The Ordinary Ones

October 10th marked the one-year anniversary of our mission team moving to Haiti and beginning mission here at the John Paul II Center for the New Evangelization! I can’t believe it has been a year, but I am blessed and encouraged by all that God has done in these past twelve months. I have been reflecting a lot on the past year and the things that God has been opening up and changing in my heart. When we first realized that God was opening the doors for Life Teen Missions to come to Haiti, my first response was fear. Fear of helping to begin a new mission where there were a lot of questions and unknowns. Fear of my own weaknesses and incapabilities. Fear of failing, and letting down many people in Haiti and America. I chose to come here despite those fears, knowing that God was calling me and I could not say no. Many of those fears continued well into our mission. Some even grew and multiplied. Fear of speaking a language that I am not fluent in. Fear that something coul

Today I studied some Creole, we had a missionary meeting, I exercised, watched the choir practice for our feast on October 22nd, gave our friend Joe a little snack, and collected names and phone numbers for a course Sister Flo wants to give to girls about cooking, sewing, etc. It was a pretty laid back day, but still a good one. Lately I am remembering that evangelization has to happen in small, everyday moments. Like when a teen today asked me to write an apology for her. I told her no, that an apology is a serious thing . . . someone else can't write it for you. Sure, by itself, that doesn't sound like evangelization, but accompanied by a Gospel-centered witness and an ongoing relationship, it certainly is part of it. These little moments are so important - not just in mission but also in my community, with my family and in friendships. These little things are the hardest things - remembering to make a phone call, not being grumpy with someone that I see every day, loving

She sat down next to me on the hospital bench, colorful beads at the end of each of the twenty something braids on her head. Her five-year-old face was aglow and excited to see a white person. I’ve gotten used to that look in the past nine months. I tried to learn her name, but couldn’t catch all the syllables of the full name she gave me. Later, I asked her what her friends call her, since most people in Haiti have nicknames. The closet thing I can remember is Memi. Memi and I spent the next hour and a half together. She took me to see her mom who was sick with “anemi” . I thought maybe it was anemia. Her mom had been in the hospital for eight days, and had a few more left, she said. Memi took me to several other patient rooms. She took me to see the sick babies. One was a month old, but smaller than the size of a newborn. She took me to see the handicapped people in the next building over. I met a man in a wheelchair who had lived at the hospital for three years. She took me to t

We just had a mission group come for a week. After cancelled flights and rearranged schedules, seven people arrived a couple days late, and five of them were able to stay a few extra days. We did some work, some evangelization, and also took them to the Eucharistic Congress with us. There were several moments throughout this trip, where I looked around and all I could see was people loving one another. Americans loving Haitians and Haitians loving Americans. It was beautiful. There were people pushing kids on the swings, people dancing, playing games, girls braiding hair. One day we made cookies with the girls while the boys played basketball, and then we all got together to hear a couple witnesses. It was a beautiful mission trip. It renewed me and reminded me that what we are really here for is to bring the love of Christ, and that sometimes that can be so simple. The thing that I love about those special moments though, is that they can't be planned. I love schedules, and I

“The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few. . .”     This is the beginning of one of my favorite scriptures. Even though I love this scripture, it can also be difficult and challenging. It saddens me because I have seen the reality that the “laborers for the harvest” (Christians who are willing to live and preach the Gospel) are few in the world. The laborers are few in Haiti, the laborers are few in Europe, but the laborers may also be few in your own school, or your own home or family. The first time I went on a foreign mission trip, I went to General Cepeda, Mexico. Each evening, we would drive out to “ranchos” which were little towns out in the desert. We would pray and minister at the ranchos each evening. These little towns had chapels, but no priests, and the people there could not usually get to mass because they didn’t have the transportation or the means to get there. These people remained Catholic, despite the fact that they often could not receive the sa

This morning at mass, the priest gave a great homily. He said that often the people who are hardest to love, are the ones who need our love the most. Often those people might be the ones who don't even "deserve" to be loved. He said that too often, we sit around waiting for people to be lovable or forgivable. But Jesus calls us to love regardless, and to love especially those who are difficult to love in our lives. This was a good reminder for me about what we are called to as Christians. The Christian message about love is not fluffy and easy. It is difficult. This is good for me in community, in mission, with my family, and even friends. Too often, my thoughts are: "Well, this person  needs to do this. " Or "Why, doesn't this person  change this  about themselves." Instead, I am called to say, "I will love you with my actions and words, even though you are not doing what I want or expect, because as a Christian I am called to love you

TiRoro is the grandpa in our community. He is a seventy something year old conga player and dance teacher. I find it very easy to love him, partially because all of my grandparents have passed away and i feel like God gave me this gift of having an extra grandpa. TiRoro asked me a little while ago for sandals - flip flops like mine. I figured I would just get some for him when I went home but I mostly just forgot about it. Today he asked me again. Since we have some donations, I went into the donation room and looked. We had one pair of pink flip flops that were heavy and made lots of noise when he walked. He didn't like them because theywere so heavy and he just wanted them for showering. A few days ago, Fr. Louis gave this homily about sharing and how in community nothing he has is really his, especially when others have less than him. It was killer and made me feel like such a hoarding white American girl. Anyways, I was wearing my flip flops when I went to offer TiRoro

One of our teens, Franceline, has been coming to our mission base often in this past month. She has a lot of things going on spiritually (presumably because of some kind of past experience with voodoo) and we have prayed with her over and over and over. Sometimes she has even slept in our chapel. It has been hard and sometimes exhausting. Some nights it has felt like it will never get better. I have never in my life prayed so hard and so long and so consistently for another person – sometimes we have been with her for hours at a time, missing meals or sleep. Sometimes it feels like her problem will never be fixed or that God is just not listening to our prayers. At times it has been discouraging and overwhelming. As we have spent so much time in the chapel with her, my perseverance in prayer has definitely been tested. My hope has been tested. My faith has been tested. But I have also learned a lot from our time with her. For example, often I have felt like I don’t know how

We first met Abdel when his eleven year old daughter, Madosa, came to our mission base complaining of a toothache. Her family told us that she had been up all night crying. After talking with a priest who knows the family we decided to give them enough money to go to the dentist (the equivalent of about $5). We were also told that Madosa's father, Abdel, was an alcoholic but that he loved his daughter very much and would do anything for her. Over the next few days, Abdel began working with our mason to complete construction on our bathhouse. After a couple weeks, he told someone in our community that he wanted to start going to Mass again, but he knew he had to go to confession before he could receive communion. That day, he decided to go to confession and come back to the Church. He made his confession on his knees, and was beaming with joy afterwards. It was a beautiful witness of the transforming mercy of God! On the same night that Abdel went to confession, several teen

A couple weeks ago, I found out something difficult about one of our teenagers. It is a problem that you would not often find in America, but one that I suspect is common here in Haiti. One of the teens that comes to our mission base almost every day, Taina (pronounced like Ty-een-a), doesn’t have a bed. Because we live at a Diocesan Center, we have several beds here. We don’t have as many as we would like sometimes, and our mattresses are not in the best condition, but we at least have enough beds for us to sleep on, and about twenty other visitors (thirty if some are willing to be slightly uncomfortable). One day last week, some of our teen girls came by on a day when we needed to make beds for visitors. Since they are always willing to help with tasks, I asked them to help us make beds. After we finished, there were some leftover mattresses (okay, let’s be real, they were floor mats that were less than an inch thick) piled up in a corner. Taina (one of the smallest girls, an

There’s something I’ve been trying to wrap my mind around lately.   I live in a country where people don’t have a lot of material possessions. They also don’t have a lot of food, and the food that they do have is not the most nutritious or balanced type of diet. Their houses are not great; they don’t have cars; many don’t have jobs. The question: What is my response? Many times, people here ask me for things. It seems that I can’t leave our mission base without someone asking me for my water bottle, my sweater, my shoes, some money. I’m pretty sure they see me as a rich white person. What I’ve realized recently is that in many ways, this is actually true. If you look at the big picture of the whole world and all of the people in it, I am rich, even though I am a missionary and I have to ask for money for everything that I have. I am rich, even though I buy almost all of my clothes on sale, and have many that were given to me. I am rich, even though my laptop is five years o

Louci and Taina (two of the young teenage girls that always come by our house) are fighting. They were best friends and now they won't talk to each other. When I asked Louci why, she told me that it was because Taina scolded her because her clothing was immodest. I am sad that they aren't talking, and sad that Louci couldn't just admit when she was wrong, but so proud that one of our teens could recognize immodesty and have the courage to call out one of her friends. That is the kind of accountability we need in the world. Today we also went to visit a family member of one of our teens. The family member, Silvina, is old, sleeping on the floor on a thin mat, and hasn't been able to walk for a month and a half. We visited and prayed with her. While I know that doesn't fix everything, I am hopeful for the impact it could have to bring the love of Christ to someone in need. To be honest, I am exhausted lately because things like this happen every day. My l

Yesterday I had a conversation with some of the girls  that we minister to. There were six of us sitting on the basketball court after playing a short soccer game, during which I had nearly cracked my face open on the concrete. Our conversation went something like this: Them: "How long are you living here?" Me: "Two years." Them: "How long have you been here already?" Me: "Four months." Them: "After you leave are you going to visit?" Me: "Yes." Them: "But you won't live here anymore?" Me: "I don't know." Them: "When you go, can I come with you?" I didn't know what to say so I kind of laughed and said: "I would like that." Then someone else said, "Can I come too?"  So I said, "Everyone can come with me!" Ahhh. I hope They knew I was joking. Although I would love to bring them to America one day. Pray for me to give them Christ and not just myself. It is har

Being a missionary is hard. Actually, just being a Christian is hard.   I feel like I should understand that by now. But even though I have been following the Lord for a little while, I am still surprised when struggles come along. I think, “Why, Lord? When will this end? Is it ever going to be easy?” Today, I was in the chapel praying and having a moment with Jesus. It was one of those “Is this ever going to end?” moments. “Why is there struggle after struggle? It seems that the moment one thing ends, something else begins.” I was frustrated and starting to feel hopeless. The past few months in Haiti have been absolutely beautiful. I have been blessed to be part of a mission where I feel like we are able to make an impact and bring something meaningful to our mission field. Watching youth ministry take place in Haiti has been one of the biggest blessings, and most beautiful times of my life. I really wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. We are living in a blessed m