In the front courtyard of the Hopital St. Croix in Leogane, Haiti, there is a small patch of grass with three coconut palms towering over it. On the grass sits a chair.

On first arriving in Haiti, I glanced at this chair in disgust. It is a tall and ugly chair, crudely constructed of what appears to be scrap wood and painted in the unflattering turquoise of the main hospital building. In general, this chair appears to be completely unsafe and is unpleasant to look at.

Knowing that David and Jeanne Paige were familiar with the compound from their previous visits to Leogane, I mentioned this chair to them. They told me that this throne had formerly been located across the street and had been moved into the courtyard when its proprietor had landed a security position within the hospital clinic.

On my next visit to the courtyard, I found this chair occupied by a very tall and very thin man who introduced himself as Woody. With a sweeping gesture over the grass under the coconut palms, he welcomed me to his “plage” or beach. I chuckled in my head at this idea, Woody in his lifeguard chair keeping watch over his plage in the middle of what amounts to the hospital parking lot.

Over the rest of my time in Leogane I formed an unlikely friendship with Woody on his beach. Through a combination of bits of Creole, French and English, translator apps and photos on my smartphone I got to know a little about Woody’s life; and he got to know a little about mine. We talked about our families, and we chased stray chickens. The other team members would await updates on Woody, and I would find myself checking out the window to see if he was out sitting in his chair. 

Preparing to depart for the airport, we gathered in the courtyard in front of the plage. There sat the empty chair. I took one last long look at it and smiled. It is a beautiful chair, carefully constructed by hand and fully functional. It is an interesting chair with an interesting story and an even more interesting occupant. Woody and his chair remain one of my fondest recollections of my time in Leogane.

Imagine a Norman Rockwell-esque portrait of a young father, dressed in dark, tailored slacks, a clean, starched white-collared shirt and impeccably knotted necktie. He is well-groomed, his hair closely cropped, head held high. In his left arm, he holds a young child, hair in pigtails and dressed in a frilly pink dress. Her arm is wrapped tightly around his neck, and she looks pleased and confident to be viewing the world from this elevated position. Holding his right hand is a slightly older child, similarly dressed in pastel, with white Mary Jane’s on her feet and what appears to be a Bible tucked under her free arm. She swings her arms as she walks, skips a step, and smiles up at her father. In Rockwell’s world, the backdrop would be a serene, suburban neighborhood with green grass, manicured yards, a family dog happily frolicking at their side.

Now change the color of the trio’s skin from fair to rich ebony. The girls’ pigtails are not blonde, but black; tied not with two silken bows, but tens of colorful, plastic barrettes. The three walk down a hilly, rocky dirt path between rows of shanties roughly constructed of cinder blocks, rock, sheets of metal, tarps, cardboard and an assortment of other odd materials. Although a family pet is not immediately visible, I note two chickens hopping alongside and a goat tied to a post not far away.

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While in Haiti, we prayed together on Wednesday morning for healing and awakening. As I thought about the work ahead of us on this hot, humid day – painting, sanding, hammering, sawing – I wondered what might be awakened in me besides aching muscles that would later require healing.

We loaded our arms with work tools and equipment, cooling rags, and treated water and made our way down the stairs, across the hospital lobby, through a passage way and out to the courtyard where we would occasionally see a woman preparing a meal in a makeshift outdoor kitchen, or an occasional rat scurrying across the yard. My thoughts were already focused on the day’s tasks. How long would it take to sand each board? Paint each desk? And how many of them did we have to complete this day?

Our progress was stopped before we even made it across the courtyard. The gate was locked. We groaned. And laughed. And groaned some more, eager to begin work and impatient with this 
unexpected delay.

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"God, you are our Father. We're the clay, and you're our potter.  All of us are what you made us." Isaiah 64:8

Re-entry into life after spending a week submerged in a third world country is, not to sound dramatic, the hardest thing I've ever done. I can't even complete a sentence when someone asks me about how the trip was. Instead I use words like; incredible, wonderful, intense, eye opening, spirit-filled, funny, etc, all while trying to hold back tears. I can't even tell you how many times I've said to myself or others, "What's wrong with me? Why am I crying?!"

I had no real expectations of what would happen on this trip other than the fact that we were going to be doing a lot of work and that James and I would be the "lifting team," and I was okay with that. What I honestly never expected was that my life was going to be changed forever by the people and country of Haiti. I've done mission trips all over the United States and have left different from each trip but this one broke me.

As I sit in this brokenness I will wait for God to put me back together. What a rare and beautiful place to be, malleable, moldable, like clay in the potter's hand. I don't know where this will lead me, but as I wait I know that because of Haiti I will be a better person. Merci Jesus!

Several months ago I made, for me, the easy decision to travel to Haiti with David Paige and all those who would attend on this trip. At this point, the preparation began.

First we met as a group of ten. At this meeting David and the outreach committee provided an outline of everything you would need on the trip:  the costs and monetary investments, vaccinations, passport, proper clothing and the correct amount of clothes, insect repellent, water bottles, hats and more. There was timetable provided. All of this was very helpful.

Dutifully, I went about getting everything. I got my shots for typhoid, hepatitis and tetanus, got my malaria medication, secured my passport (whole different story here), bought clothes, toiletries and needed accessories.

We met again. Created a list of last minute items still needed. Allotted computers to the team to carry with us to Haiti as gifts from the people of St. Anthony. We were getting ready and the time was coming soon.

I then packed. Clothes – check. Medications – check. Water bottle – check. Hammer, screw drivers, pliers, wrench – check, check, check and check. Computer (personal and donated) – check, check. Multiple shoes – check. Hat and do-rag (I rock the do-rag by the way) – check & check. Passport – Check. Tickets and boarding pass – check and final check.

Ok, let’s go…I’m ready!!!!!

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Taking off from the Port au Prince Airport and watching the mountains of Haiti disappear into the clouds, I began to process my experience. Immediately I was struck by some true and life-changing revelations that I stumbled upon during this visit.

We are all the same

We are all just people living in one world under one God. Whether from Scottsdale or Leogane, our hearts and souls are the same. People want what is best for their children, and people work hard to provide for their families. People go to church to pray, and people go to the market to shop. People mourn death, and people celebrate life. Some differences exist to be sure, but our similarities will always outweigh them.

Be who you are

Wandering the streets of Jacmel we stumbled across a wall painted in bold letters: “Be Who You Are.” This week gave me the opportunity to see a nation of people who walk with their heads high and carry themselves with great poise; people who are very proud to be exactly who they are. Within our group itself, working and living so closely we were able to get to know each other on a very personal level. Through everything from worksite conversations to late night chats over cold beers, our group became a family who appreciates all the quirks that make us who we are.

God gives, but it is up to us to share

One night we had the pleasure of being joined by Pere Kerwin, the rector of the St. Croix church (and 6 other parishes!), who shared some words that resonated deeply: “God gives, but it is up to us to share.” We received a true glimpse of these words in action during this trip in moments ranging from one of many lovingly restored desks being placed in a classroom by the St. Anthony team to a six year old Haitian girl who was watching us work handing me a plastic ring, smiling and saying “Belle homme.” God gives but it is up to us to share indeed.

I am truly blessed to have done this trip with a group of people who practice exactly what they preach and do so with a full and true heart. We left Haiti a little better than we found it, and Haiti left me a lot better than it found me. As the Haitians say, “Merci, Jesus!” and merci to you Haiti – you have made me a rich man.

You cannot get through a single day without having an impact on the world around you. What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.
Jane Goodall

When one sees the heart wrenching conditions in Haiti one might assume there is an absence of hope.  They would be wrong.  Worshipping at St Croix Episcopal Church was to experience the joy and spirit filled heart of Haiti.  Voices lifted in song, hands raised upward, people coming forward eagerly to place their offerings in a basket - all of this gives powerful glimpses of God's Kingdom.  A three hour worship service was truly a blessing to me and the rest of Team Haiti. As Haitians put it - "Merci Jesus".

Snippets from our Haiti Team via email, Facebook and texts
With the internet available intermittently, we have been in communication with our Haiti Team.

Some of the highlights of their progress so far:

From Pastor Dorian Mulvey, "We finally got internet today - Haiti is a amazing country - wonderful people - unbelievably hot and humid. What a great mission team we have. Today we framed a classroom to enclose it, scraped down 83 desk frames and started painting them. Tomorrow???"

The start of a new day in Haiti - wonder how many desks we can paint today and how many bottles of water we can drink!

From Will Strong, youth minister, "Today we sanded 83 desks, wiped the desks, and started painting them. The others started the walls for the enclosure of the room. It's looking good. Great first day!"

As I sit here at my desk finishing up last minute business before I begin my packing adventure for my first international mission trip, first international trip as well, I can't help but feel a myriad of emotions.

If I am to be honest I'll admit that most of the emotions I'm having are that of fear, anxiety, worry, etc. I tend to worry, in fact as a child my mom would call me a worry wart. I'm always thinking what if? What if I forget something? What if I can't communicate with the Haitians? What if I didn't pre treat my clothes good enough to fight off the mosquitos? What if I only do the work and don't embrace the culture? What if my dollar bills aren't crisp enough?

As I think of all the what ifs I have, I'm reminded of people throughout scripture who also asked the what ifs... Abraham and Sarah, what if we don't have a child? What if we are to old? Moses, what if Pharaoh catches up to us? Noah, what if it doesn't rain? Mary, the mother of Jesus, what if people gossip? What if I'm not prepared? Peter, what if I can't be the rock of the church like Jesus said?

Scripture is full of people like me asking the what ifs.

But there is hope from the scriptures that I am reminded of when these feelings of fear, anxiety, and worry creep up. Over and over scripture tells us, "Do not be afraid," "Do not worry," and my favorite, "Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." 1 Peter 5:7.

The realities of my what ifs are, yes, I will forget something. Yes, communication will be hard. Yes, my clothes could've used an extra dose of repellant but, I serve a God who cares for me and wants me to leave my anxiety, fear, and worry at the foot of the cross and share the love of Jesus everywhere I go.