Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Overdue Thank Yous

I just want to start by thanking everyone for their love and support through this incredible journey. I am sorry for the delay in the last couple blogs. Coming back to Canada was a real struggle for me. I didnt feel ready to be home and was suffering from a loneliness I cant quite explain. I desperately missed the country of Haiti and the relationships I had developed and strengthened in that short amount of time. This was without a doubt a life changing experience and one that I feel entirely unworthy of. I was so blessed to be part of Gods work and to be working alongside some of the most beautiful hearts I have ever met. This blog was supposed to be a personal reflection of my experience and a way to remember and reflect on all the miracles I had witnessed. I never dreamt that anyone other than my family would be interested in reading what I had to say. So thank you for taking time out of your busy lives to share this with me.
I am not sure what is in store for me just yet. I am hoping that God will lead me back to Haiti but that is not for me to decide. In the meantime I am learning to be patient and reminding myself that it is in Gods time and not my own.
A good friend explained it to me this way... often times we are put on the front lines of battle. We push through, no matter what the struggle, continuing to fight the good fight. What we dont always understand, is although we may feel we have the energy to continue, the best thing for us is to rest. Like any effective solider, we need to reenergize and recuperate before heading into battle again.
The battle for Haiti is not over, not even close. The country is facing new challenges everyday and I want to encourage everyone to continue to pray and support the efforts being made there. I can say truthfully that I have never seen faith as I have witnessed in that country. People are pulling together, praying together and working together to rebuild a broken country. No matter what you see, read or hear please know that these people are beautiful. They have displayed their faithfulness in the midst of tragedy and despair. Their resilience sparkles and has personally lit a fire in my life.
Thank you....
Yours truly and sincerely
Janelle Richardson

Coming Home

Dragging my feet I started down the hill from the Toddler house to the Main house. I looked around purposefully trying to take as many mental pictures as possible. The brightly painted gate, the abandoned vehicle, the stray chickens, I didnt want to miss a single detail. I just wasnt ready to leave. Soaking it all in, I intentionally dawdled. Had it really been a month already?
My belongings bounced around in the back of the SUV as we weaved our way out of the mountains into Port Au Prince. The plan was simple, we had to be at the airport by noon to board a plane chartered by Samaritans Purse by 1pm. The airport still wasnt open to commercial airlines so this was our only option. There was no picking airlines, comparing prices, times, or routes. This was it, one plane, one destination, one list and fingers were crossed that my name would be on it.
The devastation isnt something that I think anyone gets used to. Driving through the countries capital, the magnitude and severity of kilometers of rubble once again took my breath away. Every turn was another block of uninhabitable homes, destroyed businesses and displaced families. I couldnt help but think “Where do you even start?”
I had my eyes closed with the window rolled down when I heard the loud speaker, “Messi Jezi, Messi Jezi.” As we drove by I was amazed to see a crowd of at least 200 sitting packed under the hot Haitian sun. People spilled out from an empty parking lot into the surrounding streets to take in the pastors message. It was Sunday and it appeared that no one in this neighborhood was going to miss church, no matter what the circumstances. As we continued throughout the city, we passed over 20 makeshift churches. A gas station, an open park area, the street closest to a tent city, it didnt matter where, people were congregating. Loud speakers boomed with a message of salvation, of thankfulness, of forgiveness.
After my beautiful experience at the tent city, I looked with longing at these resilient people. Their voices once again filled the air as parades of men, women and children marched through the streets. It was the final day of the nations 3 day fast and prayer, and the Haitians continued to celebrate. Singing and praying they walked together, hand in hand, declaring their love for the Lord.
The airport was strangely quiet. The flurry of activity that I had gotten used to was reduced to the odd helicopter taking off and small engine plane landing. The calmness was oddly disturbing. There was still so much need, where were the cargo planes full of supplies? Where were the droves of volunteers, doctors, nurses and camera crews? Had the world forgotten already?
Patiently waiting for our plane to arrive the knot in my stomach was tightening. Was the decision to leave the right one? As my internal battle raged I looked over at the military tents, thinking back to the day we sent the Dutch children home. The hot heat, 37 children, and multiple dirty diapers. My eyes rested on the grassy hill where 87 American children waited patiently to board the plane to take them home. My memory returned to the 20 Canadian children who stared wide eyed at the roaring plane packed full of volunteers. All of this had happened on this exact tarmac. I thought back to the beautiful faces of the children who had impacted my life so drastically. The number of lives that had changed on this pavement was immeasurable, mine included.
We boarded the 8 seater plane at 1pm as promised. My teary eyes were glued to the window as the plane charged down the runway. The country that captured my heart was slowly disappearing as we climbed higher into the clouds.

Windowed Reflections

My heart was pounding as I sat in the back of a pickup staring anxiously out the window. Just breath and remember what you have been told. “These are just people. You dont have anything to offer except a prayer. Smile, be friendly and remember that these are just people.” Words of advice that were meant to sooth and calm my fears, but I wasnt afraid. I was bursting with excitement. As we bounced along the windy, pothole stricken roads, I kept catching glimpses of my reflection. My hair was pulled back in a greasy ponytail, stray hairs did a nice job of making me look like a mad scientist, and the bags under my eyes were clearly visible. I looked down and realized that the scrubs I was wearing did a nice job of disguising both the dirt and my inability to do anything medical. “Doctor, Doctor,” I had been called all day, when really a simple butterfly bandaid eluded me. I smiled into my reflection in the truck window and thought to myself, only in Haiti would I be proud to look this horrible.
Finally the truck started to slow down as the pedestrian traffic increased. We must be getting close. Weaving in and out, we passed vendors, tap taps, carts and played chicken with other anxious vehicles. Then there it was, tent city.
I had seen the tent cities before, marveling at the amount of people that could be cramped into one small space. Tarps and sheets were strung together the length of entire city blocks, while cardboard and scrap metal were strategically placed to block out wind, noise and create some sort of privacy. As we piled out of the truck the smell stung my nose. A mixture of urine, people and saturday supper lingered in the hot heavy air. Two outhouses stood at the corner looking silly while people continued to line up outside of them. There was just no way that they would stay empty for even an hour. In the battle of people versus outhouses, the outhouses were tragically outnumbered. As we started towards the tent city I could barely peel my eyes from the road, making sure to lift my feet and carefully avoid any pooling of “water”. There had been no rain for weeks so it was safe to say that these were not your typical puddles.
Our mission was clear, we were not there to gawk or explore, we were there to simply invite people to watch a Christian film in Creole, a modern day story of the prodigal son. A sheet had already been hung on a huge billboard and the projector had been set up. All we had to do was send out the invitation. I was paired with another volunteer and he and I set out to complete this task.
With our limited Creole we managed to smile and say good evening to people as we passed. In the short amount of time since the earthquake this tent city had already established a variety of vendors. Walking past a popcorn machine and even a makeshift barber shop I knew the locals could tell I was impressed. More than once we were offered what little food they had, or invited to sit and talk. We were even given a dance performance from a couple teenage boys that were adamant that they deserved to be the next Michael Jackson.
We stopped to pray for an older man that was hopeful our prayer would quickly heal his broken arm. Holding hands, we bowed our heads in the middle of the path and asked for healing and strength. As amen was said I opened my eyes to greet a smile that stretched from ear to ear. The gentleman continued to thank us as we shook hands and wished him well.
Dodging string, rope and twine that precariously held the makeshift homes together, we fumbled our way through. We invited anyone who so much as looked in our direction. Kids, parents, grandparents, it didnt matter, we invited them all. Cinema? They questioned. They must have thought we were crazy, where did these white kids think a cinema was?
I was humbled as I saw the few possessions that filled these temporary homes. How were these people surviving? The odd blanket, a couple of pillows and some dirty laundry were all that laid on empty ground. There was no distinction between homes other than a torn sheet divider. Eight to ten people would crowd under each tarp, sharing what little space they had.
As we walked around we began to notice people leaving and heading for the centre of the tent city. Deciding to follow we found ourselves in the middle of the most moving and intense worship service we had ever witnessed. Every age group stood, eyes closed and hands reaching towards the heavens singing praises to God. They sang with such passion and thankfulness that you would never know that they were battling such a poor and seemingly hopeless situation. Singing filled the air as the energy began to build. Looking around I couldnt find a single person who wasnt dancing... dancing for joy, dancing for the Lord. Not knowing the words, we struggled to keep up, receiving encouraging smiles from the believers who surrounded us. For that brief moment in time there was no separation among us, we were all Gods children and we all had reasons to thank him.
After the celebration the film started. People filled the streets to watch, with no room to sit, they stood taking in the film. The response was overwhelming. At the end of the night when I climbed back into the truck I looked again at my reflection in the window. Although my hair was still greasy and there were still bags under my eyes something about me was different. A smile swept across my face, I was beaming. I looked around the vehicle to see that same light in the faces of my fellow volunteers. We had just witnessed Gods grace and love first hand. We smiled at each other confirming in our hearts what we already knew, that there is hope for Haiti. That there is hope for all of us.