::The Haitian Chronicles::
Walking out of the airport in Port au Prince, Haiti was a new experience. Not because of the place, I had been there before, but because how we were met.
Through the sea of faces, I heard my husband’s name. We waved and laughed and soon we were wrapped in bear hugs by dear friends that we hadn’t seen in two and a half years. And I was shocked to find that it was a bit like- coming home.
I knew the drive. I knew the language (enough to get by) and I knew the people. They were close friends. Brothers in Christ. No longer strangers. No longer different. Just friends.
When we reached the mission, Melene was there. She had cleaned the house and prepared a traditional Haitian meal. I hugged her and kissed her and thanked her profusely and she smiled and her dark eyes sparkled.
That big cement house with the pepto-bismol painted walls and the smiling faces and chattering Creole and little black babies with huge dark eyes… once upon a time it was a strange place that left me feeling homesick and lonely and now it was a place of warmth and an overabundance of love.
I ate rice and beans and fried plantains and cabbage salad with a smile splitting my face. The airport was a bit like coming home but this, this was like a family reunion.
It wasn’t until the next afternoon that I pulled out my camera and snapped pictures of my little ones who had grown inches and feet. They danced across my front porch and chattered my name through the windows and talked to me a mile a minute while I repeated, “Slow down. Slow down. I can’t understand when you talk so fast.”
And when morning came, I woke up refreshed and slipped outside to sit on the front porch with my Bible and notebook and watched the sun splash orange across the sky.
For I will pour water on the thirsty ground
and streams on the dry land…