If you look up the word Hope this is the definition you'll get:
hope (hp)
v. hoped, hop·ing, hopes
1. To wish for something with expectation of its fulfillment.
2. Archaic To have confidence; trust
In Haiti the word (verb) is Espere. To hope.
Romans 5:5
"...and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us."
That is what God has given to me this Haiti trip. Hope. Hope in him, Hope in myself, Hope in the future and Hope for Haiti.
I was sitting in church in Port A Prince, It was communion Sunday which I haven't been to in months, even at home in Canada. Jon had touched on the usual communion pre-thoughts. To make sure you are right with God, if you needed to confess anything or make a change, but he put it differently. Or a heard it differently. He also gave us an extended time to meditate before taking part. So I was sitting there. Praying, meditating, seeking for something or for God to give me something. Anything. I was in such deep meditation that Anna, who was sitting beside me, thought I had fallen asleep. Then God gave it to me. A vision, and a word. In my mind and I saw it...
Hope.
Scribbled on a piece of lined paper as if a teenage girl had written it. I didn't know what it was doing there and almost brushed it off at first. But for some reason (obviously God) I held onto it. Thought about it, and wondered why that vision had come into my mind.
I took communion and as I sat there pondering Jon announced that Troy Livesay would be speaking at church today. Troy stood up, "Today, I am going to talk about Hope." he announced.
...and that is what I will hold on to, Hope.
7/20/11
Not for the weak of Heart
Life vs Death, and the reality of it.
I have always been shocked at stories I hear about death in Haiti, and the lack of it I have experienced first hand. It's not that death shocks me anymore, or that it is uncommon, but the lack of dignity in it. The bitterness of it tends to linger on.
I spoke to my brother on the phone last night. He lived in Haiti last year for 3 months so he 'gets it'. Where as other people don't. I asked him what he did when he saw and had to deal with disturbing things I asked him what he said to people and his answer was simply - "You don't." You don't share moments like that with your friends or family, people won't get it. So I shared with him.
On our drive from Cazele to Port we passed a dead body on the road. A first I thought it was roadkill, an animal. Even after it took me a minute to realize it was a human being, a person like you and me. His body was positioned so strangely that my mind didn't recognize it. Then in a second, we had passed and it was out of site. I don't know if he had been killed and his body discarded onto the road- or if he had been hit by a vehicle that continued on, leaving him for dead. The thing was though, I didn't feel anything. I didn't feel the need to cry or cover my eyes or call my Mum or talk about it. It didn't upset me, seeing the body, and knowing what I was seeing. I thought about how the police weren't there yet, or if the UN would get involved. Then wondered why those were my first thoughts.
Next I thought about his family. I wondered if he had one, and that he was the male, and probably the sole provider for them. I wondered if he had kids. I wondered how his parents would handle the news. I wondered if he had been missing or had been involved with gangs and this would not shock anyone. These are the thoughts that saddened me. That's when I realized all I could do was to pray. I could pray for the people involved with his death, if he had been hit by a car or killed it would haunt them as well. I could pray for those he provided for. I could pray for his soul and that he had known Jesus before he died.
Looking back now I think that was why I was not emotional towards the situation- tragedy though it was. I could do nothing about it. Why cry about something I cannot change? Instead I could pray and hope for the best outcome. It does not make me a twisted person, it does not make me heartless or numb. I do not know yet if I will share this posting, or how receptive you will all be towards it. But if I do, my hope is you can simply comprehend it.
I have always been shocked at stories I hear about death in Haiti, and the lack of it I have experienced first hand. It's not that death shocks me anymore, or that it is uncommon, but the lack of dignity in it. The bitterness of it tends to linger on.
I spoke to my brother on the phone last night. He lived in Haiti last year for 3 months so he 'gets it'. Where as other people don't. I asked him what he did when he saw and had to deal with disturbing things I asked him what he said to people and his answer was simply - "You don't." You don't share moments like that with your friends or family, people won't get it. So I shared with him.
On our drive from Cazele to Port we passed a dead body on the road. A first I thought it was roadkill, an animal. Even after it took me a minute to realize it was a human being, a person like you and me. His body was positioned so strangely that my mind didn't recognize it. Then in a second, we had passed and it was out of site. I don't know if he had been killed and his body discarded onto the road- or if he had been hit by a vehicle that continued on, leaving him for dead. The thing was though, I didn't feel anything. I didn't feel the need to cry or cover my eyes or call my Mum or talk about it. It didn't upset me, seeing the body, and knowing what I was seeing. I thought about how the police weren't there yet, or if the UN would get involved. Then wondered why those were my first thoughts.
Next I thought about his family. I wondered if he had one, and that he was the male, and probably the sole provider for them. I wondered if he had kids. I wondered how his parents would handle the news. I wondered if he had been missing or had been involved with gangs and this would not shock anyone. These are the thoughts that saddened me. That's when I realized all I could do was to pray. I could pray for the people involved with his death, if he had been hit by a car or killed it would haunt them as well. I could pray for those he provided for. I could pray for his soul and that he had known Jesus before he died.
Looking back now I think that was why I was not emotional towards the situation- tragedy though it was. I could do nothing about it. Why cry about something I cannot change? Instead I could pray and hope for the best outcome. It does not make me a twisted person, it does not make me heartless or numb. I do not know yet if I will share this posting, or how receptive you will all be towards it. But if I do, my hope is you can simply comprehend it.
7/5/11
Haitian Women
Haitian women amaze me.
That sentence could end my blog post right then and there.
But seriously now, they AMAZE. ME. Haitian women have got to be some the strongest, toughest, most hard working women in the world. Last week I mentioned in my post about a motorcycle accident that sent four patients our way. Two women- Two men. Now, all of them were in shock, and had painful injuries, so by no means am I taking away from that. We gave all of them painkillers, but it struck me when the one women- who’s injuries where the most extensive-was tougher than both the men. They all cried and hurt when they had their skin sewn back together and wounds cleaned, but for the amount of injuries she had compared to them, she held it together the most.
The first week I was in Haiti I was with a team doing medical clinics. At one of the clinic there was a woman with a healing burn on her leg. Now bugs and dirt and flies had gotten into the wound. It was obviously infected and had to be cleaned out and wrapped. She was in serious pain as we did this, understandably. Later that day lunch had been prepared and Michael, the doctor who had treated, and I were outside and were shocked to see this woman, who had limped out of the room, with her bandaged leg standing at the fire preparing lunch for us. Talk about tough.
So, because of these happenings, and many more I have come to this conclusion. Haitian women are tough like nails, but they have to be. God has given them their strength because he must have known they would need it. The things they go through day in and day out I do not know if I could do. I sure couldn’t on my own strength.
Haitian women are also beautiful. They don’t use anti-aging creams or sunscreen and it’s rare that I see them with makeup on. They are naturally beautiful. Their skin, though sometimes worn and weathered, tells a story. If you look at them, truly looking at each one individually, you may catch a glimpse of their story.
And if you’re lucky enough catch it, hold onto it, and don’t forget it.
My Skewed Perspective
I find sometimes when I am in Haiti my perspective of ‘reality’ tends to get skewed. Maybe it’s my perspective of what my reality is now. Or possibly what my past reality was. I didn’t realize it until I spoke to my Mom on the phone today. I had worked the night shift last night at the Cholera House, and this is how our conversation went:
Mum: “How was the Cholera House? You must have been so busy!”
Me: “It was good. Not really busy actually… We only had 50-something people and 5 new admits”
pause
Mum: “Elizabeth…”
Me now realizing what I had just said.
The truth is 50 patients is a lot of people. Just because numbers are down, which is a very good thing, does not make it less of a deal.
Second Example:
Shay and I sitting on the couch after supper, watching an episode of Friends on Ali’s laptop.
Me: “I love friends.”
Shay: “We are sitting on a couch, watching Friends, in Haiti. “
Me: “I know- weird.”
It was so weird to actually think about the concept of doing these seemingly normal activities at home, while in Haiti. Who watches friends in Haiti?
Example Three:
Sitting in Licia and Lori’s office trying to check my email on slow internet, even for Haiti, as a rat climbs out if a hole in the wall-runs to the box of food- tries to get inside. Me being aware of the rat and not thinking it’s a big deal. It still doesn’t faze me when his rat friend joins him. I only respond when the rat starts onto Lori’s desk, so that she isn’t caught off guard.
Why is it weird to me when someone has AC in a vehicle- and I have to turn it off because I am too cold. Or when putting toilet paper IN the toilet is a big deal. We went out for lunch after church on Sunday and in the washroom they had hot water. Hot water from the Tap. There is no hot water here, unless you boil it in the kettle. This actually shocked me so much that I yanked my hands back out from the water and stared at it for a second, then turned on the cold. Now, I like my hot showers and hot water as much as anyone but I do not think I have had hot water come out of the tap since I left home. As I am sitting here typing I am actually trying to remember my last usage of hot water, and can’t.
I can think of so many more examples, but it would take all day to list them. The question is: “When did this become a reality?” And, as I type out that question I am struck with the answer- “It always was, you just didn’t realize.”
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