We were standing under the shade of a tree next to the tall gray wall that marks the edge of the tent city. Gyver had just joined us and was sharing his testimony.
I had heard some of it before. When Gyver was seven, he and his family lived at the foot of the mountains on the outskirts of Port-au-Prince. One day a voodoo man put a curse on Gyver. He cursed the seven-year old boy so he would die. And then he took a stone and hurled it at Gyver’s face. The rock struck mere centimeters from Gyver’s left eye, nearly blinding him. The wound was deep and sever. He wears the scar today. It is a testimony to God’s saving hand. Gyver told me God saved him because, even though he wasn’t a Christian at the time, God had a plan for his life.
But I hadn’t heard it all. Gyver is fourteen. His youngest sister is eight. That means all of them were alive during the earthquake. This is what Gyver said: When the earthquake hit, he and his brother were out of the house. Gyver was watching TV with a friend; Holendgy was with an aunt. Antonia, their mother, and her two youngest children were at home. The house collapsed. Without warning, Antonia was buried under a pile of broken concrete. Two of her children were with her.
But they were alive. They waited under the rubble for two days. 48 hours. Can you imagine lying in a coffin for 48 hours? Not knowing if anyone is ever going to come and open the lid. Not knowing if you will ever blink your eyes in the sun. Not knowing if you will ever taste water on your lips. Knowing only one thing: that two of your children are trapped in this living grave with you.
Someone came and dug them out. All three of them. Alive. Buried under an entire house, choked by dust and bricks, pinned for two days, alive. It was just after their rescue that Gyver surrendered his life to Christ. He’s never looked back.
When we took this family to the beach during our last day in Haiti, I realized something. They shouldn’t be here. Gyver was cursed. Holendgy nearly drowned. Antonia and the other two children had a house fall down on top of them. By all rights, they should be dead. Every last one of them.
But they’re not. They’re not dead at all. They’re living in a tent, they don’t have jobs, their shoes have holes in them, they don’t always eat. But they are alive. And through their life, I see the almighty, saving hand of God. I see His authority to call salvation out of an earthquake. I see His power to draw life out of the rubble. I see His confidence to direct for His purposes all things, to completely route the plans of the enemy. I see the merest sliver of His astonishing grace.
I had heard some of it before. When Gyver was seven, he and his family lived at the foot of the mountains on the outskirts of Port-au-Prince. One day a voodoo man put a curse on Gyver. He cursed the seven-year old boy so he would die. And then he took a stone and hurled it at Gyver’s face. The rock struck mere centimeters from Gyver’s left eye, nearly blinding him. The wound was deep and sever. He wears the scar today. It is a testimony to God’s saving hand. Gyver told me God saved him because, even though he wasn’t a Christian at the time, God had a plan for his life.
But I hadn’t heard it all. Gyver is fourteen. His youngest sister is eight. That means all of them were alive during the earthquake. This is what Gyver said: When the earthquake hit, he and his brother were out of the house. Gyver was watching TV with a friend; Holendgy was with an aunt. Antonia, their mother, and her two youngest children were at home. The house collapsed. Without warning, Antonia was buried under a pile of broken concrete. Two of her children were with her.
But they were alive. They waited under the rubble for two days. 48 hours. Can you imagine lying in a coffin for 48 hours? Not knowing if anyone is ever going to come and open the lid. Not knowing if you will ever blink your eyes in the sun. Not knowing if you will ever taste water on your lips. Knowing only one thing: that two of your children are trapped in this living grave with you.
Someone came and dug them out. All three of them. Alive. Buried under an entire house, choked by dust and bricks, pinned for two days, alive. It was just after their rescue that Gyver surrendered his life to Christ. He’s never looked back.
When we took this family to the beach during our last day in Haiti, I realized something. They shouldn’t be here. Gyver was cursed. Holendgy nearly drowned. Antonia and the other two children had a house fall down on top of them. By all rights, they should be dead. Every last one of them.
But they’re not. They’re not dead at all. They’re living in a tent, they don’t have jobs, their shoes have holes in them, they don’t always eat. But they are alive. And through their life, I see the almighty, saving hand of God. I see His authority to call salvation out of an earthquake. I see His power to draw life out of the rubble. I see His confidence to direct for His purposes all things, to completely route the plans of the enemy. I see the merest sliver of His astonishing grace.
“To God be the glory, great things He hath done.”
This is me with Gyver and his family at the beach on our last day in Haiti.
