We Walked with Authority (Haiti Update)

Haiti toys with the emotions. In one twist, there is danger and heartbreak. At another turn, there are rays of hope.

Going around town today was the same as stepping foot on another planet. Acrid dust fills the air, intermingled with the stench of decaying bodies wafting up through mountains of rubble. Body parts and corpses are still visibly on display.

The smashed cathedral peers over white-tented rows as the sun pierces through its shattered gaps of stained glass. The huge headless building looms over piles of concrete and rebar as a young woman laments at the gatepost. In the midst of twisted metal and broken dreams, the cross still stands, unshaken by the tremors that crushed and destroyed everything around it.

We joined a trio of heavy earthmovers as they ploughed through the remains of a building that housed both a technical school and an orphanage for handicapped children. A man sat in a red pickup truck, watching the track hoe as it mounted and scraped through desks and debris. He told us that he'd worked there for twenty-three years and didn't quite know how he made it out with just a broken leg. "Two hundred to three hundred students," he said. I glared back at the building, which reminded me of the crumbled ruins of a stepped Mayan temple, and tried to imagine how many children were entombed within. We eventually circled the monstrosity and saw the body of a small child, no older than four years old, that was stuck between two pancaked floors. She was still dressed in a red school uniform and her little round head, uncrushed by the concrete, longed for the sweet caress of a mother . . . or at least a decent burial. Just a few yards away a bloodied leg bone protruded from shredded pants. The rest of the body could be anywhere at this point.

We entered the historical district. The scenes on CNN didn't quite do it justice. Buildings leaned into the street like competing towers of Pisa, each propped up tenuously by the wreckage below. Throngs of people hung around lifeless and flattened buildings, picking away anything of value. The loud yelps of a man, encircled by others, indicated that he wasn't giving up the bounty he had hidden in his backpack. A dizzying array of people flitted back and forth with boards, metal poles and anything else they could prop on their heads. Just a few cars traversed those dust-enshrouded streets. The grounds were littered by the remains of pilfered booty. And a baby's shoe.

Block after block was the same. Mountains of people clamoring over mountains of destruction. My translator looked at us and said, "See where the people are? That was the phone company. There are many bodies over there. Do you want to see?" Aaron and I shrugged our shoulders, but did get out to at least snag a picture of the scene from a distance. We stood next to a gaping hole in the ground swarming with flies. "Aaron, I'm pretty sure we've got a body right below us, down there." With a quick glance of mutual acknowledgement, we moved on.

As a team, we're staying at a pastor's house just a couple of miles from the worst-hit areas. The structure has its fair share of cracks and shifting throughout, but it's the desire for cool air, not safety, that has Aaron (Bent Tree Bible Fellowship), David (Hope for Orphans) and me sleeping on the roof with mosquito nets under a star-studded, helicopter-filled sky.

From there we have surveyed the poor neighborhood around us. Buckled streets that were bumpy well before any earthquake. Topsy-turvy buildings that were out of plumb well before the ground shook.

Theo is the big teddy-bear of a guy on our team, and the one without any international experience. He asked me if I'd like to go for a walkabout through the neighboring streets, sans vehicles and interpreters. Aaron is always up for an adventure, so he joined us as we strolled through the desperate streets.

We came to a crossroads. "Which way do you want to go?" Aaron asked as people started to look on. "I don't know" I replied, "but we need to walk with authority, like we know where we're going."

"Are you ok?" a man stopped to ask us in a half-smile-concerned-about-you-kinda-way. "Yes," we said as we walked on with authority, no idea where we were going. A little later a taxi drove up the rutted street and again a man asked, "Are you ok?" with a puzzled look. I looked at Aaron and Theo and translated for them. "What they're really asking is, "Are you crazy?!?"'

Not much after that comment a man on the other side of the road yelled at us, flung his arms aggressively into the air, and started to bolt across the street. Ignoring him and, yes, walking with authority, seemed to do the trick as the footsteps didn't end up coming within earshot. After walking a safe distance, well past the footbridge over the open sewer trench, I did suggest to the guys that we take a different route back to the house, in order to avoid Angry Yelling Arms Flinging Guy, but we ended up saying "How are you doing?" in Creole to dozens of adults and children on a sewage-lined labyrinth that terminated at a dead end.

So, we headed back the same route we came in and, just as we were coming upon the area where the Angry Yelling Arms Flinging Guy had started following us, we heard Crown Him with Many Crowns (in French) from the courtyard of a small church. An outside service of seven people was being led by a tattered-clothed pastor with a broad smile, sweet voice, and big megaphone. We sat. We sang. Theo preached. I mean,Theo really preached. Big teddy-bear quiet Theo brought it with passion, telling people that comfort can be found in the midst of suffering; that comfort is only found at One source. As Theo choked back tears and oozed passion, military helicopters flew directly overhead. The megaphone matched the thundering of the blades. The now ten-person, megaphone-fueled, helicopter-enhanced service became the latest chapter in an ever-growing book of surreal moments for me.

And as we exited the church, right near the Angry Yelling Arms Flinging Guy place, a Humvee loaded with six US soldiers with fingers on triggers, slowly passed right in front of us.

"Thanks for being here," Aaron said to them.

They nodded.

And we walked on . . . with authority.

Comments

[Bree May]

As so many now are turning away and returning to thoughts of their own lives, dreams, and goals, too many forget that for Haiti, this is not old news. The people there cannot just change the channel.

Your description of the orphanage for disabled children really hits home with me. I have a daughter who is disabled and who is blessed to be here. I thank my Heavenly Father for her continued presence in my life and I mourn the passing of those children who are now not here.

I commend your efforts and offer continued prayer for the safety of your group during this outreach to the Haitian people. God bless you all.

[Carol Williams]

I remind myself to pray for those in Haiti each day, as it is too easy to get caught up in the joys and challenges of everyday living.

The title of your article struck me as I had just said this very same thing about my driving a school bus. The students become unruly and even cruel to one another, then I become impatient and tired...yet, taking authority over the walk in the streets or in the driving of a bus enables us to move forward in blessing with the love of Jesus and in being blessed ourselves.

I continue to read and pray...pray and read...and even move forward in authority in remembering where our hope and truth lies.

Thank you for helping me to remember those and HIM.

May God bless each of you and each of them.

[Ed Schwartz]

Paul - lifting you and the HORT team up for Him. Waiting with anxious anticipation as to how He intends to take care of all those orphans. Blessings...