Kay Espwa

 I recently met a little girl named Jessica. She is a beautiful little 4 year old that carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. Jessica stands out from the other children in our weekly Bible lessons because she never participates. She never smiles. She never plays. She rarely speaks. Something is seriously wrong at Jessica’s home. Poverty is brutal in this country. It’s impact is devastating and heartbreaking to say the least, but children are remarkable creations. They survive and adapt in a way I never could, but being unloved is the one thing that can break their spirits sometimes beyond repair. I look into Jessica’s eyes and I see a lost little girl that needs a hug more then she needs a plate of food. She silently wishes for a hand to hold instead of a new toy. She’s hurting and that means God’s hurting too.

About thirty minutes down the road from Jessica is a 14 year old boy named McKenzie. He’s been living in and out of a prison cell for most of his teenage life. His last offense, which cost him 6 months, was stealing a cell phone. This is not a hardened criminal. This is a little boy trying to survive in a world without love. He’s scheduled to be released in February and if something isn’t done for him I have no doubt he will eventually return to that prison cell again. He’s hurting and that means God’s hurting too.

I could write a hundred more stories of a hundred more kids that I’ve met in my short time on this island. I’ve been praying that God will give me answers for all the hurt I see around me, and now I’m beginning to understand that its not just physical needs that these people lack, its love. Poverty can not break them. Disease can not deter them. Earthquakes can not crush their spirits, but the absence of love is life threatening.
 There is a home built just down the road from where I currently live now. Its yard is over grown and its floors need a good scrub, but there is potential. I want to rent it and make it into a children’s home. I want to fill its rooms with laughter and happy faces. I want a separate room where I can take in the sick and nurse them back to health. I want to give work to boys like McKenzie who can do odd jobs for me and then have a place of refuge to feel safe and welcomed. I want to have movie nights and invite all the neighborhood children over to eat popcorn and watch movies about super heroes and beautiful princesses. I want them to come to my home and just be children. This is my dream for the future of God’s ministry here. 

The home will be called "Kay Espwa" which translates to House of Hope. 

The Bible says, “For I know the plans I have for you says the Lord. They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.” 

That’s our vision... to bring hope. For every child that walks through our gates hope will be waiting for them. Hope will be standing in our doorways with outstretched arms and a loving heart. They will have hope that their lives will be better then their parents before them. Hope that a good education and a warm meal every night is not an impossible dream. Hope that one day they will be the ones that change their own country.

I want to take an empty house and use it as a tool to provide hope, fulfill dreams, show love, heal wounds, and teach the gospel.

Please pray with me as we work towards making the House of Hope a reality. 

That is Christianity

Maybe it't not about getting up on Sundays to attend a church service. Maybe it's not about reading a Holy book or singing hymns in a church choir. Maybe it's not even about giving to charity or refraining yourself from cussing the next time you stub your toe on the coffee table. It seems to me that those are just things we do, it's not what we believe. Christianity is what I believe in and Christianity is a person. It's about a man named Jesus, who was born into a poor family and raised in a poor town, but still managed to change the course of history within 3 years just by the things he said. He never fought any wars or led great armies. He didn't even so much as write a book. He simply stood up in front of people and dared them to love. He dared them to resist anger and hatred even when it's justified. He showed us how to love one another even when we don't deserve it. After he said all these things he died naked and hanging on a cross because he wanted us to understand what it means to sacrifice yourself for others. He spent 33 years here teaching, encouraging, and correcting. Now, there has been many great teachers in this world, but none that have made the impact that he has. Why is that? It's because he did something no one else on earth has ever done. He died, but came back. He was defeated, but conquered the grave. He was resurrected!!! He was seen by thousands of people including ones that had previously hated and denied him. He changed their hearts and lives with one great act of redemption. His story was and still is the greatest story ever told. And, if it's true it's the only thing that really matters. If we claim to believe this then it changes everything; the way we live, the way we dream, the way we treat the people around us. If Jesus is who he claimed to be then from this point on our entire lives must be centered around him because he is the center of everything. I never cared much for religious doctrine or self help programs, but this man and his story changed my life. This God is the only god worth following. He's the only God worth hoping for. He's the only God that sacrificed everything he had just to love me. That is Christianity and that's worth everything I've given up and so much more.

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.