The Angels Rejoice

We started a bible study with a handful of elderly people in the city I live in. We chose 5 separate houses in 5 different parts of town. Every Friday, my team and I climb on our motorcycles and visit each home bringing food and a simple message. We just started reading out of the book of John. I'm not a Pastor and I don't pretend to be any kind of expert.
Going into this I just thought, "all I can do is read His story and pray the Holy Spirit does the rest."
The first house we visit is a lady that lives close to Soul Harvest Church land. She's a widow. Her son is in prison and her daughter was beat to death by a jealous boyfriend. Now this poor woman is left trying to raise the grandchildren all on her own. She told me once she couldn't go to church because she didn't have nice clothes. I guess she was afraid people would laugh at her, so I told her we would bring the church to her. Last week after we finished talking I briefly mentioned that if she had friends that would like to come read the bible with us they were more than welcome. She smiled and thanked me before we left. This week when I arrived I was blown away. She had invited half the village!! Her little porch was full and there wasn't enough chairs for all of us. Many people sit on rocks or laid rugs on the ground. I was shocked. I didn't have any great sermon prepared.
"I'm not capable of teaching these people," I thought.
I quickly prayed to myself that God would somehow help me. I began by telling them that God isn't just in a church building. He's so much bigger then that! Whenever two or more people come together in his name He is there. I said I don't have all the answers but if they wanted they could listen while we read the story of Jesus. I reviewed with them what we had read so far and then Kenzy read to them the story of Jesus turning the water into wine. After Kenzy finished I told them that Jesus showed us his miracles so we would know that he was the true Messiah. I explained how much he loved them and that unlike voodoo, Jesus' love is free. The gods of voodoo steal everything and offer little in return, but Jesus ask for nothing except your heart and he offers everlasting life.
The Haitian pastor that was helping me joined in to ask if anyone was willing to give Jesus their heart today.
One lady said, "I already have."
But then an older man exclaimed in a panic, "I haven't yet! Please, show me how!"
Our Pastor rested his hand on the man's shoulder and told him to be patient we would shortly. We asked if there was anyone else they could stand up and we would lead them in prayer. I sat on that porch in the morning sun and watched another of God's miracles take place as 16 people stood up and accepted Jesus as their savior. They clapped and cheered and hugged one another. They told me they were looking forward to next Friday's Bible study. I was speechless.....
As we were leaving on the motorcycle my husband pointed to a rock in a field to the left of the house we were sitting at. There was a colorful cloth laid over top of it and burnt candles around it. I asked if it was voodoo. He nodded yes.
As we drove past I whispered, "It will not be there for long. Jesus is reclaiming this land. Something great is coming"


"I say to you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents"
 Luke 15:10

"The Lord your God in your midst, The Mighty One, will save; He will rejoice over you with gladness, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing."
Zephaniah 3:17

Haitian Voodoo

The day was hot and humid as my husband and I walked along a secluded path in the back country of Haiti.  The narrow dirt trail was worn by the passing of livestock and the locals on their way to the village market.  Overhead were large palm trees that seemed to touch the sky while to the side of the path the ground was carpeted with tropical plants and thorn bushes.  I wiped sweat from my forehead as we approached a clearing where there stood a colossal tree.  I stood and admired the ancient tree for some time, squinting my eyes to look up and try to measure its enormous height.  Its trunk so large that three men, joining hands, would have trouble encircling it. My husband nudged me to come closer to investigate.  As we approached I noticed there was more to this old tree then simple leaves and branches.  Around the trunk were black and red ribbons and a large blue box with two tiny doors set at its base. The box was about waist high. Its paint was chipped and worn down, revealing that it had been sitting there for some time. I thought it looked more like discarded furniture than anything else.  Above my head, propped up by a stick and some rusty nails, was a small black coffin painted with red crosses and x’s.  A sight like this should have alarmed me, but it didn’t. This is Haitian Voodoo something I see everyday in this strange and mysterious country.  

Voodoo is a religion that thrives on fear and superstition. Animal sacrifices are a daily occurrence here, which is why the blue box was placed at the foot of this tree.  In town, myths and rumors circulate around ceremonies that usually are held at night under the cover of darkness. Rumors of child sacrifices and demonic possession are whispered among elderly housewives as they go about their daily chores.

Voodoo is a pagan religion made up of many different gods known as “the loa”.  Each god has a different personality and requires different items as gifts in order to please them.  The objective of a Voodoo ceremony is for a young man or woman to become possessed by one of the loa. The Haitian believers will then offer gifts to gain protection or favor.  What the Haitians don’t realize is that they are being deceived. The loa are not gods. They cannot create anything. They can only corrupt what has already been created. They have robbed this beautiful country of all its hope and dignity.

I am usually a very respectful person of other’s religions. I’ve always believed that if I wish for my beliefs to be heard and respected, I must first respect others. However, when a set of beliefs causes harm and induces fear into the hearts of the people I have grown to love I will not stand back and allow that to continue.  The first month I was in Haiti I was confronted with the evils of Voodoo and I have never let my guard down since. I was teaching English at a small school in a town about 2 hours away from where I live today. I had a preschooler who came to my class one afternoon with a low-grade fever. Fevers like this are very common here due to the children’s weak immune systems and lack of clean drinking water. Usually the fever will only last a day or two. I sent the little girl home thinking she would be fine by the next day. But when she arrived home her parents, believing they had no other option, called upon a local Voodoo priest known as a “houngan”.  Within 24 hours the little girl was dead. I don’t know what took place at that priest’s home. I don’t know if she had a virus that could have killed her that quickly, if she was poisoned or if it was something spiritual. All I know is a precious child was sitting on my lap listening to me read a story one day and the next day I was staring at her body lying in a coffin.

     This religion is not part of the cultural beauty of an exotic Caribbean island.  It is a thief that has come to kill, steal, and destroy.  My job is to battle this evil with the weapons of the Holy Spirit. By myself I am defenseless against such an enemy but with the spirit of Jesus Christ dwelling within me I have all the weapons I need for His victory. I leave my house everyday wearing and trusting in the armor of the Lord. My comfort, when I am faced head on with witch craft, is knowing that I have on the helmet of salvation, the breastplate of righteousness, the belt of truth, the sandals of peace, the shield of faith and the sword of the Spirit (Ephesians 6:10-18). God would never send me into battle unarmed or unprepared. Only through him can this country and the hearts of the people that live in it change.  He is my hope when all I can see around me is despair. His light shines upon the dark places of this world causing all evil to flee. Every knee will bow and every tongue will confess that Jesus is Lord, the one and only creator of life. How extraordinary it is that he has allowed me, a simple girl from West Virginia, to play a tiny role in his magnificent army. God can truly use anyone for His purpose as long as we are willing and obedient to his call.

Sheep Among Wolves

When I first started the prison feeding program there was ninety-two men in two cells. The conditions were bad, but nowhere near as bad as what they could be I have now learned. Today we cooked for 180 people. Still they are placed in the same two cells. They can’t even sit down at the same time let alone lay down to sleep. The main problem I’m facing now is that there are so many of them they can’t hear me when I try to speak to them. I’m praying for them, but only the few that are crowded around the cell door can hear me. I told Kenzy the other day if they are getting rice but not hearing the gospel then we are wasting our time. That’s not why I decided to help these men. Rice will fill their bellies for a day. The gospel could last them for eternity.

So, the other night I woke up around 2:00 in the morning and couldn’t fall back asleep. I laid awake and thought about a lot of different things like most people usually do on nights like that. Right before I fell back asleep I had an idea to start writing letters. I have such a short amount of time to speak with them, but a letter can be read over and over again. The next morning I woke up and started praying that God would give me the words to write. I set down at my desk having no idea what I would say, but as always God gave me exactly what I needed. I wrote two letters, one for the men and one for the women.

When I reached the women’s prison things went smoothly. The women were really excited about the idea of receiving letters from me, and they even asked if they could write me back. I said yes, of course. I’m anxious to see what letters they give me next week when I go to visit them.

Like always, the men’s prison was more challenging. Kenzy and I walked into the front office to sign the forms and hand over our cell phones. The office was busy that day. There was a soccer game playing on the television and a large crowd of police officers and UN officials were standing around cheering for their team. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the TV screen, including Kenzy’s at that point.  I didn’t see the game, though. My focus was solely on the man chained to the back wall of the office. He had a look on his face that I’ve seen many times before. He was at the very edge of breaking down. He was fighting with everything inside him to keep back the tears. He may have been a thief. He may have been a murderer. The families of his victims may still be in mourning as I write this blog now. I don’t know what he had done or who he was. All I could see at that moment was a defeated man.

Suddenly the game ended and the men started cheering wildly. For no reason at all, one of the police officers began celebrating by swinging a belt around in the air and hitting the chained man in the head numerous times with a heavy belt buckle.  He wasn’t doing it hard enough to cause serious damage. I mean, I’m sure it didn’t feel good, but it was more degrading then anything else. The man looked up at me with pleading eyes.

What can I do? I’m 120lbs. I’m a little pampered white girl from West Virginia. I’m still afraid of the dark, and when I get sick I want to be babied. How could I possibly help him in this room filled with huge scary Haitian police?

Prayer….

“Excuse me Sir,” I said, “Can you please stop hitting him for a moment. I need to pray for this man.”

The room began to get quite. The officer looked at me like I was a fool, and then walked away.  Some of the guards walked outside. Some whispered amongst themselves. Some just stood beside me and stared. I held the man’s hand and began to pray.  Honestly, I can’t remember what I prayed for because half way through the prayer the officer sitting at the front desk started screaming at me.

“Hey! White Woman, you can’t talk to that man. Stop what you’re doing right now!”

I kept my head down and my eyes closed. My prayer wasn’t finished yet! He continued to yell for a moment longer but when he saw I wasn’t listening to him he quite. After I said amen I turned around to see a very large Haitian officers staring me down.

“Don’t do that again,” he said in a stern voice. “Now get in there and serve your food and then get out.”

I smiled as I walked back down the hallway towards the other cells. I was able to pass my letters out and give everyone a hot meal. I was even able to serve the man chained to the wall.

Compassion over powered hatred today even if it was only for a moment. It was a small battle won in the midst of a war, but Jesus came out the victor. I hope when that man looks back on his life and remembers that moment he will remember being shown love when none was thought to be found. I pray he will remember a Christian that shown him compassion, and he will associate that compassion with the name of Jesus Christ.

“Behold, I send you out as sheep in the midst of wolves. Therefore be wise as serpents and harmless as doves. But beware of men, for they will deliver you up to councils and scourge you in their synagogues. You will be brought before governors and kings for My sake, as a testimony to them and to the Gentiles. But when they deliver you up, do not worry about how or what you should speak. For it will be given to you in that hour what you should speak; for it is not you who speak, but the spirit of your Father who speaks in you.” 

Matthew 10:16-20

Children of Haiti

Kenzy and I have been so busy this past week. School starts the first of October and we have been running around trying to buy an organize school supplies for over 70 children. You can imagine it gets a little chaotic. Every child has a different list of books they need to buy and the cheapest bookstore is in Port Au Prince. We had to drive for over two hours to get there with no air conditioning in the 95-degree heat. The road leading to Port Au Prince is no American highway either. It’s riddled with potholes and giant cracks. And don’t get me started on the dust and pollution. I can blow my nose after a day trip there and all that comes out is black soot. Gross!! That can’t be good breathing all that in. When we finally arrived at the bookstore we had to wait in line for another 2 hours to buy everything we needed. Unfortunately, the books were way more expensive than I thought they would be so we had to wait until more money was wired to us and then make the trip again the following day. It was exhausting!! It blows my mind how hard it is to accomplish the simplest task. It will probably take us a couple of days to sort out which book goes to which kid before we can distribute them. All the children are waiting patiently for their gifts. I know it will be well worth the frustration to see their happy little faces when they receive the supplies. Can you imagine trying to learn how to read and write without ever having a book to look at or a pencil to write with? It would be impossible. I’m so thankful for the Child Sponsorship Program. Without it I would never be able to afford to help these kids the way I do. It’s such a blessing!

It’s been over a month since I started the feeding program at the prison.  It’s been a learning process, but its running more efficiently every week. I’ve had quite a few interesting experiences and met a lot of new people during my prison talks. For the most part the people are always respectful and kind when I come to visit them. Often the women talk to me about their children. Many of them don’t know where their children are or who is raising them. We spend most of our time together praying and I try to give them words of encouragement. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to be separated from you children and not know what is happening to them. 

The teenagers I talk to have proven to be a little more challenging. Its hard to get through to them because….well because they’re teenagers. Yesterday one boy introduced himself to me as, Satan. His teeth were filed down to points so he could look more intimidating. He’s a member of a local political gang that spends their days terrorizing the community with violence and vandalism. He makes money by robbing the elderly. His last offense was firing a gun into a crowd of people. No one was killed but he’s been sitting in a prison cell ever since with no hope of getting out anytime soon. He’s 14 years old…

When I speak to him about the love of Jesus he doesn’t look me in the eye.  I tell him that every hair on his head has been numbered. That he was fearfully and wonderfully made. He looks to the ground. He looks to the ceiling. He looks anywhere except in my eyes. He knows I see him for what he is. A scared sad little boy that is furious with the world because no one took the time to love him, but Jesus loves him. My plan is to spend every Saturday telling him that until he finally looks at me and gets it.

Please pray with me as I continue to work with these children. Pray for the ones on our land trying to get an education and pray for the ones sitting in those cells angry and scared. Pray for the children who have lost their mothers to sin or a corrupted judicial system. Every child has a story in this country and every child deserves prayer.

He's Our Responsibility

He scared me the first time I saw him. I was riding on a motorcycle after dark and our headlights flashed a crossed his face. The lights reflected the white glaze covering his left eye. He was dirty, half blind, and extremely old. We passed him and I never said a word, but his face stayed with me.

The next day we headed to town early to do our grocery shopping at the market. On our way I saw him again. He was walking down the road hunched over an old walking stick. A tattered straw hat shaded his face. This time I asked about him.

“Who was he?”

“Where was he going?”

“Where is his family?”

 His name is Bonbass. He has no family, and he’s just walking everywhere and nowhere. I suggested we buy him something to eat, so we stopped and purchased food from a near by street vender. When we returned to give him the meal he was gone. For thirty minutes we drove around looking for him, but he was nowhere to be found. I ended up giving the meal to another lady that looked like she needed help. In Haiti you never have to look far for hungry people.

“We’ll help him next time,” I thought.

A week later I was standing along the road watching him walk towards me. Kenzy and I stood in silence as he slowly made his way to where we were standing.  I noticed his shirt was buttoned crooked and he was pigeon toed.

“In American we have homes for people like this. Nurses would take care of him,” I whispered to my husband.

“Really,” He said. “We don’t have anything like that in Haiti.”

When he finally greeted us we asked if he could show us his home. He agreed and motioned for us to follow him. We crossed a small ditch and came upon an opened area with 4 little huts built in a circle. They were nice little houses for Haitian standards. It was a small community of people living and helping one another.

“This isn’t so bad,” I thought.

However, Bonbass, walked passed the houses and started down an overgrown path. We marched through tall weeds that were damp from the rain that had recently fallen. Briers and small sticks scratched my legs as we made our way through the bush. Bonbass, wasn’t wearing shoes. He probably didn’t own any.

After a little while we came to his home. It was in the middle of an empty field away from the rest of the community. His house had been built by a mission organization at one time. Samaritan’s Purse built shelters for people in need after the earthquake hit. It was small, about the size of one of our tool sheds. It had four plywood walls and a plywood roof. It had a concrete floor and a small padlock to keep Bonbass’s possessions safe.  We all stood at the door while he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny leaf folded around his house key. I wasn’t prepared for what he was about to show me inside his home.

He opened the door and it took me a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light. As I peered into the dark little hut I saw that this man had nothing. There was no bed, no clothes, no plates to eat on, and no pots to cook with. Nothing! The only thing in the entire house was a piece of cardboard spread out on the floor where he slept.

I immediately began to think about my own grandfather back home and my body stiffened as I tried not to cry.  What if my papaw was living like this? What if my papaw reached an age where he was no use to anyone and everyone just left him behind? What if my papaw became more of a burden than a blessing?

Bonbass is my papaw! He’s your papaw too. And now that we know he’s there he’s our responsibility. 

Prison Feeding Program

I’m sitting in my bedroom thinking about the day that’s past. After getting out of the shower I can still smell the prison on me. I don’t know if the smell gets in my nose or if the memories are just so strong I remember the smell. Either way, I plan on smelling it for the rest of the day. It was my first trip to the prison since I’ve been back in Haiti. It was also our first time feeding the prisoners a hot meal.  Everything went well. Everyone got something to eat, and more importantly everyone was able to listen to a message about Jesus.

We started cooking around 8:00am. We prepared rice and beans with a Haitian sauce to pour over them. We didn’t know exactly how many people we were going to serve but we were guessing around, 130.  Haitian food takes hours to make. We worked all morning and half of the afternoon. We were cooking over a charcoal fire and making everything from scratch.  It was almost 2:00 by the time we finished. Once we were finished we started putting the rice in individual containers to pass out when we arrived. With every scoop I began to worry. “We're not going to have enough,” I thought. It looked like so much rice in the beginning, but it couldn’t possibly be enough. After we had finished we set back and counted the containers. We had, 92. It’s not enough. What are we going to do? There is no way we can make more. This took half the day to prepare!! My husband called one of the guards at the prison to get the exact number of inmates.

“Eskize m 'mesye. Konbyen prizonye ou genyen?” (Excuse me sir, How many prisoners do you have?)

“Katreven de. Ok Mesi.”

He looks at me an smiles. “They have 92 inmates today.”

No one says anything. We all just quietly smile to ourselves. Of course, there are ninety-two people. Would God have it any other way?

I didn’t say very much as we drove to the prison. My nerves started to set in. I never know how they will react to me. Will they listen? Will they riot? Only God knows. I had some notes wrote down on a piece of paper of what I wanted to say, but I was counting on God to show up once I was in there with them.

We arrived at the prison entrance. It was hot and the sun was beating down on me as I looked at the crumbling walls and faded paint on the side of the building. If this were in America the building would be condemned, but were not in America. This is Haiti.

I walked inside and told the guard my name. They confiscated all our cell phones so we couldn’t take pictures inside. It was the usual procedure. I stepped into the damp dark hallway and heard the lock of the first gate behind me. The men were yelling and fighting amongst themselves. They were dividing up the food they had just received. I walked up to the first cell door and smiled politely. As each one began to notice me the giant cell fell silent. I had a translator with me this time so I spoke in English.

“Hello, I hope you enjoy the food. May I tell you a short story before you eat?”

They agreed. I began telling them Jesus’ parable of the tax collector and the Pharisee. To help them understand, I called the tax collector a thief and the Pharisee a pastor. I choose this story because of the religious tyranny I’ve witnessed so many times in this country.

“Two men went to a church to pray,” I began.

“One was a pastor and one was a thief. The pastor prayed like this, ‘Thank you God, that I’m not like this thief. I don’t lie and steal. I always go to church and give money. Praise God, I’m such a good person.’ Then the thief prayed, ‘God, forgive me. I’m a sinner and I need your help.’

After the short story I asked, “Who do you think God blessed?”

The men were quiet for a moment. Then one man spoke up.

“The Pastor,” he said.

“Why do you think that?” I asked.

“Because God loves Pastors,” he replied.

“No, God blessed the thief because he asked for forgiveness.”

I could see this confused some of them. I went on to tell them about how Jesus gives us all second chances. How you had to do was ask. I also explained that I would be coming to visit them every Friday. I will bring food and a story. I told them if they had any questions or need prayer I would help them in whatever way I can. They thanked me and asked if I would pray for them now. They were silent as I prayed over the food. I thanked them for their time and told them I would see them again soon. I waved and walled away.

 As if a light switch was being turned on; the cell exploded again. Men began fighting and swearing. As I walked back down the dimly lit hallway they whistled and hollered at me through the bars. Some men reached their arms out trying to grab me. I walked out with my head up, unafraid.

The gospel was given. Now it’s up to Jesus to change their hearts…