HAITI :: Methodist on a mission

I met Eric on Saturday morning.
It was our last day of the trip [Haiti, November 2013]. I know now, after talking to him for more than 30 min, why he introduced himself to myself, a stranger sitting in the shade, sifting through countless photos on the computer. 

It’s because Eric knows everyone and he didn’t know me (yet!). He is one of those people that may be in the background, but knows every nuance of the property, every employee, and every guest that has been here over the past 48 years. This 55-year-old man, sporting a handsome smile and creased face, has been working here all his life. 

After a short minute, he quickly got to the point of our conversation: Eric wanted to know if this was my first time in Haiti and what I was doing in his country. I shared that it was my 9th visit over the past 3 years and I was excited to be a part of my church’s first mission trip to Haiti. We worked at a Methodist school in the mountains, Ecole Methodiste d’Duplan, and a school / orphanage for special needs children in Port-au-Prince, St. Vincent’s Center for Handicapped Children. 

At this news, his eyes twinkled and he began sharing his own deep thoughts about people with handicaps and how God uses them to work in our lives. I regret not having a video camera pointed at this man’s friendly face to fully and accurately relay his thoughts, but alas, I will need to paraphrase from memory. 

Eric told me that everyone is the same. We are all born into this world as God’s creatures. Some are normal (his word) and some are not. Some can hear; some are deaf. Some can walk, while others have an accident that takes away their ability to move. As normal (his word) people, at any time, we could lose our hearing or our sight or our ability to walk from many circumstances. In essence, we are all the same. God doesn’t see our differences – God loves everyone and uses our differences to give opportunities for service. 

As he looked over my shoulder at the photos of St. Vincent’s kids, he told me that God calls each of us to do something different. I nodded fervently and began to walk him through the pictures, telling him about each child: Oxilus, Judith, Marie Line, Mackenson... 

Sonya and Oxilus

When we finished looking at the photos, he pointed to my chest, looked me squarely in the eye, and said that God wrote it on my heart to work with handicapped children. He said he could see the love in my eyes for those kids. It was the children that kept me coming back to Haiti. At these words, I teared up and replied “these children are my family. That’s why I come back again and again. There are so many opportunities to help, to love and to be loved.” Now it was his turn to nod and smile back at me. 

He pointed to himself and said God didn’t call him to work with handicapped children. God called him to fix things. His love is keeping up the property and buildings that make up the guesthouse; keeping the guesthouse cars running reliably (a never-ending task in this country); driving mission teams to and from their worksites; fixing the showers and the toilets; maintaining the swimming pool. 

THAT is his calling. It is what God wrote on his heart. And he has followed that calling for 48 years. Through his service at the guesthouse, people like me can come and serve in our different ways. We can follow our individual callings, wherever they may lead. 

It is through our varied strengths that we are able to make a difference in this world and be made whole by serving others. I guess that’s what’s makes me a Methodist: belonging to a church that opens hearts, opens doors and opens minds through active engagement with our world. Putting faith and love into action. Sounds quite like The Red Thread Promise to me.

(Editorial by Sonya Yencer, TRTP Vice President)

HAITI :: The visible red thread

Sonya and one of many aspiring art students

Art connects people. Without so much as a single word, colors on a canvas or lines on a page can bring strangers together. In some instances, art creates a unique foundation on which to build relationships. 

Art, like love and hope, is a language all its own. It knows no boundaries. It is something to be shared. Regardless of who you are, or where you come from. Irrespective of size, shape, color, race, gender, religion, economic status or language. What a gift—a gift that Sonya was more than happy to share with many during our last trip to Haiti. 

The art of Zentangle, a form of meditative drawing, was the conduit for connecting with people throughout the week: from children in a remote mountain schoolyard, to highly competitive street vendors peddling their wares in the city, to students at St. Vincent’s Center for Handicapped Children. 

Some of the beautiful Zentangle tiles created during the trip
(Sonya's on the left; Locson's first attempt on the right)

The Duplan schoolyard

It began with a single teenager whose curiosity got the best of him during recess on the team’s first day in Duplan, a rural mountainside village. Sonya spread out her art, sat down on a concrete bench and began to draw. She looked up to find him intently watching her every pen stroke. Of course, she invited him to give it a try and the rest, as they say, is history. 

Throughout the week, Sonya’s impromptu class grew from one to 12—using every pen, each pencil and all the paper she brought—with more than 20 observers at any given time; each anxiously awaiting their turn. These normally aloof teens showed an amazing curiosity for Zentangle, their interest increasing daily. It was wonderful watching the kids progress from tentative drawing and dissatisfaction with their work to complete confidence and asking for more paper! 

The first art student

His intense concentration was impressive

Locson

As Sonya worked with the kids on that first day, a sprightly 20-something arrived at the school in hopes of selling his artwork to our team. What a blessing this young man turned out to be! Not only was he a fantastic painter (per Sonya: “possibly the most talented artist I’ve met in Haiti”) but, more importantly, a kind and caring person.

Locson and Sonya during a Zentangle lesson

Although the two just met, a strong bond quickly formed between the two. In turn, the pair reviewed one another’s art, discussed techniques, materials, cost and value. Over time, they set aside the small talk and delved deeper, talking about inspiration, their individual art instruction and Locson’s aspirations to open his own studio in Haiti to nurture the artist in every child.

While the students were in class, Sonya taught Locson Zentangle. He was a natural! When they were done creating art together, they spent time in the Haitian tradition, haggling over the price of some stunning paintings.

Sealing the deal sale (lucky Sonya!)

During breaks when the kids came back for more drawing lessons, Locson voluntarily translated Sonya’s instructions for the growing student body. He encouraged kids who were ready to abandon their drawings to continue; he made suggestions for others to improve their work; he encouraged them to practice drawing.

Learning to Zentangle

He was SO proud of the final product!

Unforgetable gifts

On our final day in Duplan, Locson returned and spent the morning with Sonya and the students. Before the team’s departure, he entrusted her with three gorgeous paintings. He asked for no money or agreement. His only request was for her to see if anyone would be interested in them in the States. 

He gave these three gifts with no guarantee that Sonya would return. 
No guarantee of payment. 
No guarantee of returned artwork. 
Only trust that she would be a woman of her word.  

Locson's generous spirit will never be forgotten. His gifts to our team were more than three beautiful paintings—but also gifts of time, talent, and his love of the Haitian people. 

We look forward to our return to Duplan and reconnecting with Locson.

Some of the local children, like Basmani (above)
and her brother below, don't attend school in Duplan,
but were regular visitors during our week at the school

Pure concentration

Duplan students showing off their masterpieces

HAITI :: Making connections

In the Duplan church

How is it possible to be so moved by a nearly 3 hour church service in a language you don't understand? This is the question that we've been mulling over the past day since our visit to the Duplan Methodist Church, Haiti. 

Picture this: the church sits near the top of a steep mountain, surrounded by a clinic and pharmacy, an elementary and secondary school, parsonage and neighborhood of houses tucked away among the brush and trees. Beautiful tile and gates lead into the sanctuary. Humble wooden pews are lined up to the left and right. Brightly colored balloons greet the community both at the doors and the front of the sanctuary. A balcony spans the front of the church and holds a piano, keyboard, drum set, and enough space for a 60 person choir!

The Duplan church

The clinic and pharmacy

The school

Sixty beautiful, energetic voices make up the Duplan Children's Choir. And our team was there to enjoy their 1-year anniversary. Their voices pieced the warm air, blending with the swaying bodies, electric guitar riffs and keyboard melodies. What a blessing to be a part of the community's celebration! 

So, how do we connect with people we've never met (and don't even share a language)? 

• We smile or wink at a child.
• We shake hands with an adult while looking them straight in the eye.
• We hug and plant kisses on complete stranger's cheeks.

Hana and her new buddies

For Hana, it meant playing hand games with children across the backs of pews. Almost silently, she connected with child after child, eliciting tiny giggles and happy smiles by being present with them and playing silly games.

Making friends in Duplan

For Sonya, it meant inviting a small girl from a crowded children's pew to sit next to her in a much emptier pew. The child shyly slid into the seat between two "blancs" and held her tiny purse tightly. Every few minutes she would shuffle through the contents until finally she found what she wanted: a purple lollipop. When she couldn't open it, Sonya gently took it, peeled off the paper (which had melted to the candy) and handed it back to the child. An almost instant bond was formed! The child snuggled up to Sonya and enjoyed the candy through the service. Periodically, she got up and found her mother a few pews behind, but always came back. Following communion, she even grabbed Sonya's hand and led her back to her seat where they could sit together.

No grand gestures. 

No hand-outs. 

No material gifts. 

No "things". 

These are the ways we connect. These are the ways we begin to build relationships. This is what The Red Thread Promise is all about. 

Child reading the tiniest Bible we've ever seen!