Revelation 11:18  18 The nations were angry; and your wrath has come. The time has come for judging the dead, and for rewarding your servants the prophets and your saints and those who reverence your name, both small and great-- and for destroying those who destroy the earth." 

The nations were angry is the first thought that came to my head last week as I sat in the “parking lot” of the hospital in Petit Goave which just happened to be ground zero for the latest series of riots in that city.  The second thought that came to my head was a song that I remembered as a teenager called “I'm Caught in a Mosh” by Anthrax.  I don't know why I thought of that song other than it just seemed to fit better than anything else at the moment.  The lyrics along with the heavy guitars and drums of 1980's thrash metal just seemed appropriate for the scenes playing out all around me.  I could hear the loud guitars, drums and lyrics repeating “What is it? Caught in a mosh! What is it? Caught in a mosh!”

I went to Petit Goave to pick up my medical test results along with some stuff from the bank that I will need to submit for my permanent residence or Permis de Sejour.  The first trip to the hospital yielded all the test results except for one.  When we went to the portion of the hospital that took that particular test we found no one working inside, but several workers sitting outside on benches refusing to work.  In a different section of the hospital people were working, and gave us the results from those tests. They also explained to us that they had not been paid in over a year, and the people in the other section had not been paid in two years.  I would say these are pretty good reasons for refusing to work.  It also gave me some perspective for what was about to happen.

Just for a mental picture, the hospital is a series outbuildings loosely connected with a courtyard.  None of the buildings have air conditioning, but instead open windows with bars instead of panes of glass.  Even the entrance feels more like entering a prison than a hospital.  A demoralizing environment without having to work there indefinitely without pay.

With the partial harvest of test results we headed over to the bank for another round of name signing and feeling like an idiot for not being able to sign my own name consistently again.   We waited inside the bank for our transaction to be complete for what felt like eternity.  At least there was air conditioning.  Something tells me that the bank is making money, and the hospital is not.  Anyway, the system came up and down and we were able to creep along with our transaction at a snails pace while things started to develop outside.  At some point I noticed the bank beginning to clear out, people would poke their heads in and yell stuff, and the bank staff turned on the radio.  Oh great, I'm a white guy in a Haitian bank and the political situation is deteriorating outside right now while I sit.  I am a walking text book for worst case scenario.  I guess that is why I am so close to God.

The Haitian bank staff did not seem like they were completely freaked out, but they did seem way more uncomfortable than normal.  I could hear words every now and then that I could understand like hospital – you know, the place I just came from that was only about a block away.  I had gone to Petit Goave with two of our Haitian staff members from Hands and Feet.  Our driver, Sava and our administrative assistant, Gardith.  Gardith was in the bank with me and Sava went to look for a good place to park the truck and wait for us to finish in the bank.  

Gardith started explaining what the radio was saying.  It seemed that a manifestasyon (riot or demonstration type thing) had started right outside shortly after we entered the bank.  Sava called and told us that he was not sure that he could come back and get us because people were starting to set up road blocks, throw rocks, burn stuff, and the police were responding with tear gas and things.  I explained to Gardith that I had gone through tear gas training in the Navy and that it hadn't affected me.  She thought this was good and might come in handy as we made our escape through the fray to wherever Sava might have to pick us up.  At this point we prayed and started to formulate an escape plan – but still waited for our bank transaction because we were so close.  We were the last ones in the bank.

Once we completed our transaction at the bank, the fun began.  The barricades and rioting had not completely blocked the road to the bank so Sava was able to come pick us up.  Curbside service.  Then we drove to the Hospital.  “Why are we going to the hospital!?!”  Sava responded with a bunch of Creole and Gardith explained that we needed to pick up one of our washer ladies that had just had a baby.  The hair was standing up on the back of my neck and I was extremely uncomfortable, but I thought it was cool that we could help out one of our workers and her newborn.

We drove through the gates and to the back of the hospital to the maternity building.  Of course this was the most confined place and the farthest away from any exit.  Actually there is only one exit.  We sat there, Gardith went in to get the lady, and things developed in front of our eyes.

The first thing that happened was more people started coming through the gates of the hospital.  Then they started yelling.  Then they started running.  Then they started throwing rocks, yelling, and shut the back gates of the hospital closing us in with a stampede of people and blocking off our only exit.  Well now we're stuck here.  Dang.

I looked at Sava and he seemed only slightly concerned, but he is Haitian.  At some point the gates opened up and we could see a line of riot police walking our way.  The way I have heard them described is that they drag everyone out of their cars, beat them unmercifully, and then ask questions later.  I guess I was about to find out first hand.  It is amazing how calm you can be when you know all your options have been extinguished and all you have left is to hope to God for mercy.  It's like that clacking sound climbing the steep slope before a big roller coaster drop, and then you begin to hit the crest and everything gets still and quiet.

I looked at Sava nervously and he said,”They not come in the hospital”.  Even though he knows more about this place than I do his words gave me no comfort.  But sure enough, they never came back to where we were and soon the crowd started to disperse and spill back out onto the street.  I felt a little better until I saw tear gas canisters flying with crests of smoke trailing behind.  Let's see if I'm still immune to this stuff.

I reached down and turned off the air conditioner.  Sava just nodded in agreement.  Most of the confusion was confined to the street outside the gates, so we waited in our relative safety for the lady and her baby.  Finally after what seemed like an eternity Gardith, the washer lady with her new baby, her husband, and two other random people.  The two random people climbed into the back of the truck, and everyone else crammed inside.  We then locked the doors and started driving through the fray very slowly.

Things had turned into a standoff by the time we reached the street.  As we drove through the gates I could clearly see a burning barricade to our left and a line of riot police to our right.  Pick your poison.  Since we needed to go right anyway we decided to take our chances with the riot police.  As we slowly approached Sava rolled down his window and spoke to them in creole.  They just nodded and let us pass.  I can't tell you the sigh of relief that audibly escaped my lips as we watched the scene unfold in the rear view mirror as observers and no longer as active participants.  Thank you, Jesus.

On the outskirts of town we dropped off the random people that had hitched a ride in the back of the truck and made our way back home.  When I got back home I was treated to a piece of strawberry flavored cake with chocolate icing.  Amy had made a cake for us since we were celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary on this day.  I can say it will probably be one of the most memorable wedding anniversaries.  God is good.  I was still alive and reunited with my family.  I was also a few steps closer to our Permis.

For some reason every night before bed there is a big cat fight right outside our house.  Literally some cats fighting each other.  There is the stereotypical hissing, scream-meowing, and loud noises that end in thuds against our house.  I'm trying to draw some spiritual connections with the riots but I guess some things just are what they are.  Like cat fights.  I always grab my tactical flashlight, machete, shoes, and run outside in vain trying to find the source of bedlam.  They are always gone before I can get there.  Mystery cats fighting in the night.  Maybe another good subject for an 80's style thrash metal song.

After the nightly cat fights I get to take a cold shower.  It seems like cold showers should be refreshing in the Haiti heat, but there is nothing fun about a cold shower.  To walk into a cold, concrete box, stare into an open pipe, and open a ball valve for a shower seems more like entering an interrogation chamber than a soothing shower stall. You have to brace for that first hit of cold water in the face, and then settle into the stream.  Sometimes I am visited by a large spider during this experience.  I actually hit it one night with my flip flop, but it ran away.  I've named the spider Francois.  Once I pulled my towel off the wall screw and began to dry my face only to feel something coarse across my cheek.  I pulled the towel away and a giant cockroach fell to the ground and scurried away before I could step on it.  Everyone gets their turn – 1 bathroom – six people.

I always walk the entire perimeter before bed every night.  I talk to the guards, say goodnight to the kids, and pray continually throughout the walk.  I pray for each location and have already seen the hand of God move as He brings me in line with what He is already doing here.  I talk with God and listen.  He always talks back, restores passion, and fills me with emotion.  God is at work here.

Every night after my walk I get to go to bed and sleep hard.  Sometimes it is hot, sometimes it is kind of nice.  But every night, I get to sleep to the thick aroma of the garbage fires burning.  

It is so interesting to see the various t-shirts that people wear.  I'm certain that when that lady back in the states gave away the pink shirt that says “Thank God I'm a Southern Girl”, she never intended it to end up on an old Haitian man, but that is what happened.  I saw a man wearing a shirt this week that said “Same Shirt, Different Day”.  There are two bets that I would be willing to wager real money on.  #1.  He has no clue what that shirt says.  #2.  It is absolutely true. 

I'm pretty sure the best bakery in the world is in Grand Goave.  You have to be shown where it is or you would never find it.  Behind some buildings and in a back alley in the most inconspicuous run down, cinder block building lies the Grand Goave bread factory.  A concrete and rock oven that is fed by real wood from wherever wood comes from here.  The same guy is always there working hard day after day.  He doesn't look happy, but he works hard nevertheless.

He is not very friendly as I walk in.  He kneads the bread and pulls out the loaves on some old machine that sounds like a steam engine.  Then he cuts the loaves by hand and feeds them into the giant oven that looks like something from Biblical times.  I have to wait for him to stop working and come over so I can pay him.  I always forget to bring my own bag and it is always a big hassle for him to find something to put the bread in.  I am always willing to take any loaf on the hard, concrete table, but he always digs around  for the perfect loaf to drop into my bag.  Always a fair price, and always a perfect loaf.

This past week Amy and I started meeting with all the Haitian staff at our site.  We ask them some questions and give them the opportunity to ask us.  The most interesting question posed to us this week was stated something like this, “Did you come here because you are called by God, or did you just want to come here?”  I was not expecting this question, but was happy to answer.  I feel that after we told our story she was satisfied that at least we believed God called us here.  I guess only time will prove it.

The medical team came in to give us some training this week.  I can't begin to tell you what a breath of fresh air they were.  Truly being the hands and feet of Christ as they provided care for our kids, and trained us in first aid and suturing.  I was able to practice stitching up a mango.  Today I was able to watch a local doctor give 7 stitches to the thumb of one of our construction workers.  We provided first aid and a local doctor at Mission of Hope provided the stitches.  They are not available all the time so I guess it was good that I learned more today.  When we walked out of the clinic a motorcycle accident had happened on the street.  I guess they crashed in the right place.

As I was walking by a truck on our site this week and I noticed some guys unloading rebar.  One of the guys looked really familiar.  When I got closer I noticed it was one of the drunk guys from the beach a few weeks ago.  God has his number.  I walked up to him and he remembered me.  I invited him to church again and told him to make sure to come on Sunday nights when I am speaking.  He keeps saying he will come but hasn't showed up yet.  I keep praying for him.  His name is Tony.

I have really started to develop a relationship with one of our boys.  He loves to work and has a maturity well beyond his years.  When we were sitting in church last night waiting for service to start he explained to me some of the events that he saw when he was living there.  This one tripped me out and I couldn't stop laughing.

He pointed outside and told me with a serious tone,”When I lived here, I remember looking outside one day and a pig got hit by a tap-tap.  The pig died.  People came from all around to get pieces of the pig to cook.”  He pointed behind us and said, “A man that lived over there, he came and got some of the pig and cooked it.”  Pointing across the street he said, “A lady from over there, she came and got some of the pig.  She cooked it and ate it. But one day, a dog got hit by a tap-tap, and the dog died. No one came to get the dog.  It just stayed there.”  

Oh I love Haiti.

In Christ,
Laramie

2 Timothy 4:1-5   In the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who will judge the living and the dead, and in view of his appearing and his kingdom, I give you this charge:  2 Preach the Word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke and encourage-- with great patience and careful instruction.  3 For the time will come when men will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear.  4 They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths.  5 But you, keep your head in all situations, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, discharge all the duties of your ministry. 

Again on Friday night we ended with a time of worship at Ikondo.  After returning I followed my nightly routine of walking the perimeter of the village and praying.  I finished my walk with a trip to the top of the water tower and listened to the drums in the distance.  I prayed, then descended and slept.

Saturday was extremely eventful.  I rode to Port-Au-prince with Sean to pick up the incoming mission team.  Every trip to anywhere in Haiti is full of adventure, but this one turned out to have a little extra bit of flavor.  

The drive to the airport was a little more difficult than usual because of the mud coating the roads from our torrential rains the night before.  Some areas still had deep mud, and other areas had a dirt coating that rose into the air with each passing car.  Of course the extra water provides excellent opportunities to bathe on the side of the road where the water collects.  I guess the fact that the side of the road is also a wash for various trash, sewer, and road waste is lost on those eager to use the water to bathe.  So many spiritual parallels can be drawn from the sight.

Sean and I drove the van and Sava drove the pickup.  16 people were coming and we were going to need two cars.  It was great spending the time with Sean and getting to know each other as we navigated the gauntlet of confusion on our 2+ hour drive to the airport.

After picking up the mission team the real fun began.  Only a couple of miles beyond the airport we ran into gridlock.  Although the roads are only two lane, they are used as if they had at least 4 and sometimes 6 or 8.  After sitting for a few minutes Sean colorfully negotiated with some roadside vendors for some water to give the mission team.  They had already been awake for a couple of days on their trip here from Colorado.

It wasn't long before we knew this was going to be a long day.  The vendors began pressing in more urgently and people started retreating from Tap Taps to the much faster vehicle of foot travel.  We simply sat there, got to know each other, and vainly waited for some forward movement.

The most frequent vendors were the ones selling conch out of either a silver metal pot with a lid, or various other “recycled” plastic containers.  Along with this delicacy they pour a “sauce” on top that is some red possibly tomato based concoction stored in some old gallon jug.  It is amazing how consistent the containers are among vendors making the choice on who to buy from a different one.  As we watched many Haitians around us succumb to the extended wait time and resort to feasting on this roadside delicacy, Sean began to joke about buying some.  “When I get to heaven and they ask me how I died, I will tell them I gave up, ate some lanbi, and drank some bag water.”

We began to notice people around us yelling and pointing to the rear passenger side of our van.  Since we weren't going anywhere anyway I decided to hop out and check on things.  It turns out that our right  rear tire was going flat.  As we crept along we inevitably passed by one of the countless roadside “tire guys” and I hopped out and asked him for some air in my best Creole.  

Nothing is the same as it is in the states.  The air station consisted of an ancient gas powered compressor on top of an old tire.  He had – like every other small engine in Haiti – to actually wrap a rope around the starting rotor to get it going.  Not surprisingly it didn't start the first, second, or third try so he had to repeat the action with each failed attempt.  Sure enough persistence paid off and a cloud of black smoke spelled air ( I think).  

Who needs an air chuck when you can just remove the valve stem insert and shove the open hose over the top.  Works like a charm.  A good kick spells just enough air so that when the hose is removed you can frantically fight with the stem insert before all the air spills out, spit on your finger and rub it around the valve stem to make sure it is not leaking, and replace the cover for a perfect 35 psi – or close enough.  I paid the guy and we were on our way.  Took us about half an hour before we were out of his site and around the curve.

At this point I got brave.  I stood on top of the van trying to see what was up.  I walked up and down the street asking questions.  The consensus seemed to agree that a Tap Tap crashed after his breaks went out.  Of course every other vehicle on the street was only running on God's grace and a whole bunch of duct tape and bailing wire – so one small wipe out from a Tap Tap caused ripple effects for the entire population of Port-Au-prince that happened to be going that direction.  And....we got to be part of the fun.  So the mission team got a wonderful Haiti welcome.

While we were waiting I got a call from Pastor Lex saying that he would rather I preach on Sunday morning instead of the evening.  Good thing I had prepared earlier, because I sure wasn't going to have time that night.  Sunday morning brought a whole new day.

I was able to preach Sunday morning.  Through the aid of Kledson, my interpreter and mostly the Holy Spirit I was able to bring the Word of God to a packed house.  All of my  family agreed that it was the best they had heard me do.  I know they are biased, but I do feel like I belong here like nowhere ever before.  I started an expository series on the book of James that doubles as a way to teach how to study scripture.  May God use all of me until there is nothing left for His glory.

Without a table for our home we have been eating on buckets or just with plates in our laps since we got here.  After a tense time of fussing with Amy earlier this week I hastily decided a table might help things, so I started to work right away.  I took some rough pine boards that were stored in a loft area of our house for the table top, and had Luke dig through construction rubble for table legs and supports.

With the “help” of most of the boys we were able to pray and eat dinner around our new table that night.  The boys here are no stranger to straightening out bent nails, recovering old screws, and recycling wood.  What a spiritual lesson that God uses what others throw away and makes something that is beautiful.  May they get it.

And so we all started a round of worm medicine this week.  We took our last one today.  That is all I have to say about that.

We have been working to get our permanent residence.  Many trips back and forth to Petit Goave for various pieces of bank information.  Of course they can't give you everything at once because it would simplify things for you and them.  You have to keep coming back – over and over again.  Well Petit Goave is known for some kind of candy and I finally succumbed to the street vendors and bought some.  It was different.  I ate most of mine.  Lance almost threw up.  Amy wouldn't even try it.  
Lance:  It tastes like the rubber parts from around a dog's mouth.
Abby:  It isn't too bad, but it tastes a little bit like an eraser.
Anna:  I can't eat it, it tastes like an old tire.
Luke:  Maybe old cheese, with clay.

After returning from Petit Goave with our bank letter – Wahoo! another step closer – we needed to go into Grand Goave for some parts.  We were going to take the van but it had a big bolt sticking out of a front flat tire, so the construction boss took us in the motorcycle with a truck bed thing.  Amy and Luke were getting some things in Port-Au-prince with Michelle, so me, Lance, Abby, and Anna all got to be passengers.

The first stop was the auto parts store.  A small cinder block building about the size of a newsstand with bars on the windows and an assortment of various parts that was way more organized than the pharmacy.  A few minutes of negotiations landed us the parts we needed.  Now off to the tire guy.

We drove down the street to the tire guy.  He keeps a few big tires out front to keep traffic from driving right into his work area.  Old tarps full of holes provide some shade, but not much protection from the rain as his maybe 8 year old son digs through a pile of tools at his father's command.  Even though his dad is serious, there doesn't appear to be a hint of unkindness and the boy genuinely seems happy to oblige.  His young daughter attempts to keep the place clean as she scrapes water from the rough paved ground with a tin cup.  She smiles at me and I tell her she is doing a good thing.

All the surroundings in the maybe 8x10 spot next to a stone wall on the roadside are coated black with tire residue.  The father works hard.  He has an air of professionalism in this dirty spot that is seldom seen in the cleanest and newest tire shops in the states.  His arms are full of muscles from manually working on tires all day every day.  Homemade tire irons replace the need for a machine.

He finally finds the right tool to pry the bolt out of our flat van tire.  Once that task is complete he stands for a moment and stares into the distance.  The years of hardship are clearly read on his face and in his eyes as he catches his breath for a moment before proceeding.  He washes his hands in the dirty water that has collected on the street and ,with nothing else to clean them with, wipes them on the stone wall.  He makes a homemade plug out of an old piece of tire and proceeds to fix our flat one.  Still every movement seems to carry with it an air of professionalism that suggests he knows exactly what he is doing.  He fills the tire with air and checks for leaks with a can of water.  No leaks.  He carefully carves out the remaining pieces of the plug with a razor blade.  You can't even tell it has been patched when he finishes.  I thank him and we move on our way.

Well....I broke out in hives for three nights for no reason whatsoever.  They only showed up at night and I took Benadryl to help relieve the itching.  It was pretty miserable.  Two nights they manifested as giant whelps and bumps.  I tried some essential oils and last night they didn't show up.  Maybe they are gone now.  I sure hope so.

With most of the bank stuff taken care of we went back to Petit Goave for some medical tests.  Apparently they need to make sure we don't have HIV or syphilis before we can be residents.  The hospital was definitely third world.  Bars instead of windows, wooden benches for a waiting room, and cinder block walls.  Dirty floors and desks, lots of stacks of paper, and workers with no sense of humor.

A urinalysis and some blood work would be needed to complete the tests.  We walked across the street to the “lab” for our urinalysis.  A small room right next to the pharmacy.  No bathroom.  Only a curtain hung between a makeshift wall and a small refrigerator with a small bowl on the floor to catch anything that might not make its way into the cup.  It was easy because the lab workers were right there to pass the cup to over the top of the fridge when we were finished.

While sitting there waiting for our turn Amy talked to a young boy who was obsessed with the color of our skin.  He said that he hoped one day he could speak English and be white so that he could be smart and handsome.  Amy immediately told him that God had made him just who he was on purpose and that he was indeed very handsome with his ebony skin and he did not need to speak English to be smart.  What would cause these thoughts, and what may have Americans started here that even a young boy would think such things.  Oh that we can always point everything to Christ as the answer.  Never anything else.

Last night we had the privilege of eating at a local restaurant with the mission team.  It was the best goat I have ever eaten and was a welcome treat to eat some red meat for a change.  Spicy, juicy, and falling off the bone.  A side of plantains, potatoes, and a Haitian cole slaw made for a good nights sleep with a full belly.

This morning we walked with Pastor Manyol to meet the neighbors.  Surely some of these have to be the ones that are singing and playing drums on Friday nights.  I hope to get better at speaking the language so that I can share the hope of Christ with them clearly.  We walked the trails among the trees and visited the usual Haitian country home of tarps, tin, tree branches, rocks, and maybe a concrete block or two.  

A group of kids with no parents around greeted us.  One of the young boys fought the chickens out of his plate of food.  At least he had a plate of food and actually appeared pretty well fed.  School books next to his older sister suggested that his family must be wealthy enough to afford school even though the dwelling would be considered extreme poverty by even the most modest of American standards.  

We had the privilege of praying for a girl whose family only lived a stones throw from our village.  She tried to get away from us when we walked up but her mother brought her back and we laid hands on her to pray for her mental affliction.  It must have been some form of mental retardation, but Pastor Manyol only conveyed that she was sick in the head.  So many people just on the other side of this wall.  So many stories and so much pain – and filled with hope in the midst.  Glimpses here and there.

We met two young girls sitting outside their house.  The one grating coconuts said that all the kids at the house were hers.  4 total.  The other girl was just her friend and she didn't have any kids.  Her kids did not attend school because they had no money.  School is a privilege here.

This morning we got to meet a young man whose demeanor belied his condition.  He was maybe 5 years old.  At a very young age a dog had removed his manhood.  His grandmother wanted to show us even though we told her that we were not doctors.  She just wanted us to know.  At some point he had had surgery so that he could go to the bathroom and he was actually doing OK.  They had food and were both pretty healthy.  No Parents.  His grandmother took care of him.  I fought back tears as I prayed for him knowing God's special place for eunuchs.

Isaiah 56:3-5   3 Let no foreigner who has bound himself to the LORD say, "The LORD will surely exclude me from his people." And let not any eunuch complain, "I am only a dry tree."  4 For this is what the LORD says: "To the eunuchs who keep my Sabbaths, who choose what pleases me and hold fast to my covenant--  5 to them I will give within my temple and its walls a memorial and a name better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name that will not be cut off. 

In Christ,
Laramie

1 Corinthians 1:25 For the foolishness of God is wiser than man's wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man's strength.  26 Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth.  27 But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.  28 He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things-- and the things that are not-- to nullify the things that are,  29 so that no one may boast before him. 

Every week so far seems like a year.  It is really unbelievable how much can happen in one week.  Some good, some bad, but all to the Glory of God.

Sunday started out with finally meeting Pastor Lex.  Pastor Lex is the pastor of the local church that we attend, and a strong partner with the Hands and Feet Project.  The timing of his sermon on Sunday morning was providential.  Ephesians Chapter 6 has been a major theme since I have been here.  Every night I walk the inside of the Village Perimeter and pray.  Ephesians 6 has been the top theme of my prayers.  It was refreshing and confirming this Sunday when Pastor Lex's first sermon after returning from the States was centered around Ephesians Chapter 6.  God's timing is always perfect.

Every Sunday we take the kids to the beach at Pastor Lex's house.  It is a wonderful time of refreshment for everyone.  The only downside is that his house is located near the mouth of a local river, so depending on the tide and current flow you may end up swimming with the river's contents.  

This Sunday the tide and current happened to be just right to bring us some brown water and whatever else might flow down the river.  We swam anyway.  The best part of the day was watching the kids play with a mango tree log.  I guess the log probably floated down the river.  They are so resourceful and just make the most out of whatever they have.  I couldn't have imagined any toy bringing as much joy as the mango log.  They all clung to it, tried to stand on it, and towed it for 3 solid hours without relent.  It was with great reluctance that they abandoned it when it was time to go.  I played with them for a while, trying to put the brown water out of my head and just enjoy spending time with them.  Of course my own kids were out there, too without giving a thought to the brown water.  They fit right in here.

It was great getting to know Pastor Lex.  He is Haitian and married to an American.  I got to meet his son AJ who is comfortably bi-lingual.  Pastor Lex likes to have an English speaking service on Sunday nights so he asked if I would be interested in preaching on Sunday nights.  I eagerly accepted and look forward to starting tomorrow night.

Sunday night was communion service.  It was wonderful to share communion with the Mission of Hope body.  Angie Sutton led us in the song Angel Armies – so appropriate for the morning sermon and the spiritual warfare happening all around us.

I am attempting to meet with every staff member and child that lives and works at the Children's Village, and started this process on Monday.  I pray that God will give me and my family special connections with each of the staff and children, and that we will fit in here soon like a member of the family.  All glory goes to God.

One afternoon I noticed one of the boys wielding a homemade slingshot and taking aim at a house.  OK – teaching moment.  I stopped and redirected his fire.  I brought him out away from the living quarters and set up a target in front of a rock pile.  It wasn't long before we had a good group all taking turns shooting at the target together.  It wasn't long before I noticed Abby with her slingshot joining in.  My kids fit right in here.

While I was shooting the slingshot with the boys, I noticed Amy and the girls playing guitar and singing music together.  They sit out in the afternoons and learn to play praise songs from Amy.  There are some old guitars that I found laying around in need of repair, hopefully I will get a chance to repair them soon.  It seems that the kids here really soak up lessons if it is something that they are interested in.

It seems that most days it is hard to just get out of the rut to survive.  We have so much more at our disposal than the average Haitian, so I know if it is hard for us it must be so much harder for them.  It really helps us to know how to connect, how to pray, and hopefully how to provide solutions that honor God and honor them.  Every one of my kids got sick this week so just getting though the day was really a challenge.  They are well now praise God, and everyone is feeling a little better.

Every Tuesday we hold a staff meeting with the other team members at Ikondo.  This past week, during the meeting I heard chanting and marching outside.  We stopped what we were doing and went outside.   What we were hearing was a funeral procession.  A group of men were running slowly up the mountain in step and chanting while carrying a casket.  No hearse, no procession of cars, just a group of men on foot chanting and running up hill.  Every so often they would stop and swap out pall bearers, then resume.  Soon they were out of sight and we resumed our meeting.

Later that night all the kids went to church, but since our staff meeting ran long we didn't make it.  This was the night of the lunar eclipse.  One of the boys stayed behind because he didn't feel well.  While cooking dinner we could hear drums playing and chanting across the fence from our village.  I went outside and talked to the boy that stayed behind and asked him what was going on.  After some dialogue I finally got to the bottom of it.  He said they sing and pray to satan.  We had a discussion on spiritual warfare that I was able to tie back in to Pastor Lex's sermon on Sunday from Ephesians.  We both read scripture together and then prayed for them – that God would save their souls, and that he would make their chants ineffective thwarting their plans.  

The next day one of the boys walked up to me and said that I was needed at the food depot.  It seemed that one of the ladies had killed two mice and she wanted me to know about it.  I gave her some mouse traps and Amy set them for her.  On my way back from the food depot I noticed a large group of boys swinging something on a string and throwing rocks into one of the mango trees.  In the span of about 10 minutes they had put the two mice on strings and were “playing” with them.  Someone had thrown one of the mice in the mango tree and that is what the rest of them were throwing rocks at.

The mouse still being “played” with was being swung around furiously while other boys were waiting impatiently for their turns.  When I figured out what was going on, I told them not to play with a dead mouse because – and then one of the boys finished my sentence for me “Li gen anpil mikwòb!”  Yep, so you get it, you just don't care.  

I told them they had to stop playing with the dead mouse.  So they flung it into a nearby tree.  I said that wasn't good enough.  The rest was a blur of activity that I vainly attempted to follow with a bunch of running, yelling, some fire at some point, and then a burial of the “toy” mouse.  Satisfied with their outcome they ran off to find something different to do.

It seems that nothing lasts as long here as it should.  Stephen told me when I got here that if something should last a certain amount of time anywhere else in the world.  He used the example of a hammer only lasting a month if it should last a year.  I thought this was absurd, “who could break a hammer” I thought.  Alas, they have already broken a hammer that I brought with me.  So no wonder we have problems with larger more important things like water filtration systems and generators.  It seems that the theme of the past week has been “Nou pa gen dlo!”  Which means “We don't have water!”.  

Any various number of frustrating combinations could be the cause and an incredible amount of time is spent trying to figure out the right combo to get some water flowing again.  I am narrowing it down, though and will hopefully get a handle on this soon.  The result of not having water could mean that the kids have an excuse not to go to church.

One of the boys was running around with something on his head claiming that he couldn't get ready for church.  When Amy inquired about the mystery substance all over his hair and beginning to drip down his face and onto his shoulders he responded “Chanpou!”  Apparently he had soaped up, put shampoo on his head and then the water shut off.  He wasn't the only one in that situation.  At least we still had a reserve of drinking water and the more motivated and industrious boys had already tapped into our large cistern with buckets and were remedying the shower situation.  They actually left for church on time.

Our generator mechanics have been trying to help out with our starter problem.  They have some great names – Ti Blan and Pa Vle - .  These names directly translate into White kid and Not Want.  There is nothing white or kid about Ti Blan and I'm not sure what it is that Pa Vle doesn't want.  

Friday we headed out to the beach again.  This week we were a little more adventurous.  Luke and I walked down a ways and were able to meet some kind folks who offered for us to play their guitar along with them.  They were all drinking rum and dancing around in their underwear – about 7 guys in their early 20's.  They got my attention by calling out to me, so I of course responded.  They offered their guitar to me and I told them I only sang for the glory of God.  They were OK with that and allowed me to play the only song I know in Creole and they listened.  I told them – through much ridicule – that they were all invited to Church on Sunday and I would be speaking.  They proceeded to try out their English skills on me – of course it is always the most disturbing curse words that people seem to learn first.  But, that is how my Savior was treated.  I thanked them for letting me sing with them and Luke and I went on our way.  I prayed for God to save their souls as we walked on.

May God soften the rocky ground, and make springs of water flow in the desert.

In Christ,
Laramie  

Matthew 13:24 Jesus told them another parable: "The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field.  25 But while everyone was sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and went away.  26 When the wheat sprouted and formed heads, then the weeds also appeared.  27 "The owner's servants came to him and said, 'Sir, didn't you sow good seed in your field? Where then did the weeds come from?'  28 "'An enemy did this,' he replied. "The servants asked him, 'Do you want us to go and pull them up?'  29 "'No,' he answered, 'because while you are pulling the weeds, you may root up the wheat with them.  30 Let both grow together until the harvest. At that time I will tell the harvesters: First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles to be burned; then gather the wheat and bring it into my barn.'"

Haiti is an amazing land of contrasts.  So wild, full of pollution, garbage, spiritual darkness, and immense pain.  But in the midst of all that, there is a joy unspeakable and amazing stories of God's grace and love that is hard to find in the states.  It seems that in the States we so often mask what is really going on with an outer facade that gives the impression of spiritual fruit, but so often is just a symptom of whitewashed tombs – good looking on the outside but full of dead men's bones on the inside.  Certainly the facades still exist here, but the distinctions are more open.  Much can be seen right on the surface.

Our week started out with our regular church service at Mission of Hope.  We walk back and forth from  church alongside the crazy busy highway of  Rue National 2.  Everything from overloaded dump trucks to motorcycles and even donkeys are moving at contrasting speeds and competing directions along this route.  Lots of horn blowing and yelling as we move at walking pace beside the din and commotion making our way to worship.

What a pleasing sound to the soul as we leave the mass confusion behind and enter the gates at Mission of Hope to the sound of worship music playing on the large speakers suspended from the ceiling on rafters bowing downward under the weight.  A thin tin roof, three walls, gravel floor, and just enough structure to keep most of the rain out provides shelter for worship.  I make sure to always choose a seat NOT under the speakers for fear of an eventual collapse of supports.  Haiti is not known for quality construction or pioneering cutting edge safe building codes.  However, the worship to our God and Savior is real, powerful, and moving.

Sunday between services is normally beach day for the kids, but this Sunday circumstances dictated that we remain at the Children's Village until the evening worship service.  So we made the best of it.  Amy got out her guitar and led the girls in some worship music.  They know most of the modern worship songs that we do in Creole and English.  The girls here have amazing voices and it just melts my heart every time I hear them sing.  Listening to Amy's guitar and the voices of the girls singing to our God was refreshing to my soul.  

At some point the boys found out that I brought a skateboard and asked me to bring it out.  Now there is not much concrete in the village that allows for riding space, but there is enough for a taste.  I gladly agreed and told them that they had to organize themselves and take turns.  Robenson was the one that asked, so he ended up with the unchallenged right to go first.  It was amazing to watch their natural athletic ability unfold as they took immediately to skateboarding.  They enjoyed the thin strip of concrete past their dining area and outdoor kitchen as if they were shredding up a downtown skatepark.
They never fought and took turns giving each other a healthy chance to ride before passing it off.

Later in the week I noticed the boys gathered around a rough hole in the concrete area.  I looked down and noticed that they were patching the hole all by themselves with some concrete.  I guess they “acquired” some concrete after the construction workers went home.  I asked what they were doing, and they told me they wanted to make the surface better so that the next time the rode the skateboard it wouldn't be as rough.  These kids are survivors and VERY resourceful.  I just laughed, smiled, and didn't disturb their work.

Sunday evening finished out with another walk back and forth to Mission of Hope for service.  This time we had to walk back in the dark.  A slightly more harrowing experience alongside Rue National 2 than in the day time.

Monday morning started off with formal Creole lessons from Mr. NoNo.  Yes that is what he is called.  I don't even know his real name.  It seems that most Haitians have some sort of nick name that they are called by, and often it is some quirky English derivative.  He is a great instructor, a follower of Christ, and has put together a wonderful curriculum.  We need all the help we can get!

This week I reached a huge milestone for living in Haiti.  I was approved by Andrew to drive our vehicles in town.  The next step will be out of town, but right now this is enough!  Driving in Haiti is a terrifying experience that causes the Christian to cling close to his savior with every moment spent behind the wheel.  The rules are as follows:

1.  There are some rules, but most are not enforced.
2.  The law of gross tonnage always applies
3.  Passing on either side is always allowed and encouraged.  I'm not kidding.  You've really got to watch out when making a left hand turn because you're likely to have various vehicles passing on both sides and oncoming traffic coming at you with the same scenario playing out in the opposite direction. Pray a whole bunch.  The only reason you survive is because God is not calling you home yet.
4.  Most motorcycle aka “moto” drivers to not use their headlights at night because they think it drains their battery, and they turn off their engine when coasting downhill because they think it saves gas.  It is your responsibility not to hit them.  
5.  Pedestrians and animals will always be a part of the highway.  It is your responsibility not to hit them.  They don't care about you and will NOT get out of your way.
6.  The road conditions are deplorable.  There are various speed bumps placed in random locations that the locals endearingly refer to as “sleeping policemen”.  Hope you're not going fast when one pops up out of nowhere.
7.  Most of the driving is actually “off road” with roads that resemble mountain fire roads and backwoods trails.  Bring extra tires and tools for the certain worst case scenario.
8.  The best advice that Andrew gave me before pulling out into traffic was “Yep, It's Frogger!”

Cooking has been somewhat of a new adventure.  We do have a small fridge so it is nice to be able to keep a few perishables as well as leftover on hand.  Amy has been experimenting with the local ingredients and I have especially enjoyed her eggplant Parmesan.  She rocks and is such a good cook.  She has been using coconut, bananas, and mangoes.  We don't have any fresh meat other than occasional chicken, but she makes the most out of what is available.    

This week started the daily routine of school for the kids.  It was pretty much like they have always done so this provided some familiarity and structure for them.  The biggest difference would be the fact that our house is regularly over 90 degrees during the day.  Maybe we will acclimate soon?

In order to have a permanent residence in Haiti we are required to have a Haitian bank account.  This was a unique experience.  Haitian banks are probably the most dangerous place you can go.  So we took the whole family for the experience.  The good thing about banks is that they are air conditioned.  Luke said he wanted to go to the bank every day.  The one unique thing is that they are very particular about how you sign your name.  It was like traveling back in time to pre-automation with lots of carbon copies and liquid paper going on.  I messed up so many forms because I am apparently an idiot who can't even sign his own name consistently.  I have gotten so use to the electronic signature pads at most American checkouts that I have become quite lazy with my signature.  Finally the lady just picked out one of my signatures that she liked and told me to make the rest of them look like that one.  I can't tell you the anxiety level that washed over me as I put pen to paper trying to match that signature with a shaking hand, sweat beading up on my forehead and armpits as my heart raced.  Finally I got them all close enough.

This week I learned that some of the construction workers are ex Haitian Military.  There is no military now, but they were a part of one when it existed.  There is one guy in particular that is the “motivator” when any big job is to be done.  He is endearingly known as I Love You (yep another crazy nickname) by the construction boss.  He keeps the crew motivated by yelling and making jokes during such activities as concrete pouring bucket brigades.  He found out that I was ex military also, and now calls me Fre! or Brother in English.  


This week has been a week where Amy has had ample opportunity to exercise her nursing skills.  One of our staff members burned her arm, and Amy was able to wash it and help her take care of it.  The Haitian style is to detach from pain and that is exactly what this lady did as Amy scrubbed and then applied burn cream.  The hardened outer shell from strife and grief in an attempt to protect from further pain and anguish.  But, I have heard this lady lift up loud sincere praise to Christ and I know she means it.

Steve ripped open his toe this week and word got to Amy that he needed some care.  Steve has such a sweet gentle spirit and eyes that are aged far beyond his years.  He is probably the most serious young man here at the Children's Village.  Quiet and reserved he makes his way through the days.  He is a joy to be around and Amy eagerly took care of his toe as he came by every morning and evening.  He is almost healed now.

Late Wednesday night close to midnight we awoke to a frightening scene.  Luke had gotten violently sick in the night.  Amy immediately started taking care of him and cleaned up behind him.  She stayed up until about 3 am taking care of him.  We initially thought that it was probably food poisoning, but as time and symptoms progressed things started to point to malaria.

Sean stopped by another nearby orphanage called Be Like Brit and picked up some malaria test kits.  We gave him 2 tests just to make sure.  Both came back positive.

Sean and I drove into town to the nearby “pharmacy” for some chloroquine.  The “pharmacy” was more like a newsstand that someone had ransacked.  The lady that ran the place dug through piles of random medicine, open boxes of dust covered pill packets, and eventually produced a “sleeve” of chloroquine tablets.  Ten 250 mg tablets in two rows produced by Flamingo Pharmacy out of India.  The price was about 50 cents in US Currency.  We got him on it right away.  The fever is mostly gone, but he still feels pretty nauseated.  It comes and goes, but he is holding down food now.

It would seem that you could catch a break at night, but that is when things seem to get cray cray.  I woke up at 4 am to the electricity going on and off with constant inverter beeping.  I walked outside to check things out and tried to communicate with the night watchman in my broken Creole.  His solution was to randomly start flipping switches, wait 15 seconds, and then start flipping again with more force and rapidity.  In my vain attempt to give some guidance I went in the house and produced my multimeter.  This must have gained me some credibility because he stopped flipping switches and stood back to see what I would do.  I found that the voltage level was too high for the inverter and communicated that to him by showing him the readout.  His solution was to turn on and off the generator, which actually got the voltage to a level where we could make it through the remaining hours of the night.  Andrew made the adjustments the next morning.

Friday is a day off for us so we went across the road to the local beach.  Luke has been dying to go since we got here, and he wasn't even going to let malaria keep him away.  The drive takes about 15 minutes through washout river ravines and rocky roads that more resemble stream beds.  The local residents live in the usual Haitian shacks, tents, and some in cinder block or concrete houses surrounded by random local agriculture.  

Once you hit the coast the view is breathtaking.  The occasional salt breeze seems so inviting, until it is countered with the occasional breeze of raw open sewer, livestock, or burning garbage.  The beach itself is beautiful.

Taino Beach is home to Stevens.  A local teenager and spokesperson for the location.  He is very friendly, speaks decent English, and has a few trinkets for sale.  His dad is a lobster man.  There may not be fresh meat available, but for the price of a US Fast Food meal, you can have fresh lobster on the beach.  Luke said, “If you've got to have malaria, this is a good place to have it”.  

We hung out at the beach all day and basked in the beauty as our souls were refreshed.  We tried to buy a little something from the 5 local merchants that hung around selling trinkets.  We told them that we could not buy every time we came, but we did our best to support the local economy and make a good impression for return trips.  We spent time talking and getting to know them.  Right before we left a blind lady came and sat at my feet selling peanuts.  For the about 25 cents US I bought some of her peanuts, and the child helping her thanked us and led her away.  No one came begging, but they were all selling something.  They are industrious, they just need a way to enjoy the fruit from their labors.

Reality set in on the way back almost immediately as the bus from Be Like Brit got stuck crossing a dry stream bed right in front of us.  I saw it coming, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.  After we tried in vain to help them for about 20 minutes, it was obvious they had enough people and were determined to do things the hard way.  So I just shook my head, smiled, and headed back home via another route.  

I wonder what this next week has in store for us.  

In Christ,
Laramie