Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never Is, but always To be blest:
The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

-Alexander Pope,
An Essay on Man, Epistle I, 1733

Hope springs eternal...
Nowadays it is as if spring hopes eternal. With the bloom of spring everywhere, new life invades every cranny. Hope spreads throughout. What else can one expect as we celebrate the Risen Lord?

So it is only fitting, in this season of life and hope that seeds are starting to sprout within my own life. As I've stated before, our return from Haiti left Faith and me with plenty of issues, questions, and struggles. Oftentimes we were frustrated and flat-out angry. Confusion ran rampant at times. However, beneath this sense of urgency and chaos was a calm, soothing sense of hope and assurance.

Now, as the confusion, frustration, and anger are domesticated, this hope and assurance that ran quietly but persistently through us has given birth to a joy and elation. For Faith and I were notified a week ago today that we were accepted to be interns with World Hunger Relief, Inc.! While there we will learn the basics of sustainable agriculture, community development, and missions while living and working on the World Hunger Farm. Once we finish our internship in the fall of 2006, we'll likely go back to Haiti for 3-4 months, hopefully figuring out if we're to stay there long-term.

Granted, this opportunity provides a lot of questions and problems (i.e. what to do with our collection of 'stuff', where does one with no agriculural background whatsoever begin, etc.), but they pale in comparison to the fact that we're inching forward to our dream of a life together of service and community.

So, this summer we'll be preparing for the big move by trying to little ourselves down a bit. As we do, bear with us and pray for us! And if anyone out there knows how to milk a goat or slaughter a chicken, I'd be much obliged for a lesson or two!

Our path, with its turns and hills, leads on. Though we're "confin'd from home", Hope springs eternal .

I read in a recent Newsweek article that it costs the average middle-class set of parents $178,590 to raise ONE CHILD to the age of 18, and that doesn't even include college! Throw in a 4-year college and that amount skyrockets well above $200,000. To think that my folks likely spent close to half a million dollars on my brother and me blows my mind.

Goodness, how does one grapple with such a staggering fact? On the one hand, I'm leveled with an indescribable amount of gratitude and awe over the selfless and unending love of my parents, while on the other I'm humiliated by the needless costs I certainly demanded as a child and teen. To consider how that measures up to our neighbors around the world ( especially in the poorest of countries like Chad, Haiti, and India) simply brings more shame.

I guess my query is this--How do we, as Christ-followers, strive to provide and overwhelm our children with a love as lavish as a parent's while keeping true to a want and call for simplicity?

Or, in other words, how do we live out the theme of Proverbs 22? How do we hold to the fact that "a good name is more desirable than riches"(1) and that the rich and poor are both subject to the same Maker (2)? How do we "train a child in the way he should go" so that "he will not turn from it" (6), in the community we find ourselves in? Is there a line to be drawn between certain comforts/riches and right living when it comes to raising children?

I guess the answer is likely obvious. Perhaps once the evident "Yes!" is given, then the appropriate question would be, "Ok, so where do I draw it?"

"You're gonna' feel nasty when you get home from church anyways."

Ouch, right? Wrong.

Strange enough, I felt good after catching myself saying this to my wife earlier this morning. What would normally be a telling indictment against the way our churches in America often leave us reeling from guilt on Sunday's is actually nothing of the sort.

The nastiness and filth we feel after church on Sunday afternoons actually takes the shape of dirt, pigeon poop, car exhaust, and cigarette smoke. Though we often smell dirty when we get home from church on Sunday's, its much more welcome than feeling that there is a perpetual dirtiness all about us that is without hope for cleansing.

May we not hide from our need to be convicted of the sin in our lives as God continues to show us kingdom work at Church Under the Bridge. And let us strive to not only tolerate, but embrace the grit and smoke that comes with the territory.




Above and below: We had a health fair and church today, complete with free blood pressure and cholesterol readings, eye check-ups, pharaceutical advice, hygeine kits, and yes, free hair cuts! Faith wouldn't let me get mine cut. :(

Seems like, for as long as I can remember, I've always had a nagging frustration over not being more involved with the reading and study of the Bible. It's not that I didn't have a working knowledge of it, but it's as if it only came in short passages gleaned from sermons, books, or what-not. And that inevitably leads to a lot being taken out of text.

So, that led to my decision to read a book (from the Bible) at a time. Not at any specific pace, and not in any specific order. I started with Nehemiah. Then Ezra. I just finished Amos. Now I've decided to hop over to the New Testament and read Acts. My reasoning for picking Acts is mainly because I've caught myself saying "The early church did this, the early church did that" recently, without really having a comfortable relationship with Acts of the Apostles to adequately cite or quote it.

Acts has come at an excellent time for me. Perhaps there isn't a better book for a guy who is struggling with direction and decisions, than a book that illustrates a bunch of guys figuring out what to do after Christ ascends to heaven and leaves them to fend for themselves (relatively speaking). Talk about decisions to be made!

It starts out almost as a comedy--once Christ disappears into the clouds, it says they remain there staring "intently up into the sky", when two men in white robes appear standing next to them. Makes me wonder how long Peter and John stood there staring at the sky without noticing these two angels right next to them! Kinda' like that scene in "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade" when Indiana is fighting the Nazi general on a runaway tank that goes flying off a cliff, bursting into flames. For a few moments, Indiana's father falls to the ground staring at the wreckage from the top of cliff, in tears over his lost son. Then, out of nowhere, Indiana shows up behind him exhausted from a fight and the subsequent climb after jumping off the tank just before it was too late. The scene is both relieving and hilarious.

If not funny, then the scene from Acts had to be a relief for the disciples. Mere moments after Christ was gone from their presence, and he sends them angels to comfort and convict them. The comfort that they must have felt after knowing that it all wasn't some big accident, immediately inspired them to get to work. They didn't waste any time getting back to Jerusalem to pick someone to replace Judas. From that point, you won't find nary a moment wasted for the apostles.

This opening in Acts serves as a good example for me, as I often find myself gritting my teeth and staring into the sky for answers. May my doings be about the business of actually getting around to doing something!

Faith and I were able to volunteer at the World Hunger Farm's "Living on the Other Side" on Friday night. "Living on the Other Side" is similar to Mission Waco's "Poverty Simulation", with the main differences being that the Farm's version is less intense and is focused primarily on life in developing nations, rather than life on the streets of the U.S. Anyways, Faith and I had a great time, as we got to learn a lot more about the Farm and share a some of our experience in Haiti.

At one point, the facilitator guided the group through an exercise called "If the world were a village of 100 people". It was a simple sheet of paper with statistics set to scale for a community fo 100 that adequately represents the population of the world today. Some of it I already knew, but a lot of it was eye-opening for me, so I thought I'd glean from it and let the numbers speak for themselves. Here it goes:

If the world were a village of 100 people:

52 would be female, 48 would be male

57 would be Asians

21 would be Europeans

14 from North and South America

8 Africans

70 would be non-Christian, making for 30 Christians

70 non-white, while 30 people would be white

80 would live in substandard housing

70 would be unable to read

50 would suffer from malnutrition

1 would be near death

1 would be near birth

1 would have a college education

1 would own a computer

59% of this village's wealth would belong to only 6 people, and all 6 would be from the United States

If the world were a village of 100 people.

It's striking to me that at the same time I received this exercise, I had been reading through Acts 2 and 3, which speaks clearly of the early Christians sharing all their possessions so that nobody was in need.

Lord, may this "coincidence" convict me of my greed, materialism, and blatant lack of love for my neighbors across the street and across the world.

From beneath the fog comes a hope and a cry for clarity.

Good grief. My head is all a-spin. In our church small group, we go around the group at the beginning to share "I am's". (This is where you get to tell others how you're doing, in a word or, at most, a phrase. Noone is allowed to comment on it. I like it because it gives everyone an equal voice, and lets the group know where each person is coming from that evening.) Anyways, last night, my statement was "I am frantic." It seems like within the last week, decisions and guesses are required from me at a non-stop pace.

Upon return from Hispaniola, the two weeks afterwards were quite nice--a time of reflection, recovery, and reporting gently filled my time. However, as my thoughts are pulled from March 2005, towards the next few years ahead of me, I'm finding a lot more questions than answers.

Shall we go back to Haiti?
Can we go back to Haiti?
Should I look for an internship?
Should I work a job simply for the money so I can pay off debt?
Where to live?
When do we start a family?

A couple weeks ago, I wrote about our unreasonable demand to be ready for everything we approach in life. The question came up as to whether or not there is a "theology of surprise". I posed the same topic to small group during the same week of the post, but to no avail.

For the first time in our short marriage, Faith and I are facing critical issues and questions that will shape and send us on our way. Where we may go excites us, but at the same time, thinking of where we may fail to end up scares the socks off of us. As we heed the Apostle Paul's "fear and trembling" tactics, we understand the approach. However, the underlying idea in the passage is that there is a spirit discernment required to figure out one's salvation, one's faith, one's journey.

So as we continue to pray, talk, argue, yell, stare, cry, sigh, laugh and then start all over again, I pose this dilemma to the space between heaven and earth...looking for a response from up above and identification from the world below.

Peace on Earth

Heaven on Earth, we need it now
I'm sick of all of this hanging around
Sick of sorrow, sick of the pain
I'm sick of hearing again and again
That there's gonna be peace on Earth

Where I grew up there weren't many trees
Where there was we'd tear them down
And use them on our enemies
They say that what you mock
Will surely overtake you

And you become a monster
So the monster will not break you
And it's already gone too far
You say that if you go in hard
You won't get hurt

Jesus can you take the time
To throw a drowning man a line
Peace on Earth

Tell the ones who hear no sound
Whose sons are living in the ground
Peace on Earth

No whos or whys
No one cries like a mother cries
For peace on Earth

She never got to say goodbye
To see the colour in his eyes
Now he's in the dirt
Peace on Earth

They're reading names out over the radio
All the folks the rest of us won't get to know
Sean and Julia, Gareth, Ann, and Breda
Their lives are bigger than any big idea

Jesus can you take the time
To throw a drowning man a line
Peace on Earth

To tell the ones who hear no sound
Whose sons are living in the ground
Peace on Earth

Jesus and the song you wrote
The words are sticking in my throat
Peace on Earth

Hear it every Christmas time
But hope and history won't rhyme
So what's it worth
This peace on Earth
Peace on Earth
Peace on Earth

These are lyrics from one of U2's best, but lesser known, songs-"Peace on Earth". If you happen to have access to a recording of the song, listen to it. If you can't listen to it, read slowly through the song. Then do it again. What does it leave you with? I'd be willing to wager that it likely left you with a fairly bitter or tired view of the state of the world today. Maybe even hopeless. Take for instance,

I'm sick of all of this hanging around
Sick of sorrow, sick of the pain
I'm sick of hearing again and again
That there's gonna be peace on Earth

Tell the ones who hear no sound
Whose sons are living in the ground
Peace on Earth

She never got to say goodbye
To see the colour in his eyes
Now he's in the dirt
Peace on Earth

It is as if the lyricist is at his wits' end. Sorrow and pain rule the Earth instead of the promised peace. Mothers outlive their children, who are dying before their time. It's easy to see how one can get a sense of despair and hopelessness from the tune and tone of the song.

However, lately, this song has almost become a fuel for me. A driving force to action. Instead of dwelling, nay, wandering in a state of inactivity and apathy, I'm filled with an insatiable desire for movement. Instead of a frustration and gloom that sprouts from thoughts like "I'm sick of sorrow, I'm sick of pain...tell the ones who hear no sound, whose sons are living in the ground", I'm now filled with a type of "fed up" attitude. Since I'm sick of the needless sorrow, pain, and death, I'm going to do something about it. To try to "make a dent" in it, as a doctor in Haiti says.

As Christians, we're called to the business of kingdom work. Or, as in U2's words, "heaven on earth". A concept God's tried to instill in us for quite a while. (See the Year of Jubilee in Leviticus 25.) That's about as best as I can do when it comes to explaining-in-a-nutshell my passion to make it back to Haiti. For like Bono and U2, I'm sick of the mess we're in. When peace on earth is preached and proclaimed every December, there's something sinfully wrong with that. For in the 11 months surrounding that time, peace takes a back seat. And with that reality, "hope and history won't rhyme."

In the terrific movie "Shawshank Redemption", Andy Dufresne, the wrongly convicted husband spends over 20 years of his life for the murder of his wife. Towards the end of the film, when it appears that the corruption and abuse that he regularly encounters in Shawshank Prison has finally gotten to him, Andy utters the phrase "Get busy living, or get busy dying." After the scene, the viewer is left with a fear that Andy perhaps has given up on life and may commit suicide. However, what is discovered is that Andy dug (literally!) through the dirt and grit of prison life and came out a free man, ready to live his life.

Faith and I are currently working through the idea of getting busy with living, while trying to be mindful that if you're not living, then you're obviously dying. We're excited about our path--even though it appears to be uphill and likely difficult. We'd much rather be full of life in all its glory and disappointment, laughter and tears, strengths and weaknesses.

Let me encourage you to consider what it would mean to "Get busy living."

As a change of pace, I thought I'd provide an illustration of how we ate while in Haiti. We ate considerably well while visiting the island. Better, in fact, than a typical Haitian eats and healthier than I tend to eat back in the States!

So the following is a photo-essay, mostly thanks to Faith's quick-thinking and use of the digital camera, of food we ate on our visit. Bon appetit!



Stripped from coke.com? Not quite. 1/2 litre bottles of Coke, Sprite, & Fanta were a luxury in Haiti, but since we were rich and spoiled, we typically had 2 each day. Faith took this shot after our 3,000 ft hike up a mountain to view the Citadel.


Most of our vegetables came fresh from the farm's gardens--free of pesticides and genetic engineering!


A typical lunch. Breakfast usually consisted of spaghetti or eggs with fish or sausage and TONS of seasoning. Lunch was always the largest meal of the day. Here, you see a fried plantain (yummy), fish (which you're supposed to eat in its entirety--meat, eyeballs, bones, and all), and rice with a broth over it. A very good meal. And for dinner...

...Voila! This was dinner. Every night. It was a mixture of flour, water, sugar, maybe a little milk, and sometimes possibly manioc. It was famously called cake batter by the Americans. Or gruel. It resembled a tapioca type of pudding.


Lunch towards the end of the week. They slaughtered a goat for us at the farm, and I was able to get about a half-dozen good shots. (If you really want to see them, let me know.) This particular goat ended up feeding us for about 3 meals. They use virtually every part of the animal for something. Something I thought interesting is that every chair you come across in that part of Haiti has goat hide as the bottom of it (the part you sit on), because wood is so expensive and hard to find.

Over 60% of the world's meat consumption is goat, yet we as Americans can go an entire lifetime without ever eating one, being perfectly content in purchasing shrink-wrapped or frozen beef and chicken at the grocery store. Just another way at how Americans still practice isolationism. As the world depends on goat for dairy, meat, hides, and more, we insist on the costlier and more wasteful stock.



Our first 2 meals upon arrival back into Florida consisted of deluxe cheeseburgers with fries, pizza, and Dr. Pepper. Needless to say, this photo was one of the few moments when I was not on the toilet!

I had a brief conversation via email with my buddy Lucas today, and when that happens, you can always be sure that it'll be thought-provoking! Anyways, he brought up a very interesting thought, as well as a memory I had conveniently catalogued in the back of my mind. So thanks Lucas! All that said, I've slightly edited this post "Do you have Jesus in your heart?", to reflect those thoughts, so this'll be a bit different than if you read this April 7th in the morning.

Some schoolchildren waiting outside their school so they can take a test during their spring break.

While staying on the farm in Ferrier, we were actually not much help since the Haitians were much stronger and more skilled than we were. So whenever we tried to help, we did more harm than good. Well, I take that back...I'm sure we offered substantial entertainment for the town.

Since, we didn't do much good when we tried our hand at physical labor, many of us decided to help with Micah's English class. (FYI, Micah and his wife, Etta, go to our church and moved to Haiti to learn the language and culture, while trying to find a place to live and serve. Etta, a nurse, helps out at the town clinic and studies Creole. Micah's Creole is a bit more advanced, so he actually teaches an English class to about a dozen adult men who are learning agriculture.) Micah enjoyed having the "blancs" in class to help, as it offered up a change of pace and gave him some fresh ideas. Typically, he'd have each Amercan pair up with a Haitian and allow the two to try a conversation in English. After this got old, he called each American up one-by-one to stand in front of the class. Then, he'd have each student take turns asking the American questions in English.

Most of Micah's students were still at a beginner's level of English, so the usual question tended to be something like, "How many brothers do you have?", "Do you like Haiti?", or "How old are you?". However, one of Micah's students was particularly advanced in English, so much so that he could probably get along pretty well in the United States.

On one occasion, one of the college girls from our group was standing in front of the class, fielding the standard question concerning her family, hobbies, etc. The time eventually came for Micah's advanced student to pose a question, and when he did, he certainly caught our attention. As he stood, he confidently spoke in his thick French/Creole accent, "Do you have Jesus in your heart?" The question floored our young American girl, to say the least. She stood there for a few moments, which seemed like hours, with her eyes and mouth wide open. She eventually let out an uneasy laugh and asked Micah what he thought the student meant. Once Micah begrudgingly confirmed to her that the student meant what it sounded like he meant, the young American replied with an uncomfortable, "Yes, I do."

The Haitian student then masterfully and quickly gave a follow-up question, "Why?", to which the American replied with an even more uncomfortable, albeit protypical, response that had to do with loving God and wanting him as a part of your life.

Seemingly due to the "cuteness" of the situation, most of the blancs drew much hilarity from the situation that was torturing the poor American. I also found myself amused, albeit for a different reason. For me, the whole ordeal was a good illustration of how we as Americans underestimate the Haitians, or anyone of a different culture for that matter.

We often go into cultures like Haiti's with a sense that we have an awful lot to bring and teach them...particularly about issues of faith. However, what we find, is that we have an awful lot that we need to learn from them on such issues. The only things we frequently bring are our hand-me-downs and band-aids, which, as you know, deteriorate more quickly and only cover a wound that needs much more treatment and attention.

In addition to generating quite a bit of chuckling, the Haitian student also caused an odd sense of both relief and tension to swell up within me.

Why Relief? Because the question wasn't directed towards me.

Why Tension? Because if the question were to spawn a discussion, then my answer would undoubtedly be requested.

Why in the world was I so thankful to have avoided the question, while at the same time nervous that it might be deflected into my direction??? Or, in the words of my friend Lucas, Why does that question make us feel so uncomfortable? Was it because we were caught off guard? Was it because the question requires such a simple, but weighty answer? Or perhaps because there's no possible way to justify an answer to the question with a simple word? Maybe it was due to the person who was asking the question?

Perhaps it is a combination of all those possibilities. I'm not certain. One thing I do know is that as I look back on that scene in Haiti, I'm fairly ashamed at the anxiety that developed within me at that moment. Paul reminds Timothy to "be prepared in season and out of season", so it seems we should be ready to proclaim our faith when we least expect it. Right? On top of that, as a Christian, I try to make my faith a current that runs through every aspect of my life, so why would a simple question as that catch me off guard? Shouldn't excitement penetrate my being, instead of anxiety?



"Do you have Jesus in your heart?" A question evangelicals in America hear and say often. Not a question an American expects to hear from a Haitian. A question that is answered well by examining and shedding light on our mindset and attitude toward our brothers and sisters off the coast of Florida.


Deer in headlights? No, this is Micah and Etta at their home in Haiti. They graciously threw a big party for us one night. Half the town came. Much music. Much dancing. Much food. Much fun. Even more people. Fun was had by all. Especially once I started giving dancing lessons...Dowdy-style..



Above and below: Micah's English class. You'll never meet a more eager group to learn than this.

Within the past 24 hours, Faith and I have gone to a cemetery to attend a funeral, and to the hospital to celebrate the birth of a newborn. It was certainly a rollercoaster ride of a weekend! The events that transpired, really got me thinking--

As a thinking, breathing, trembling Christ-follower, I'm still in the process of figuring my theology...especially when it comes to death. And to be frank, I'm scared to death. The man whose funeral we attended was barely at mid-life by American standards, so his departure was a shock to all. As I continue to "work out my faith" as the Apostle Paul would say, the idea of leaving life not ready makes me tremble. Then again, what constitutes readiness?

Holding the 6 lb infant boy, thoughts of my own children raced through my imagination. Faith and I are looking forward to starting a family, but again that phrase comes up--when we're ready. When we're comfortable with our direction and living situation, then we'll be ready to be parents.

Why do we, as Americans especially, figure to take control of such things as birth, life, and death? Birth control and abortion become common-practice, as we look to live life on our own terms. Suicide and euthanasia are on the rise, as we look to leave life on our own terms. When we're ready.

When we're quite comfortable for something new.

When discomfort fills us with dread for anything new to happen.

When we've accomplished all we've set out to accomplish.

When we've failed to meet any accomplishment we hoped for.

Is there a theology of surprise? If so, how do we as comfortable Americans seek out and embrace such a product? Surprise, good or bad, has been something that we, on the whole, run from as if it were the grim reaper himself. Where to we turn?

Perhaps a look back to scripture and a look sideways to our neighbors who don't have the comfort of complacency is a good start.

Abraham. My goodness, he was suddenly drawn out of the comfort of his home to become a nomad. If that wasn't a big enough bombshell, as an old man he finds out he's gonna' be a daddy for the first time! Then, God throws him another curveball and tells him he'd much appreciate it if he'd sacrifice this child of his on an altar...only to be suddenly commanded to stop as his hand was about to bring down the knife on his son.

Joseph, rich with dreams and and that nice coat who suddenly found himself in the bottom of a pit and sold off into slavery.

Moses experienced plenty of surprise within his full life. To me, most surprising would be to find out from God that your time was up. That your trek back into Egypt as a fugitive to lead a people out and through the wilderness for 40 years was about to end without you not being able see them into the promised land.

The Virgin Mary. Need I say more? Surprise! The Son of God!

The disciples must have been floored after a week in which they saw Christ enter Jerusalem triumphantly, preach boldly throughout, and storm the temple to rid it of those doing business inside its walls...only to see him later arrested, beaten, and crucified.

The Apostle Paul and the bafflement that was the road to Damascus.

Hmmm. So our spiritual ancestors experienced surprise. In fact, it seems as if each and every story contains the Element of the unexpected.

Looking at the Haitian way of life, it appears that the unanticipated is not subject to resistance. With a high infant and child mortality rate, and a life expectancy of 55-60 years, death is simply a part of life, a part of the community. There's no planning for your death. No being ready to have a child. It happens.

Wells dry up or water pumps bust.

Food quickly turns bad or runs out.

Simple injuries worsen quickly.

Natural disasters wash away the weak.

During our short time in Haiti, it seemed that the surprises that came with life, whether good or (more often) bad, were not something to avoid or delay until one is ready. Life was simpler and slower, but nonetheless, there was an undercurrent throughout the community that acknowledged the unforseen. And with a history as turbulent as Haiti's, you appreciate being surprised by joy, and you learn to live with loss.

Over the past 24 hours, I've grieved with those who weren't anticipating the agony of a sudden loss of a family member and I celebrated the life of a newborn who was anything but planned. As Americans, we tend to try to avoid being in such situations. Haitians accept it as a way of life.

Christ was anything but predictable. He constantly shocked those who thought they had him figured out. And he allowed the unimaginable to happen to him.

What would letting the unimaginable happen to us look like?

Below are some additional pictures of life in Haiti. Living with whatever hand you're dealt. Dealing with the unexpected. Life in Haiti.

A mother and her two children emerge from a garden near one of Ferrier's sources of life--the water pump. Many water pumps (this one included) have a PVC pipe running inside of it, which makes it cheaper to construct, but more susceptible to cracking and breaking. At any given moment in Ferrier, there are a handful of water pumps out of order.


(Above)Creativity and ingenuity is not wasted on the children in Haiti. Without the comforts and resources we heap on our children here in America, Haitian children make do with what they have.
(Below)The Haitian version of marbles...only, since marbles are in short supply, they use bottle caps.




Ah yes. Americans can go a lifetime without experiencing a blowout. It definitely shocks us to experience it. To make a trip in Haiti without blowing a tire is nothing short of amazing. (I believe this was flat tire #2 of 3 on a single trip one day.)



Here we were becoming acquainted with the Haitian art of waiting as we wait for our tap-tap's tire to be fixed...again.

A little over a month ago, I ranted and raved about the children at my workplace constantly forgetting my name. I groaned and moaned throughout the post, writing that when these kids, who I've seen daily for months, forget my name, it makes me feel belittled, unimportant, and unknown. For moral support, I then quoted theologian Frederick Buechner, who wrote that he felt as an embarassed fool when his name is forgotten.

Well, I'm sad to say that this time around in Haiti, the tables were turned. As we drove onto the property of the farm that we were staying at, I immediately saw the familiar faces of Luckson, Conel, and shortly afterwards, LaCharit. I recognized them instantly, for they looked exactly the way they did four years ago (except they were a few inches taller and very much more muscular). However, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember their names. It completely escaped me. They comlpletely remembered everything about me, including my name...so much so that they, without knowing ahead of time I was even coming, saw through the long hair and beard and ran up to me to greet me by name.

As we "talked", they eventually asked me if I remembered their names since I never called them or greeted them by their name. Once they realized I couldn't recall, they shook it off with a half-smile and went about their business. Needless to say, my friends felt that same feeling of unimportance and belittlement.

The moment really drilled a hole right through me. For years, I had proclaimed a love for and a desire to return to Haiti. It was all I talked of when asked about my hope for the future. Then, once I do return, I show just how important Haiti wasn't to me. The words of Buechner probably translated well in the hearts of Conel, Luckson, LaChari, Wesner, and Galinx:

If somebody misprounces (my name) in some foolish way, I have the feeling that what's foolish is me. If somebody forgets it, I have the feeling that it's I who am forgotten.

Even though I was the foolish one, I made my Haitian companions into fools upon my second arrival into their country. They had awaited my return (as I promised them) for years, and when I do actually fulfill that promise, they quickly make out my complexion beneath the hair that covers my head. Then they discover a blubbering idiot who had forgotten their names.

Time will tell if my heart and mind holds true to the friendship that I professed to them this time around. Daily I look through our photographs to transplant myself into Ferrier, and to also refresh my memory. My hope and prayer is that the love I express for Haiti goes much deeper than a simple fondness of the culture. Deeper to a community and a bond with the souls that make up that culture.

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Below are some additional snapshots.

LaCharit and his son.


Thoma and I, seeing each other for the first time in 4 years.


This is actually the end of our trip. Faith and I were sitting on top of our 'tap-tap', waiting for it to take us to the airport...


...and when I say 'tap-tap', this is what I mean. This is a larger one. You'll normally see approximately 40-50 people crammed into and onto one this size. They're called tap-taps, because when you're on one of these things, the only way to let the driver know it is time for you to get off is by tap-tapping loudly on the side.


Galinx, Wesner, and I doing some sightseeing.