Through Orange Colored Glasses

Casey has been quoting Isaiah 42:16 over and over again to all of us on the trip. “I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them: I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are things I will do; I will not forsake them.”

Certainly the Lord has been leading us down unfamiliar places and giving us light along the way. I’m still waiting on the rough places to get smoother. Rough places can be more than the road I have learned. Life can be rough when you live in poverty in Haiti. Where we are staying in Benjamin, there is no pure water. That’s rough. It means you are frequently sick. Food is not in abundance. It is rough when you are hungry. Too many children simply don’t get an education. Those children don’t realize how rough that is going to make their future. And the places where they live are a new dimension of rough when you come from America.

Let me tell you what I have learned about hospitality on my last few trips into poverty-ridden places. When I think of hospitality, I always think of inviting people into my world. And that is being hospitable. When I go to a poor place, I love to give gifts. And I love to take them places where they might not normally get to go. What a thrill it is to take them to a nice restaurant where they would never get to go otherwise. But I have found that is not the kind of hospitality that they like best.

No, people most want me to come into their world—not vice versa. One of the biggest complaints that I have received is that Americans won’t come to our houses or eat our food. When hospitality is granted to us, many times we refuse. Why? It appears as if their abodes and food simply aren’t good enough. And most of us wouldn’t think that we are not being hospitable by refusing someone else’s hospitality.

And so in Benjamin, Alfred Princilma—our CRF director, invited to his house to stay. Yes, he invited about 20 of us to stay with him. Although it is a great house by Benjamin standards, it isn’t what you see in America. Big spiders live there along with all kinds of other animals. No electricity. No running water. No bathrooms. Just an abundance of love. And they fed us two incredible meals cooked over wood. It was a feast. Even with twenty of us, we couldn’t eat it all. They set the table with their best utensils. They had the food arranged like we were eating at a gourmet-dining establishment. James said it reminded him of the passage in 2 Corinthians 8:2—“Out of the most severe trial, their overflowing joy and their extreme poverty welled up in rich generosity.”

Alfred and his family could not have been honored more that we were willing to visit him. We came from miles away. We stayed at his house. We ate his food. Nothing could have honored him more. All of us need to give. It doesn’t matter how much we have to give—all of us need to give. It gives us dignity. But all of us need to receive too.
Missions need to reflect the incarnational model of Jesus. He left his world, but he truly entered our world. We can’t kind of come into another’s world and then stop when it gets uncomfortable. That is not what Jesus did. He didn’t invite Zacchaeus out to a fancy diner. He said, “I’m coming to your house today.”

Thanks Alfred for the food. Thanks for the bed. Thanks for teaching me that I not only need to learn to give, but I also need to learn to receive.

Larry Wu and I get to talk a lot about bad roads. I still don’t know where I’m going to cast my vote for the worst roads, Larry. It may go to Uganda. But if I had to cast my vote today, I might just give the honor to Haiti. It takes about 4 hours to go 40 miles from Cap Hatien to Benjamin. Why? Bad roads, of course. Now Haiti has the traditional bad road caused by huge potholes—kind of like big versions of the way I remember the freeways in Philadelphia. No, they are really gigantic holes, and you never go far before you hit another one. And then there are huge boulders in the middle of the road to hit when you are not in a pothole. But there’s the additional thing my friend and guide, James Massie, calls the sideways cornstalk. It is kind of like going over a cattle crossing or deer guard for what seems like hours. The constant vibration makes you go crazy. But as I traveled down these roads, I kept hearing about one thing—“the river.”

To get to Benjamin, you have to cross a river in your truck. And if the river is too deep, your truck just floats downstream. As a result, you never really know if you will get to Benjamin. You just go to the river and guess if you can make it across. Well, we did navigate the river and made it to Benjamin. But when we got there, we had a flood that made us wonder if we would ever be able to leave Benjamin. We just didn’t know if we could cross the river going back to Cap Hatien.

We had a great day signing up children who needed sponsorship from CRF. If you want a cute kid who has been orphaned and needs a lot of help—this is one great place to sponsor a kid. You just don’t find many needier kids who could be helped in a holistic ministry like this one.

We also worked on our water project. Their previous well had gone dry. And we have now drilled two more dry wells and are currently digging another one. Pray for water.

After dry holes and lots of pictures, Alfred Princilma—the CRF director in Benjamin, instructed us to go to the river. I wondered if after all the rain, he was telling us we better get across the river or we were going to be stuck in Benjamin for the long haul. But that wasn’t it at all. Everyone started walking to the river—not just from the orphanage but the whole community started heading to the river. Along the way, I heard that there was going to be a baptism. I couldn’t wait to see one of our CRF children baptized.

Alfred walked down into “the river.” And a young man walked over to him to get baptized. And they were actually singing “Shall We Gather at the River” in Creole. Then I noticed Alfred’s shirt. He was wearing the new CRF shirt. If you haven’t seen our new shirt, it says—“Orange is the Color of Hope.” I love the shirt. It just seemed to fit the moment so well. After he was baptized, the boy made his way out of the water with a smile that said he had a new life and lots of hope.

And then another boy came. And another. And another. Then girls came too. Pretty soon we were in double digits on the baptisms. Our children there just kept on coming.

Then the people on the banks of the river broke into another song. I knew the tune but didn’t recognize it immediately because again it was in Creole. Then of course, I got it. It was “Oh, Why Not Tonight?” The song got me. A tear rolled down my cheek. To be honest, it wasn’t for the kid being immersed. It was for me. Decades ago that’s the song they sang when I was baptized. Now it’s an old song. People don’t sing it anymore—except in Haiti.

Somehow the flow of the river had lost its ominous statement of “no crossing” and had turned into a place of “come on in–the water’s fine.” New beginnings were all around me. Twenty of our young people walked into the river.

By the time we had to cross to go to the other side, everything was safe. Yes, I mean that too.

The Zero child. I’ve never heard of it before. It’s like a new kind of orphan. Technically, a zero child is not an orphan, but it is hard think of one in any other way.

Families in this part of Haiti often get bigger than they had anticipated. When the family grows in this area of immense poverty, they often don’t know what to do to survive. There simply isn’t enough food to go around. So what happens? Some families choose the zero child. In other words, they choose one of the children to neglect in order to reduce the family size. Maybe it is the weaker child. Maybe it is one that is just more unwanted. But one child is singled out for neglect when it comes to food, clothes and other kinds of help. This is the zero child.

There are all kinds of orphans in Benjamin. Many of the children have been orphaned because of the cholera epidemic. Others were survivors from the earthquake. There’s AIDS here too. And Alfred Princilma tries to care for them all. And especially the zero children. There seems to be a disproportionate number of orphans in this rural community in the beautiful mountains of Haiti, but they are there nonetheless. And our orphanage is feeding, educating, and given a lot of love to these children. Can you imagine the esteem issues that would come from being left out like a zero child?

As soon as I got to the orphanage, I started meeting the children. I was especially looking for Shenaidine and Jaline. I knew who sponsored them, and I wanted to get a personal message for them. Shenaidine was there dressed in her best. She looked healthy and happy. I was glad because the sponsor’s previous child had died from the cholera there. But I couldn’t find Jaline. It looked like all the kids in the orphanage were there except Jaline. Then I got the news.

On a trip to the market, Jaline disappeared. It was to be a fun trip to Pignon where the children could get some refreshment. No one knows what happened. She was standing by a little stand getting some lemonade. Then she was gone. Jaline had come from the street. Maybe she decided to return. Could someone have taken her? I hope not, but perhaps. And what can you do? There are no police. You can’t write up a missing child report in Benjamin. There are no pictures on milk cartons. There are no milk cartons. I tried the Sherlock Holmes route and questioned people who might know something. But I got no further than the lemonade stand. So you pray.

I remembered the Vacation Bible Story we had taught the children in Cap Hatien the previous day. It was the story of the shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine in search of the one. I felt like Jaline was the one. She was not the zero—but the one. I know the Good Shepherd knows where she is and cares. I want to be like the Shepherd who says that He doesn’t want any to perish. Don’t you? I especially want it to be that way when it comes to children. But there are limits to my detective skills. And so you do your best and hope in the Good Shepherd.

No child is a zero.

Hundreds and hundreds of children were running around screaming in a tiny space. We were taking their pictures. It was hot. It was very hot. It was Haiti. We were getting information from each of these children because they had hopes of being sponsored so they could have a better life.

I know how many more children we will sponsor in a year. And I could see how many there were. Too put it bluntly—it was overwhelming. Parents and guardians were standing in line dreaming that their child would be picked to receive assistance. I knew that so many of them would be disappointed. And then there were the children who came alone who didn’t seem to have anyone who would plead their case. And I just wish we could help everyone.

My friend, Eric, and I had to retreat to the roof of the Sovereign School in Cap Hatien just to breath and get some kind of grasp on the reality of the situation. It was his first time here. I started showing him around from the rooftop to get a little different point of view. As we looked across the way, I showed him our new building which more than doubled our space. It added not only classrooms; but also a dining hall, kitchen and even a church building. You could barely see our big, new green generator. Yes, we now have electricity in all of our buildings. Then there was that great big white tank. Yes, we were cooking with gas. We walked over and looked at the humongous black tanks on our roof. Yes, they contained clean, purified water. No more cholera at this place. As we gazed across to our new building, we could see a brand new well producing much more water, and it was even plumbed to produce running water to the new kitchen and flushing toilets. And on the roof were three of our guys from Ole Miss putting in another water purifier. Yes, we are going to have even more clean water. Then we looked in front of the building. I remembered the last time I stood here. Water was flooding down the street, and I knew it would engulf our new building in the future. But now there was a concrete drainage system diverting the water so it wouldn’t damage our facilities. What a difference a year makes.

So I went back down and looked at a list that Casey Coston was working on. Casey loves helping children. He was trying to get as many children helped in as short a time as humanly possible while still giving each one of them some love. I looked at his list and realized that we were now sponsoring probably twice as many children as we were a year ago. What a difference a year makes.

Then Casey showed me a little kid with his mom. And the little child looked vaguely familiar. A year ago the mother brought this little child to us hoping for help. We gave her some medicine and a prayer. We introduced her to some people at the church. The child was so sick that I never really expected to see the child alive again. But there was mom again. And she had a healthy kid. They both had smiles, and she was now even a member of the church there. What a difference a year makes.
I think that sometimes you are too close to the action to see that things are changing. It is true in Haiti. It is probably true everywhere for all kinds of different things. Maybe you need to go up on the rooftop and see how things truly are. If you get high enough maybe you will see God’s perspective. Things are changing. Things are better. There’s still hope. What a difference a year can make!

The first child in poverty that I ever helped was in Haiti. It wasn’t through CRF but through a man who sat on an airplane. Before boarding my flight, I had noticed a rather unusual man in the airport. He looked afraid to fly, fidgety, and the kind of guy who might enter all of my personal space on the flight. I hate to admit it but I was hoping that he wouldn’t sit beside me. Of course, he did. I didn’t know where he was from but knew it wasn’t the U.S. He just couldn’t speak English very well. His name was Bethonne. When I didn’t understand what he was talking about, he opened up his briefcase and sat it in my lap. It was full of photographs of little orphans in Haiti who had no help.

The heartache of the pictures and the stories that went with them translated well even though I didn’t speak Creole. Bethonne had my money, my heart, and my future pledge to help orphans in Haiti before I got off the plane. I supported Bethonne’s ministry for a short time until I learned that he wasn’t getting the money I was sending. Because of corruption in the government, somehow his funds kept getting intercepted. I was trying so hard, but things weren’t working out. I decided to try another route with a different organization. This time the money got there but not much of it. I just had to find a way to help orphans. And that’s when Barbie found Christian Relief Fund (although it was called something different back then). CRF really got the money there and over 90% of it got to the child. I wanted to help. But I needed help to help. And I finally found my help.

As I stood over a crowd of hundreds and hundreds of destitute children in Haiti today, I thought of that commitment that I had made decades ago. Even though the money never got to Bethonne, I think he would have been pleased. These children were more than photographs in a briefcase. They were breathing, singing, hugging, eating, and learning at a great school that we sponsor. I couldn’t believe how healthy some of them looked when they appeared so sickly and malnourished such a short time ago.

I enjoyed observing these children through the eyes of my good friend Eric. He supports and sponsors many of these very children. Not only does he personally support them, but he also has fundraisers and encourages others to do so. And now I loved looking at him look face to face with the very children he was saving. Not too long ago these children were pictures that I had set out before him. With his big heart, Eric responded to the stories. But there still is a difference when you get to see them and touch them.

Some other organizations won’t let you meet your sponsored child. I’m sure they have good reasons. But at CRF we want you to meet your child if you can make the opportunity. And there is nothing else like it. One of my other great friends told me how much he trusted me and how much he believed in the integrity of CRF. But he said that there was always that little skepticism in the back of his head that wondered if it was all true. But when he went to Africa and saw the children, the already committed supporter became an even greater advocate than ever before. You know what I mean, don’t you? You can believe without seeing. The Bible calls that faith. But even with faith in God, we still long for the day when we will see Him. And it is kind of like that with these children. It is nice when a believer can see.

Yes, these kids are real in Haiti. We worked hard today to teach them, get them clean water, stop some pollution that would be hurting them, and sign up some new kids that need a lot of help. We will take pictures of hundreds of more kids, and I will run around the country with their pictures in my briefcase. I guess it has come full circle, hasn’t it? Thanks Bethonne. Were you an angel?

It’s a DC3, and I’m headed to Haiti again with a bunch of students from Ole Miss. We have just finished drilling some wells and are putting water purification units on them. We will also be teaching and encouraging a lot of orphans in Cap Hatian and Benjamin. Hopefully, we can enroll many of them for sponsorship in order for them to get an education, food and shelter.

When I have internet, I will try to share a few stories with you. I’d appreciate your prayers for safety in Haiti and in the air (this is an old airplane).

I was moved by this statement that I read today from Richard Paul Evans. It will make you think.

“American culture is a curious thing. We fret over a sport star’s twisted ankle or the ill-fated marriage of celebrities, yet lose no sleep over a hundred million children living in the streets.”

People are always on my case because I know so many bad things. Maybe it is because the first thing I do when I wake up every morning is to read “The Poverty News.” I keep being asked to change the subject. “We are tired of hearing of famines and drought,” they say. But sometimes you have to tell the bad news. I have found that there are so many messengers who only want to talk about the pleasant events. But would you tell people bad news if people really needed to hear it? Or do you avoid the negative simply to circumvent conflicts or pain?

How would you like to always be the one to break the bad news to people? Agabus was that way. Maybe you don’t remember him. It’s probably because we try to forget bearers of bad news. But every time we see in him in the book of Acts, he has bad news.

The first time Agabus tells the bad news is in Acts 11.

27 During this time some prophets came down from Jerusalem to Antioch. 28 One of them, named Agabus, stood up and through the Spirit predicted that a severe famine would spread over the entire Roman world. (This happened during the reign of Claudius.) 29 The disciples, each according to his ability, decided to provide help for the brothers living in Judea. 30 This they did, sending their gift to the elders by Barnabas and Saul. (Acts 11:27-30, NIV).

Some people get to announce the good news of the coming Messiah. Agabus gets to announce a drought. But it is still God’s message. And it is the message of the moment. And God’s message needs to be told whether it is the one you want to tell or not.

The second time we see Agabus is in Acts 21.

10 After we had been there a number of days, a prophet named Agabus came down from Judea. 11 Coming over to us, he took Paul’s belt, tied his own hands and feet with it and said, “The Holy Spirit says, `In this way the Jews of Jerusalem will bind the owner of this belt and will hand him over to the Gentiles.’ 12 When we heard this, we and the people there pleaded with Paul not to go up to Jerusalem. 13 Then Paul answered, “Why are you weeping and breaking my heart? I am ready not only to be bound, but also to die in Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus.” 14 When he would not be dissuaded, we gave up and said, “The Lord’s will be done.” (Acts 21:10-14, NIV).

Ananias gets to tell Paul of the good news of his salvation. Agabus gets to tell Paul the bad news of his arrest. But once again, it is God’s Word.  It must be told. And it is the message of the moment.

God’s Word always leads to good news, but there is often some bad news to be told before the good news occurs. In the case of the famine, God was going to use it to bring healing of bad relationships between Jews and Gentiles. The famine was going to create an opportunity for the Gentiles to give to the poor brethren in Jerusalem. Paul’s arrest was going to eventually take him to Rome where the gospel was going to penetrate the powers of the world with the power of the gospel.

There is nearly always bad news before good news. In fact the bad news makes the good news seem so much better. But will you tell it?

Before there is redemption, the bad news must be told. If you don’t know you are a sinner, you will never understand why you need to be saved.

Before there is restoration, the bad news must be confessed. Unless you confess how you have wronged someone, they will never be able to forgive you.

Before there is revival, the bad news must be declared. Unless corporate sin and misplaced priorities are confessed, the stirring fire of revival never ignites.

Now I know a few people who make it their goal to tell bad news. They are the Eeyores of the church. I don’t think that is your calling. But along the way in putting in a good word for Jesus, you may have to tell the bad news too. When it is your turn to be an Agabus, don’t retreat. Put in the bad word knowing the good is not far behind. God caused some powerfully good things to happen after Agabus told of the famine. He can still do that with famines today.

It’s been hard to get malaria off my mind this week. Since World Malaria Day is tomorrow (April 25th), it has been one of those messages that I have heard over and over again. Malaria bothers me. I’m told nearly 2000 a day die of it. But it is not like AIDS where there is no cure. There was a cure over 100 years ago.

But it got personal with me a few weeks ago. Continue reading →

Bruiser. That’s what Jeremy named him. It was years ago, but I will never forget it. Yes, my youngest son took the money that his grandmother gave him for Christmas and bought a pygmy goat. Why couldn’t he have bought a video game or a CD? No, he bought a goat. And Jeremy loved Bruiser. The problem was that we didn’t live on a farm. We lived in Seattle. And you can’t keep goats in the city. Or at least you are not supposed to do so. Bruiser made too much noise to keep outside. So we had a goat living in our house. I learned a lot about goats living with Bruiser. I learned goats like to climb. Yes, Bruiser wanted to be on the highest spot around him which was usually my head when I was sitting on the couch watching television. I found living with a goat to be quite annoying. While we were in New York City listening to Jeremy sing at Carnegie Hall (just had to throw that in there to qualify myself as a bragging parent), Bruiser died. It was very heartbreaking—especially for Jeremy. But it didn’t really change our lives that much.

When I was in Turkana recently trying to help with the big drought, I found myself among a very nomadic tribe there. If I were to ask them what they do, I would probably get one of two answers. They would say, “I make baskets.” Or they would say, “ I herd goats.” And if I got the second answer and asked, “Where are your goats?”—They would have to tell me that the goats have died. Goats are not annoying to the Turkana people. Goats are their livelihood and give them not only sustenance but also purpose. When their goats die, it changes their lives a lot.

Have you ever heard the story or read the book about Beatrice’s goat in Uganda? The story even made it to “60 Minutes.” The gift of one goat from a non-profit organization not only sustained her family but also allowed Beatrice to realize her dream of attending school and eventually college in the United States. Giving a goat can lead to great things. But for most people who receive a goat in Turkana, it is simply one of the first steps to staying alive.

I got to be the first to pump water on our new well in the desert of Africa. It took us awhile to get the water to flow, but when it finally did we were ecstatic. The people started dancing and jumping for joy (see my previous blog on what to do when you hit water). And in just a few minutes as I was looking at the flowing water, guess what I saw? Yes, a bunch of goats had found the water and were drinking like crazy. It was like a sign from God to me. If we can just get the water here, the goats can live. And the goat herders can herd goats. And families can have milk. And livestock can be bred. And people can start finding some hope in this famine where it hasn’t rained in five years.

And that’s why I love the students at West Texas A & M in Canyon. The Buffaloes are the best. Let me give them a shout-out. In the last four years, these students have coupled a fundraiser called “Give a Goat” with an activity on campus called “Shackathon.” The students all come together in the middle of campus and build houses out of cardboard to show solidarity to the poor people who have to live this way every day. And then they sleep in them. Campus ministries from many kinds of different churches work together and show unity by coordinating this incredible effort. During the process they give their money and raise funds to buy goats. The previous three years they gave over $50,000 to give goats in Sudan. This year the goats are going to Turkana. We don’t have our final tally, but we are already going to give between 200 to 300 goats in this famine area. Goat herders are going to be given a goat! I love this. I love college students who have learned to think globally and then do something about the problems that exist. These students are not only learning about the poverty in this world, but they are also determined to make a difference. If you would like to show solidarity with them, there are still more goats needed there. You can go to CRF’s website at christianrelieffund.org and give a goat.

We have the place to buy them. We have the person ready to purchase them. We have the truck to deliver them. We have the herders ready to receive and raise them. And we even have the water so they can live. Let’s give a goat.

Francis of Assisi said “Preach the Gospel at all times. Use words if necessary.” Or did he? It is a great quote, but there really isn’t much evidence that he truly said it. The statement is an interesting thought, and I might agree with it in a certain context. Certainly, there have been hollow evangelistic words coming from Christians because they didn’t back up their talk with compassionate action. And probably nothing has turned seekers off more than hypocrites who talk about Christ but don’t look much like Him.

But I have heard this statement used lately in contexts to justify not talking to people about Christ. People seem to be saying that they don’t have to say anything because their actions and loving deeds will lead people to the Lord. If we just show enough love in the world, seekers will be moved by our compassion and come to Jesus. In other words, words aren’t necessary.

I don’t think the gospel works that way. Certainly we must be about good acts of justice and compassion. The Bible is clear on that. And we can cite many examples of how good works helped people see the truth. Since I started working for Christian Relief Fund, there is hardly anything I talk about more than the current need for Christians to reach out to the least of this world in concrete acts of mercy. But here is the problem. I now spend most of time helping orphans. As a result, someone might notice me and say that I am doing good stuff with my life. (And it is good to help orphans.) Then they may conclude that I am a Christian by watching me. (And I am.) Then they may make the leap that I am saved. (And I am.) Then it is not a far jump to I am saved because I do good things with orphans. Next they may decide that if they want to be saved and a Christian, they should do similar deeds. It is true that if they want to be a Christian and saved, they should do good things also. (But is that the gospel?)

The problem with this reasoning is that we are saved by grace not our good deeds. If I don’t use words, how will anyone know that my works do not save me? All those works don’t save me. In fact, the message of my life is that I am not good but fallen, and the only way I am saved is because of the good work of Christ. If a person only observed my life, he would never know that I am saved by grace. Grace must be verbalized. You can’t simply observe a life and conclude that someone is saved by grace. You tend to only conclude that they are good or bad, and our works no matter how good they are do not save us. You can only figure out salvation when it is verbalized. Words are necessary.

Peter and John said, “We cannot help speaking about what we have seen and heard.” Francis actually did say “Let all the brothers, however, preach by their deeds.” I agree with that too–in its context. We do preach by our deeds. But our words are necessary too. Grace must by told. We must put in a good WORD for Jesus.