Ala Ou Gran

"O Lord my God! When I in awesome wonder
Consider all the works Thy hands have made.
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed.
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee
How great Thou art, Ala Ou Gran!
Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee:
Ala Ou Gran, Ala Ou Gran!"  

This morning at devotions, we sang How Great Thou Art, the voices of Haitians and Americans blending together in our native languages as we lifted praises to God. Once again, this song set the tone for the rest of the day, as God revealed his glory and majesty through difficult circumstances.

The Haitian heat lay thick upon the earth this morning, and sun's glare was sharply reflected off of the stones. As we walked around the compound beads of sweat rolled off our face and down our legs. Everyone had a water bottle permanantly attached to their hand. Drinking here is not refreshing, but rather a necessity. The heat can penetrate through any substance or crack, thus our water remains warm and completely unappetizing.  This morning's adventure took us across Haiti to a hospital where a very special little girl named Nelly was staying. She is an orphan from the orphanage we had visited the day before, and she had been born with a handicap that made her arm and leg bones misshapen and bowed. Recently she recieved a surgery to straighten her legs and we wanted to show her love and encouragement during her recovery days.

Only one car was available for us to use, but it did not have enough seats for everyone. Rebekah and I volunteered to sit in the trunk for the ride. Squished around a spare tire, we contorted ourselves into a tolerably comfortable position and braced ourselves for the many bumps that lay ahead. We drove through the country side and then into the city of Port Au Prince. The city was complete chaos with people running across the street in front of cars, and cars squeezing through spots entirely too small for them.  With every sudden stop a car would halt a mere inch away from our van, or pass by almost scraping the side. Rebekah and I knew that if we were rear ended, it would be the end. I'm not sure if either of us had prayed so much in our entire lives.

After an hour of jolting (and trying not to puke from car sickness) in the back seat, we arrived at the hospital. Tents surrounded the hospital building and patients lay outside, recovering from their illness or surgeries. When we entered the hospital the sick smell you find in every third world hospital filled my nostrils, adding to the uneasiness of my stomach from the crazy ride. Bloody, battered, and bruised, patients of every age lay moaning in cots along the sides of the halls and spilling out from the rooms. When we entered Nelly's room she was eating, sitting up with casts on each leg from her hip to her ankle. A big smile broke out on her face when she saw us and she didn't want to let go when we shook her hand hello. I sat on the cot next to her and brought out some string and beads we had brought from home to make a salvation bracelet with her.  As I explained the meaning of each bead to the translator, the people surrounding would "amen" to each description I gave. After tying on the bracelet, my mother taught her the two songs we had taught the other children at her orphanage and prayed with her. Rebekah had a bag of small gifts people at our compound had contributed for Nelly and Rebekah sat with her as she opened them. Eventually, we had to leave and Rebekah and I once again embarked on the long and painful journey back home...in the trunk.

That afternoon one of the directors of the compound, Pierre, took us to a refugee camp in the city of Port Au Prince. Unlike many other camps, this one had regulated rules and structures making it into more of a community.  The camp was broken up into sections and a man was appointed over each section to care for the people in it. There were no illegal drugs allowed in the camp, and beating women (as is a regular custom for many Haitian men to do to their wives) was not tolerated. Also, a 24 hr group of young men would patrol the camp to make sure no one would try to violate the girls. The leader of the camp took a census of all the people there and told us there were 700 familes and 2,600 people living there. As we walked through the camp many of the people would ask to have pictures with us, and would smile and wave yelling a friendly "Bonswa" or "Bonjour" as we passed. Some of the people had small gardens or doors, but all were in extreme poverty. Tent after tattered tent we passed contained a heartbreaking sight. The children of the camp do not have a school they can attend, and we are looking into building one for them as a small project while we are here.

The country side here is absolutely breathtaking,  but the devestation and poverty is heartbreaking. The ocean is the famous bright Carribean turquoise and the mountains are folded across the horizon. Apparently, tarantulas think this area is beautiful too and have decided to make themselves a widespread resident in the area. I have heard of frequent tarantula sightings since I first arrived on the compound and have been paranoid ever since. Today I had my first semi-encounter with the monster. Rebekah and I were standing around talking to some of the other missionaries about the terrifying species and how to avoid them, when one of them pointed to a hole in the ground and told us that was the home of one. Being the adventurous person I am, I wanted to see one (and I have no idea why since I have a legitimate case of Arachniphobia)  and to pour water down the hole so it would emerge. He did and as the water settled a long hairy leg peeked out of the hole. Being the brave person I am, I screamed and ran away from the hole. Finding this hilarious, they began to pour more water in the hole until half of its body was outside. Rebekah got a picture just before they started stuffing rocks down the hole and stomping on them. Being the compassionate person I am, I said a little prayer for the poor thing and immediately left the premesis.

It is almost 9:00 here, which feels late from the early mornings. The heat is still heavy and Rebekah and I have placed a large fan in front of our beds, but we're still sticking to the sheets. Tomorrow is going to be an exciting day for us, and I can't wait to share it with you. Merci for all your support and prayers,

With love from Haiti...