safe. But it doesn't help us to be like Jesus. In fact, often it just gets in the way. One of the most Godly, peaceful, wise, Spirit-filled, joyful people I know lives under a tarp above a slab of concrete. Where do you go when it rains?
