Monday, 14 May 2012

Zo-napple

There are times when I really struggle to find something to say that's worth saying. Sometimes I go to breakfast and sit with strangers or friends and say about 12 words in total. Sometimes I wonder what people think as I'm there beside them but not saying much. It's not that I'm not thinking about something or that I don't have questions for them so much as I enjoy listening and quietness more and more with each passing year.
But it's also that I want to say things that are worth being said. I think that is magnified on a blog post in that it isn't just the mumbo jumbo that escapes my mouth but actual words are chosen and written become part of the text of the online world. When we write or create we are adding to the collective story-telling of humankind.
Does the thing I make/write/express mean something in itself or does it have meaning just because it was created? Today I'm choosing 'it means something to me'. Here's a story about gifts:

Every Sunday our morning worship is full of unknowns for me. Will I get a seat where I can see the words of the songs projected or will I have to go from memory and flub most of the words of certain songs we sing? Will the kids behave in service? Will I understand the sermon? Will one of my friends get up on stage and do a solo for the Lord? How many people will accept Jesus this week? Will that old lady two rows up fall asleep again in service? And when she does will her friend be her pillow or her alarm clock?
Those are just a few of the questions. But there's another wild-card. A man named Zo. He is incredibly tall and so very thin. I am sure he is essentially homeless and on some occasions arrives at church looking as if he hasn't had a bath in 3 weeks. It is said he struggles with an addiction. He has a big toothy grin and large calloused hands. He usually situates himself near the head of the mission's family. He often keeps a watchful eye on newcomers and welcomes them warmly, bending down to greet them. He keeps tabs on the children too and if they act up he will correct them (which sometimes scares them to tears if we're honest here). Zo also has a habit of bringing gifts of fruit to church to give to North American staff. I have seen him give fruit to the heads of the mission repeatedly. I find it interesting and wonder what his thought process is - I wonder if it is a conscious tithe for him. I wonder how he buys these gifts and what the cost is for a man who looks as if he eats only once in a while. I really don't know his story but I do see on his face the care he takes in presenting a gift each Sunday to the honoured recipient.
I was away recently (at home for Grampa's funeral and to have some time with family) and when I returned it was with very mixed feelings. I found leaving Canada at the end of April to be more difficult than ever. Two days later I walked down to church at the mission with hopes for some good worship and determination to focus on the message from the pastor. During our time of greeting each other (Happy Sunday, God Bless You) part of the service someone touched my elbow. Turning around I was presented with a small pineapple wrapped in a plastic bag. I was shocked. Zo had chosen me that morning for his gift. Even now I am humbled and speechless. At the time I thanked him and shook his hand. At the time I didn't know what to say except 'I got Zo's pineapple'.
To me this meant so many things. Most importantly it means that I am known. Not by Zo, he doesn't know me except for Sunday morning worship service. No, I am known by my Heavenly Father. It is He who gives every good and perfect gift. That was His pineapple. That was His child who gave it to me - me His other child in need of encouragement.
Some things that I write are just written things. This is truth: He does not forget, forsake, overlook or ignore us. He showers us with gifts like life and love and sun and rain and precious precious little pineapples.

Saturday, 14 April 2012

Round-Trip

I'm flying home Monday the 16th. I was going to be coming home the 17th but I've changed the flight in order to be at my Grampa Ferguson's funeral.
I'd like to say that I will see dozens of people and do a million things, but I won't. I haven't even planned to do very much. It will be a fast week, I'm sure, and I really want to soak in my family.
I'll fly back to Haiti on the 24th of April.
Thanks for prayers for travel and family time and for comfort especially for my Gramma Ferguson. Thanks too for sharing in this journey and for being part of the story of reconciliation of relationships - us to God through Christ - because that's what we're doing here. Paul talks about it in one of the Corinthians. I should memorize that bit... I find this comforting and I find myself reminded of the hugeness of God (Hebrews 11:3 says that we serve a God who just COMMANDED things to BE out of what was not even visible) and of the closeness of Jesus (Psalm 25 says we can have friendship with God and Col 2 says we can be rooted in Christ actually drawing NOURISHMENT from him).
What a lovely picture. That Psalm 1 tree rooted by streams of living water...
I pray that if you read this you are driven to send your own roots down, get nourished, and then multiply that life-giving water in you to those around you in the name and in the power of the Risen Christ.

Friday, 6 April 2012

Greens

The first time (and the second and third) that I came to Mission of Hope everything was brown. It happened to be January the first three times I set foot on the mission and January, being winter, has distinct dry and dusty characteristics in this part of Haiti.
Brown, dry and dusty equals desolate in my mind. January 2011 I had a friend (Michel) visit from Port-Au-Prince and he seemed thoroughly unimpressed by the area's desert qualities. 'There are no trees for shade and cool. You're kind of on the edge of the desert ' he pointed out. It was exhausting to think about as I mulled over the idea of not having relief in a dry and desolate land. In my Ontario mind it was strange to be hot and see only browns and grays... no greens.
But we have a sweet and merciful God who created weather changes to take care of us - to take care of me - and my mind is so very limited and my thoughts so narrow that days like today are comical, really.
It is Good Friday. We are mid-rainy season. The flowers on the mission are blooming. The nights are cooled with rain. The trees are growing daily. Fruit ripening. Life is springing up and the greens and pinks and purples are so very green and pink and purple that you can SMELL the life in them.

Papayas gettin' ripe.
Outside our gate, steps from the playground, the gardener - Mr. Joseph - rakes up the fallen bougainnvillea flowers.
Our front yard area
This bloom hit me in the head on the way to breakfast this morning.
And life is here.
And so is shade and cool.
And relief.
And things are washed afresh each morning.
And we know that He is Risen!

Monday, 19 March 2012

Babies!

Last week the Village of Hope completed the paperwork, met with the relatives, and bought new beds for twins - they arrived a few days ago.
A boy, Soudnel, and a girl, Soudline, just 4 months old. There's a buzz in the air with their new brothers and sisters - the children who live here. And everyone is sharing about the interactions they are having with these new little ones.
It is so exciting to have them here! And it is a reminder of yet another family who just couldn't care for the children they brought into the world.
Which is so heavy on our hearts.
BUT Praise God for providing for His children!
The Father, for reasons we don't know, chose Soudnel and Soudline to be Haitian, to be born in a town nearby, to arrive now, to bless us with their smiles and giant cheeks, to compel us with their cries, to help us to focus on the present and to pray, more and more, for God's leading us towards the incredible possibilities in the future.

Rachel suggested this as the "Welcome to the Orphanage" photo.

Soudnel's very laid back...unless he's hungry. So funny.


With Soudline and Kethia.
And Soudline's spit-up on my shoulder.
Classic.

Friday, 9 March 2012

He Knows Our Name

This past Wednesday I was considering what to blog about and found myself on a rabbit-trail of sorts through blogs connected to MOH.
I'm going to straight up pilfer one written almost 2 years ago by a fellow who used to live here. To see the original go here: http://jershurk.weebly.com/1/post/2010/05/a-girl-with-no-name.html

It's from May, 2010. He writes this:

"A Girl With No Name
A guy came into the hospital the other day with his infant daughter, sat down and then asked a woman to watch his daughter while he used the restroom. He never returned. No one knows who he was. So now we have an abandoned baby girl we are keeping at the patient dome until we can figure out what exactly to do next because we have no records of anything in regards to this baby girl.

Pray for her. Shes not eating much."

I scroll down to see this picture:

And it hits me between the eyes. I know her name.


And as I am overcome with tears and the miraculous thought of what 2 years can bring I begin to laugh. Because they prayed she would eat.

Meet Angelie. Our biggest, feisty-est, arguably best eater in the toddler room. Yesterday afternoon she was practicing 'braiding' my hair, running around, playing (and bossing) the other toddlers, yelling, singing, laughing and loving life. This girl is a power-house. God has big things for her and He always knew her name.

Photo cred: Abby Lynch - who takes amazing photos
which you can see and even purchase here: www.fotosbyabby.com