the arrival

PICTURES TO FOLLOW SOON

__________________

Sleep came fast and waking  up came either earlier as church services started at 7am. With coffee and water on hand, we entered the church directly beside the rectory and school. The service was amazingly formal and happily had many of the doctrinal similarities of a very high Episcopal church. The service was not only amazing but the people were open, friendly, and received us with open arms when we were recognized before the whole congregation.


After brunch we loaded the truck up once more, said "orevwa" to Hinche and started down the treacherous road to Cerca-la-Source. If the road was paved, we would have easily covered the distance up to the gates of the school in probably less than thirty minutes. It took us nearly three hours. The route was horrible, scary, and unlike anything I have ever experienced. But on entering the gates, the staff and children made us feel not only welcome but like old friends and we quickly forgot about our aching backs and stress. The school and community opened themselves up to us and made us welcome, safe, and secure. Immediately upon getting there, barely having any time to even set up our "rooms" (which were truly high tin ceiling rooms with concrete floors and walls that also doubled as the children's classrooms) we were needed outside in the common area where Father Walin was getting ready to begin his 5pm church service. With quickly clouding skies it only took a handful of minutes for the sprinkles to turn into quick a steady rain and only a huge blue tarp with some random holes through in protected the huddled congregation underneath. They sat in the long bench-like desks of the students at the school and had most of the entire liturgy and hymns memorized because a Book of Common Prayer was beyond a rarity. This service, much longer than the one in Hinche, lasted two hours but I could have stayed glued to my chair and listened to their marvelous acapella singing forever.


After the Eucharist and our introduction to the churchgoers and community members there, we spent the rest of the evening getting our sleeping areas (which made the rectory in Hinche look like the Ritz), visiting more with the children and staff led by a delightfully wonderful gentleman named Wozne Belo, eating a delicious meal and just trying to relax. For all the fun we had had already that day, a bitterly uncomfortable sleep ensued with not much at all separating our backs from rock hard concrete floors and no fans. A huge wind storm blew through that whipped the even larger tarp around and slammed it with frighting voraciousness down upon the edges of the tin roof creating what sounded like cannons firing right outside. Donkeys brayed, dogs snarled, fought, and whined, the horses neighed throughout the night, and the voices of men and the engines of mopeds and their honking horns were constants. Then roosters seem to be intent upon waking us up starting at 4am and did not abate it their chorus after that. Luckily (if there be luck in this) the heat - or lack thereof - would prove much kinder than we would have ever expected in this place.

chicken fried wagon wheels

Waking up, it was almost comfortable - almost. In the United States, I have always hated taking morning showers, but in Haiti they are a gift from above. After that, coffee was as much a necessity to get into our hands as air was to breathe. The Haitian coffee is different but definitely not distasteful. It is stronger and has a little bit of a bite to it, which is fine because it is what is needed to make it through these long days. Coming together and sitting down to breakfast we were met with a meal of freshly picked bananas, pineapple,  oatmeal (which is much more salty and watery than what most of us are used to in the US), fried eggs, and bread.

As the day wore on, we remembered how we had gotten spoiled in the night by having the luxuries of a fans and water that worked due to our friend electricity. But that luxury did not last as the power once again died on us at midday and we got hotter and hotter and....  Our midday was spent teaching ourselves the games we would be giving the students at St. Marc's and playing with Father Walin's two children. The two periods of relaxation from the terrible heat was separated by one big event that we went to immerse ourselves in the Saturday Market of Hinche.

Recall the scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where Dr. Jones says that his friend and colleague Marcus Brody knows countless languages and customs and can blend in to any surrounding that he chooses - the Nazis searching for the map that marked the resting place of the Holy Grail would never find it in his "capable" hands. ----------- Then the camera shifts to a bumbling Marcus walking more than awkwardly through a market doing the exact opposite of what Dr. Jones had stated. At least for me, that scene = exactly how I felt. Without Michele's fluent French and ever growing fluency in Kreyol and without our three Haitian guardians guiding us through the market, we may still have been in the confusing web of  stands and vendor's booths searching for a way out.

The market is large and as you approach its center, gets crowded with more and more people. At some points, the booths of the vendors coupled with the volume of potential buyers gets so heavy that the whole market seems to move and shift as one gigantic beast - crawling - crawling - crawling. You are bombarded with armies of different smells - some known and unknown. Just like the smells, the produce and meats were unlike anything I have ever seen. Having no health codes or standards, the latter are piled up on the streets, on tarps, or on the surfaces of their booths. Meat is sometimes kept in the shade but never refrigerated or kept on ice. It is fanned on occasion to attempt to keep the bugs and flies off. All manner of items are sold - from unique trinkets and fruits to many items you could easily find in a normal grocery or hardware store in the States. Returning to St. Andre's hot, sweaty, and tired we were met with a delicious lunch where a homemade stew took center stage.

After more preparing for the children of St. Marc's and playing with Walin's children, we readied ourselves for a hike up to the summit of the Bassim Zim falls. It had been clouding over and had been becoming colder rather quickly however and the threat of rain soon became a reality as it started to sprinkle down on us. We almost had to cancel the trip but the rain gods smiled upon us and we were granted a brief reprieve and zoomed out to the falls. Making a quick stop (literally right outside of the gate and to the right) at a vendor to buy candy and crackers for the kids that would surely chase us down as we neared the falls for a bon-bon. Then we were on our way - traversing down roads that were in no way fit for an automobile. We were constantly reminded that the roads however, were not nearly as rough as those we would be experiencing on the way to Cerca-la-Source. I didn't understand at that time how that was possible but I would find out the truth of that statement within twenty four hours. As we wound our way out of Hinche and through the surrounding countryside, I was struck by the intense poverty levels in this area of the region. Shacks, trash heaps and smaller piles, goats, and all manner of heartache littered the land. Men and women stared at us as we passed by - some with beaming smiles and waves - others with empty, hollow eyes. We offered up a "Bonswa" to all nonetheless. Children, too, stared hopefully at us and then moved on as we passed. Though for that moment, their faces were brighter than the most radiant sun - exposing mostly brilliant white teeth. As we got closer to the falls, children squealed in delight and raced behind our truck with hands outstretched hoping for some kind of gift.

The kids, somehow my means of a shortcut, made it to the falls before us - and the falls were majestic. They towered high above our heads and crashed in the pool below in a thunderous force of white foam. But with all the good the reminders of hardships in Haiti came swirling through on one side of the pool beneath the falls where beautiful bluish teal water was replaced with filthy trash.

The squeals of kids brought us back into reality as Father Walin taught his son (only four) the beautiful selfless act of giving and taught him to pass out candy and crackers to the large line of children that had formed - most all more than twice his son's age. That moment will be one of the most defining moments I will take back from this journey into Haiti. As we jumped back into the truck, our trip obviously being cut short as we never even made it to the trailhead that led to the summit because of the renewed threat of a downpour, it began to spit rain and we hurried back. Yet even in our hurriedness, Walin was never too rushed not to forget a group of children or even a single one beside the road and gave out the remaining treats we had until not one remained.

Beating the full force of the shower, we came home and had the best - so far - meal that had come before us in Haiti - guinea fowl, rice and beans, fried akra, fried plantains, bread, real Coke, and Prestige. Our last night before making the arduous trek to Cerca-la-Source was only made better by the discovery of Father Walin's guitar. In the cool night air on the deck of the rectory, will all of downtown Hinche out below us, we raised the songs of the American South into the Haitian air - Wagon Wheel, Chicken Fried, Dixie, and many others. Sleep came fast and well that night.

PICTURES TO FOLLOW SOON

__________________

chicken fried wagon wheels

PICTURES TO FOLLOW SOON

__________________

Waking up, it was almost comfortable - almost. In the United States, I have always hated taking morning showers, but in Haiti they are a gift from above. After that, coffee was as much a necessity to get into our hands as air was to breathe. The Haitian coffee is different but definitely not distasteful. It is stronger and has a little bit of a bite to it, which is fine because it is what is needed to make it through these long days. Coming together and sitting down to breakfast we were met with a meal of freshly picked bananas, pineapple,  oatmeal (which is much more salty and watery than what most of us are used to in the US), fried eggs, and bread.

As the day wore on, we remembered how we had gotten spoiled in the night by having the luxuries of a fans and water that worked due to our friend electricity. But that luxury did not last as the power once again died on us at midday and we got hotter and hotter and....  Our midday was spent teaching ourselves the games we would be giving the students at St. Marc's and playing with Father Walin's two children. The two periods of relaxation from the terrible heat was separated by one big event that we went to immerse ourselves in the Saturday Market of Hinche.

Recall the scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where Dr. Jones says that his friend and colleague Marcus Brody knows countless languages and customs and can blend in to any surrounding that he chooses - the Nazis searching for the map that marked the resting place of the Holy Grail would never find it in his "capable" hands. ----------- Then the camera shifts to a bumbling Marcus walking more than awkwardly through a market doing the exact opposite of what Dr. Jones had stated. At least for me, that scene = exactly how I felt. Without Michele's fluent French and ever growing fluency in Kreyol and without our three Haitian guardians guiding us through the market, we may still have been in the confusing web of  stands and vendor's booths searching for a way out.

The market is large and as you approach its center, gets crowded with more and more people. At some points, the booths of the vendors coupled with the volume of potential buyers gets so heavy that the whole market seems to move and shift as one gigantic beast - crawling - crawling - crawling. You are bombarded with armies of different smells - some known and unknown. Just like the smells, the produce and meats were unlike anything I have ever seen. Having no health codes or standards, the latter are piled up on the streets, on tarps, or on the surfaces of their booths. Meat is sometimes kept in the shade but never refrigerated or kept on ice. It is fanned on occasion to attempt to keep the bugs and flies off. All manner of items are sold - from unique trinkets and fruits to many items you could easily find in a normal grocery or hardware store in the States. Returning to St. Andre's hot, sweaty, and tired we were met with a delicious lunch where a homemade stew took center stage.

After more preparing for the children of St. Marc's and playing with Walin's children, we readied ourselves for a hike up to the summit of the Bassim Zim falls. It had been clouding over and had been becoming colder rather quickly however and the threat of rain soon became a reality as it started to sprinkle down on us. We almost had to cancel the trip but the rain gods smiled upon us and we were granted a brief reprieve and zoomed out to the falls. Making a quick stop (literally right outside of the gate and to the right) at a vendor to buy candy and crackers for the kids that would surely chase us down as we neared the falls for a bon-bon. Then we were on our way - traversing down roads that were in no way fit for an automobile. We were constantly reminded that the roads however, were not nearly as rough as those we would be experiencing on the way to Cerca-la-Source. I didn't understand at that time how that was possible but I would find out the truth of that statement within twenty four hours. As we wound our way out of Hinche and through the surrounding countryside, I was struck by the intense poverty levels in this area of the region. Shacks, trash heaps and smaller piles, goats, and all manner of heartache littered the land. Men and women stared at us as we passed by - some with beaming smiles and waves - others with empty, hollow eyes. We offered up a "Bonswa" to all nonetheless. Children, too, stared hopefully at us and then moved on as we passed. Though for that moment, their faces were brighter than the most radiant sun - exposing mostly brilliant white teeth. As we got closer to the falls, children squealed in delight and raced behind our truck with hands outstretched hoping for some kind of gift.

The kids, somehow my means of a shortcut, made it to the falls before us - and the falls were majestic. They towered high above our heads and crashed in the pool below in a thunderous force of white foam. But with all the good the reminders of hardships in Haiti came swirling through on one side of the pool beneath the falls where beautiful bluish teal water was replaced with filthy trash.

The squeals of kids brought us back into reality as Father Walin taught his son (only four) the beautiful selfless act of giving and taught him to pass out candy and crackers to the large line of children that had formed - most all more than twice his son's age. That moment will be one of the most defining moments I will take back from this journey into Haiti. As we jumped back into the truck, our trip obviously being cut short as we never even made it to the trailhead that led to the summit because of the renewed threat of a downpour, it began to spit rain and we hurried back. Yet even in our hurriedness, Walin was never too rushed not to forget a group of children or even a single one beside the road and gave out the remaining treats we had until not one remained.

Beating the full force of the shower, we came home and had the best - so far - meal that had come before us in Haiti - guinea fowl, rice and beans, fried akra, fried plantains, bread, real Coke, and Prestige. Our last night before making the arduous trek to Cerca-la-Source was only made better by the discovery of Father Walin's guitar. In the cool night air on the deck of the rectory, will all of downtown Hinche out below us, we raised the songs of the American South into the Haitian air - Wagon Wheel, Chicken Fried, Dixie, and many others. Sleep came fast and well that night.

Day 2

PICTURES TO FOLLOW SOON

__________________

.haiti.

There are no words to describe it.

There are countless words to describe it.

.beautiful paradox.

Flying into Port-au-Prince was a culture shock. Even from the air, the industrialization of the powerful United States of America became but a distant memory....something from another time.

The bustling highways of Miami were replaced with sad examples of extreme deforestation. Skyscrapers were replaced with thousands of shacks with tin roofs that glittered metallic in the sun as the plane nosed in and landed.

Coming out of the plane, the heat was stifling -------------> Americans think Miami is hot = HAH! We pressed on through a crowd that made preteens at a Justin Beiber concert look tame. Passing through immigration with an equally fast passing, "Merci", myself, Colton, and Amber jumped into the kraal of baggage strewn about the almost warehouse-like floor to wrangle our luggage. Finding them all intact (proof that there is a God and he loves us) we walked out and onto a covered walkway straight into the most welcomed sight thus far - the embrace of Father Walin. Next we had to make the intense journey towards the car rental company to rent a large passenger truck where we could fit half of us and our luggage into while both other halves went with Father Walin in his tried and true green Toyota. Muscling our way through beyond crowded streets we continually were met by Haitians who were more than eager and willing to carry our luggage to wherever we need --- for a price. My first real world lesson in French = "No, merci!" x 10000.

Soon, somehow, we had transportation and we were on our way through more packed streets. Walin is to Haiti as Dale Earnhardt is to NASCAR. But unlike following the Intimidator, we actually (for the most part) kept up - dodging more seemingly "self-entitled" moped and motorcycle drivers and tap-taps than anyone could being to count. Soon we were out of the bustle of the city and on our way through the growing beauty of the country and onto Hinche where Walin's church, St. Andre's, and rectory are. The landscape was lush and countless green growth creeped upon all the earth. Bananas, coconuts, mangoes, plantains, pineapples, corn, tobacco, potatoes, peanuts .... the list could go on and on and on. One easily got lost in the beauty only to be shattered back into the Third World mindset rounding bends that revealed shacks, tent cities still not over the devastation of the Haitian earthquake, women and children riding on the backs of donkeys, men leading their goats to consume more grasses, shacks on stilts that hold food to prevent the vermin from infiltrating....this list could go on and on as well.

But again, somehow, we entered into the city of Hinche - an equivalent of the Queen City - but certainly different in most all aspects aside from population count. Vendors lined the streets; men, women and children stood outside looking at the obvious outsiders rolling into town in their blaring white Mitsubishi passenger truck; goats, chickens, donkeys, dogs, and even the occasional cat jumped out of the way as we rolled through; and we could being to imagine the force of heat that would hit us as we still sat in our safe and comfortable air conditioned box on wheels. Rolling through the gate of the church yard and seeing the Episcopal shield emblazoned upon the St. Andre's sign was as welcomed of a site to our eyes as an ice cold bottle of water.

The inside of the rectory was beautiful - if one is not careful, you can begin to think you would be back in America.....but only for a moment. And yet, in the midst of all the change, differences, stress, and uncertainty that comes with this country, it feels comfortably like home. After meeting the hosts and their beautiful children, we had an amazing late lunch prepared for us: goat with sauteed onions, fried plantains, rice, bottled water, Prestige beer. We ate until we could not eat anymore. After a quick tour of the city and stopping into not only this church but one of the most beautifully simplistic and large Catholic churches I have ever been too, we traipsed back home tired, hot, and still full from lunch. We soon found the beautiful deck that was about the rectory and until dark, took full advantage of the lounging opportunities of this serene portion of Father Walin's home.

Then came sleep. Never have I experienced such heat. Luckily, the power that had been non existent for most all of our first day here came back on .... and so did our fan. How often have we at home been overly thankful for not only a fan but also for one that oscillates? I am now the worlds most thankful person for both of these things thanks to Hinche, Haiti. Laying in bed and feeling the sweat pouring off of my body was an experience like none other.

All of us who have never been were presented our first day with experiences unlike any in our lives. There are countless other things that were unique that occurred that will be written about later after I get home and am able to decompress. But one thing is for sure: even in Haiti where poverty, remoteness, neediness, hunger, and all manner of hardships and heartaches exist - there is at least one place in Hinche that is carving out a bastion of hope and promise and is actively fighting against those former evils. That place is Father Walin's St. Andre's Episcopal Church and School.

The next day brought more and more evidence of this as we began to dive deeper into the world of Haiti, Hinche, and its people...

so it begins

We started out at Stuart Hall School and boarded one of their buses and began the trek up to Reagan National Airport. Most of this leg of the trip was delightfully uneventful though anyone in our group that is reading or will read this account of our trip, I need only say - "No, I'm TELLING you!" .... let the laughter ensue.





We flew out of Reagan under amazingly blue skies and made it into Miami in record time. Immediately upon our arrival, we checked in to our hotel and met up with the godfather of the VA Haiti Collaborative himself, Roger Bowen. He was just getting into Miami from a short trip to Haiti himself. After a brief reprieve to catch our breaths, myself, Michele, Amber, and Roger had dinner at the hotel.










We split ways as a huge storm was blowing into town and I spent some time walking through the airport and around a quaint little park area in the middle of the terminal hubbub. The wind was picking up quite quickly and the lighting began to crack the sky but it was a truly quiet and peaceful moment before our intense arrival in the capital city of Port-au-Prince tomorrow morning.


I've taken my last real - dare I say civilized - shower for over a week and am ready for bed.
Tomorrow we say goodbye to the USA and hello to poverty, hardship, uncomfortableness .... and absolute love, warmth, and the face of Christ.


BUILD CHRIST. BUILD CHRIST. BUILD CHRIST.

Published with Blogger-droid v2.0.6

THE MANIFESTO

hearing once again from my best friend's father, an architect, he outlines a similar manifesto as his architecture school's rallying cry
.  

now i am about to undertake a similarly radical paradigm shift in my own life as i am traveling as this is being written ever forward towards Cerca-la-Source, HAITI. 

i surmise that -

altering the professor's original manifesto to suit the collaborative's particular mission, it should help me - and indeed all of our group 

                                                                                     - to prepare.

______________________

THIS IS THE MANIFESTO.

Stop doing what is comfortable.

Contrast is good.

When broad, go narrow.
When tall, go low.
When wide, go tight.
When bright, go dark.
When certain, get lost.
When obscure, go clear.

Too much of a good thing is not a good thing.

Always look at the transformation occurring at St. Marc's from varying distances.
Every distance tells you something different.

Contrast is to witnessing as dance is to a dervish.

Always honour the context.

Go first with camouflage.
Then illusion.
Then interpretation.

Always listen.

Go south. Go east. Go west. Go north.
Just get the hell out of Dodge.

Cerca-la-Source is about reclaiming the world.
About helping the world finding her way back to Christ, instead of
ruining most everything she touches.

Go in-between the obvious.
Find threads of ideas and keep working them.
Think Bach fugue.

This trip must have beginnings and endings with syncopation all along the way.

Initiate the threads.
Choreograph the threads.
Pull the threads all the way through.

Beware the lawnmower approach.
Grass can be consistent.
And the Gospel will only be boring.

True evangelism is when they don’t know it happened.

Never go too long with the same thing, unless it is repetition.

A column of faith does more than hold things up.

Witnessing is not a formal inquiry.
It is an expansion of life.

Beginning occurs at frequent intervals and repeatedly throughout the
course of the this trip.

Procrastination is the cancer of the missionary.

Quality is directly proportional to quantity.

Every country is a unique microcosm.
The Word must come to HAITI and rediscover this fact.

To really spread the light, it is best to start with total darkness.

Variation on a theme is a wonderful construct.
It is to play with rules.
There must be rules.
Play is the verb.
There witnessing can happen.
First you must have a theme.

Breakthroughs are a way of life.
You cannot will them, they come only via utmost faith and rigour.

The Gospel of Christ is a thing well played.

At some point your faith will dictate the next steps.
If this doesn’t happen, you are working blind.

Make every decision yield tenfold.

In order for Christ to be fulfilled in Cerca-la-Source, it must contain seeds for the
next 60 years multiplied into the infinite.

Backing up leads to finding more.

Activate the exponential.

The process of evangelism is a case of many avenues moving in
different directions at varying speeds simultaneously.
That is the nature of the process.
If such can be relished, you are doing what HE has called you to do.

The world fears overstepping boundaries. Therefore do it.

Politics. Fear. Tip-toeing. Avenues. Expectations. Status quo. Perceived norms.
Throw them all through the window of political correctness. Shatter the panes.

The Third World is the future of our planet.
The First World must decrease.
Not disappear, just shrink, get poorer, invert, release.
Tomorrow’s world is not about making things equal.

Security of the Gospel is not a matter of maintaining peace or
achieving economic affluence.
It is a direct product of justice and hope.

BUILD CHRIST. BUILD CHRIST. BUILD CHRIST.

why we go...

...and what you can pray about for us

PRAY that it will be a life changing trip for us and every person we touch.

PRAY for unity among the Collaborative and that everyone walks in the spirit of love, power, and CHRIST.

PRAY for a clear vision of direction and purpose and for an anointing to fill that purpose.

PRAY that every leg of this journey goes smoothly - NO injuries, missed flights, lost luggage, disease ...

PRAY for cooperative weather and temperatures

PRAY not only for the safety and protection of our group but those who come into HAITI directly after us

PRAY for the HOLY SPIRIT to move and touch lives during our time in Cerca-la-Source

PRAY for miracles, healings, salvations, and changed hearts

PRAY that we dive into deeper levels of intimacy with CHRIST

PRAY for anything else you are lead to pray for

the john hancock

today at Shelburne, signatures were placed on the large poster that will be traveling with me and the rest of the virginia haiti collaborative today. 

the last was that of the YMCA's overall program director whose signature signaled the pinnacle of a project days in the making that has finally come to magnificent fruition.

 

the john hancock

the finished project and the YMCA Summer Camp (Shelburne Site) and staff that made it happen

_____________________________________

Read the rest of the story about the summer camp's contribution to St. Marc's School in Cerca-la-Source here and here.

the lady of haiti

the lord truly works in mysterious ways - and now is just one more example of that proving to be true.

from the moment i decided to deepen my faith and relationship with CHRIST i felt drawn to our lady of perpetual help - for help is what i desired, craved, and needed to be drawn deeper into the folds of the love of CHRIST. 

our lady was not only the first icon i ever purchased  but the first one that hung above my first prayer shrine. i have recited and tried to live the novena more times than i can count:

Oh Mother of Perpetual Help, grant that I may ever invoke your powerful name, the protection of the living and the salvation of the dying. Purest Mary, let your name henceforth be ever on my lips. Delay not, Blessed Lady, to rescue me whenever I call on you. In my temptations, in my needs, I will never cease to call on you, ever repeating your sacred name, Mary, Mary. What a consolation, what sweetness, what confidence fills my soul when I utter your sacred name or even only think of you! I thank the Lord for having given you so sweet, so powerful, so lovely a name. But I will not be content with merely uttering your name. Let my love for you prompt me ever to hail you Mother of Perpetual Help. Mother of Perpetual Help, pray for me and grant 

me the favor I confidently ask of you.

then, in the midst of all of this, the opportunity arises for me to go to HAITI - to make change - to shift paradigms. 

and.

then.

it.

is.

discovered.                           =    the patron saint of HAITI is our lady of perpetual help.

any nervousness i have has now dissipated - evaporated - dissolved.

as i travel to HAITI in only two more days, i am strong. confident. courageous. the LORD is with me. his MOTHER is with what.

what have i to fear?

Bondye avek ou!!

The kids of the YMCA summer camp at Shelburne Middle School continued in their outpouring of love for the children of St. Marc's School in Cera-la-Source, Haiti. 

Today, they tackled the construction of a large handmade poster that all of the campers, camp counselors, site directors, and YMCA program directors signed. 

This banner will accompany the VA Haiti Collaborative to be displayed inside of St. Marc's for all of the students to see.

VA Haiti Collaborative member Alex Davis helps one of the artists understand the translations for the poster.

summer camp kids making the light a little brighter in HAITI

Click here to read about Michelle Edward's visit to the kids that inspired them to make cards, posters, and "God's Eyes" to send to the children of St. Marc's School.

nou renmen Ayiti!

nou renmen Ayiti!

"We love Haiti!"

A group of enthused middle schoolers with the YMCA Shelburne day camp site spent the day making handmade cards, "God's eyes", and other fun knick-knacks for the students of St. Marc's School in Cerca-la-Source. Virginia Haiti Collaborative leader Michelle Edwards came and spoke to the kids about Haiti and the Collaborative's mission in the country. 

She spent time afterwards helping the kids translate their English greetings into Haitian Creole before they wrote their messages on their cards.

Michelle Edwards teaching a group of children Haitian Creole phrases

Michelle helping children make cards for the children of St. Marc's School in Cerca-la-Source

Making "God's Eyes" with help from Shelburne site director, Courtney

One of many special cards a group of kids are making that include boy or girl dolls made of popsicle sticks with Haitian Creole greetings.  

 
English phrases the kids wanted translated into Haitian Creole to include in their handmade cards

One of the children's beautiful handmade cards

ever forward

only one week now remains between myself and the rest of the virginia haiti collaborative and  

HAITI.

definite paradigm shifts are beginning to muster and quake. 

      meetings have been held
      passport has arrived 

+   clothes and supplies purchased

      almost there

last night was spent in packing ..... packing ..... packing .......

 

"Tonight the Virginia missioners that will be going to Cerca-la-Source at the end of June gathered to pack donations for the students at St. Marc's School. We filled many suitcases with gifts of hand-sewn shorts, toys, school supplies, games, and crafts supplies. We are from Stuart Hall, Trinity, Emmanuel, St. John's, Good Shepherd, and points beyond. We look forward to posting our pictures and stories on this FB page while we are in Haiti, so stay tuned. Thanks to ALL of you who have supported this collaborative, this mission, and the St. Marc's School."

- Collaborative Leader Michelle Edwards

visit the va haiti collaborative's facebook page, like them, and watch our progress there as well!
 

 

Clothes purchased at Goodwill specifically for this trip will not see American shores again. They will be worn until we leave then they will be given to whichever Haitian wants them.

paradigm shift

my best friend's father, an architect, gives this advice to his new students that shift the paradigms in vienna.  

now i am about to undertake a similarly radical paradigm shift in my own life as i prepare to embark into the mission fields of haiti. i surmise that -

changing his rallying cry a little to suit our group's particular mission, it should help me - and indeed all of our group 

                                                                                     - to prepare.

______________________

What we are about to undertake is a deep immersion into Christ.

haiti.

The invitation is to come and ABSORB. All that we can. DESPERATELY.

It is an operation into GATHERING. Expect brokeness, humbleness,
suffering, listening, growing, witnessing, desiring, dancing, love,
transformation, shifting paradigms, living, miracles.
It is not a Sunday morning memory.

We will go off the beaten track. Our network of contacts, leaders,
and mentors are like no other. They look forward to us coming. AND
we have found some of the very best anywhere. We get in where no one
else goes.

There is no substitute for hearing and seeing. None.

What we do with the children of haiti WILL CHANGE OUR LIFE

And we will bank on it for the next 60 years.

IT IS RARE THAT ANY AVERAGE PERSON WOULD TRAVEL INTO SUCH PLACES. AMEN.

JUST TO HAVE MET PERE IS WORTH $3.5 MILLION.