Foiled Plans

I carefully carried my little new laptop to Haiti so that I could report to all each day's activities, only to find when I got there that Pastor Maude had no Internet connection. I was disappointed. Now I'm going to have to resort to the old way--telling you bits and pieces of my days there in an "installment" plan. Here goes!

One of the things--small as it may sound--that I had prayed for was that somehow I would know whom I could trust when we got to the airport. There is always an absolute mob of men there, all reaching out for bags and almost demanding that they be be the one chosen to handle the bags. I was carrying a lot of money, and I had prayed for a face that I would know intuitively that I could trust. Well I got it!

The mob approached, and there in the midst was the police officer who had helped me before, smiling and reaching out to me. I was so sure I knew him, and then he said, "Patience, come." I almost cried! He got the bags, led us outside to find a car, where we found Emmanuel, the driver from the mission house, smiling and waiting for us to emerge! I just cannot tell you how overwhelmed I was at the fact that our great God even took care of such a small thing as a sense of security as we arrived.

The ride through Port au Prince was heartbreaking! Rubble in the streets right next to demolished homes and businesses, and tents set up in the midst of the rubble in any spot smooth enough to hold a tent. Water everywhere in the streets, standing from the night's rain, and people wandering aimlessly through the debris. It took at least an hour to just get out of town, and from there the ride to Petite Goave that should have taken about an hour and a half took considerably longer because on a couple of places we had to detour where the road was gone, or other places where we had to weave our way through broken places in the pavement. Emmanuel is a master at maneuvering, and we arrived safely at the mission house.

Unexpectedly, I burst into tears when I saw my friend Maude safe and sound. She had told me she was all right, but when I saw for myself, I was just more relieved that I had expected. After greetings, unloading our car, and a drink of water, we quickly discussed plans for worship the following day. She told me she'd like us to go with her to a little church "up in the mountains." My dear Maude is the absolute master of understatement, so I was immediately suspicious of the "up the mountain" statement. When she told me that Emmanuel was going to drive us, I warned John and Jann that they should be prepared. Emmanuel does not drive Maude unless she knows the road is awful.

We were going to a church that no one had visited since the earthquake, and Maude said that they would be in real need of food. Quickly we went to a market and bought $500 worth of beans, rice and oil--enough to give generously to the approximately 50 families she expected to attend.

At about 7:00 on Sunday morning, with the car completely filled in the back, we began our journey. In my 78 years I cannot remember being on such a trip! Jann kept saying, "Oh, my! We are going to die!" I responded with, "If my children could see where I am they would scream!" On many of the ridges, the road was just barely as wide as the car. The tiniest mishap on either side would have sent us down a barren mountain with nothing to stop our descent. Each time we said, "Oh, Emmanuel" I remembered the meaning of his name, and our cries became almost a prayer. God was indeed with us all the way!

After about two hours we arrived, to be greeted by a lovely little congregation, in a pathetic church with holes in the tin roof. All of them were praising God for our coming, and that before they knew that we had brought food! When they asked me to speak, I greeted them in the name of the Lord and our churches here in Citrus County. Then I told them that we had brought food and the money to put a new roof on their church so they could worship even if it rains. Their response was so genuine, and I felt extremely grateful for those who had made this possible.

The service over, we poured the rice into large bags that Pastor Maude had brought, the beans into other bags, and put a bottle of oil in the top of each rice bag. Then Pastor Maude invited them to come and take a bag of each. They hugged us, kissed us on the cheeks as is their custom, and left with tears and laughter at their wonderful gifts. One little old lady (she even looked older than I) got down on her knees and picked up every grain of rice that had fallen to the floor in the measuring process, carefully putting the handful of grain into her bag. What a sight!

To our amazement, the pastor's wife--who knew Maude was bringing three guests but did not know that those guests were Americans or that we would bring anything with us--brought us dinner at the end of our food distribution. She had killed a priceless chicken, cooked some rice and beans, and even had a plantain for dessert. They are certainly a giving people, and I know this lunch cost them money they could ill afford. We ate lightly so they could have some left, bade them farewell, and began the hair raising, white knuckled journey down the mountain--this time in a light rain. A happy, painful, frightening, rewarding, exhausting, memorable day.

Home at the mission house, we had to prepare for the night. But that's a story for tomorrow.

Good night and God bless you. Don't forget to thank God for your plenty tonight, and as you do, remember the people on the mountain at Guimney Methodist Church.