War

I'm getting ready for battle. Just as a new recruit must endure privations, I am mentally getting ready. In basic you lack sleep, food, rest, and relaxation. I am hardening my soul to obey in minute detail the orders of my DI, Jesus. Trust me, I am not there yet. I don't know all the commands of my Lord Jesus Christ. I speak of the specifics. The standing orders are set in stone just like the soldiers pledge to serve his country. I will do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with my God. we are here to serve. Aye, there's the rub. Let me explain. Our squad will fly to Port-o-Prince, seven or eight hours in coach with a layover in Atlanta. This is to be expected, no problem. We will over night in a missionary compound in Port-o-Prince. Next day we will drive the eighty some miles to Pignon( not Pig Non but Pin-yon, the "o" is pronounced through your nose). The ride will be over some roads inspired by the Inquisition. Some , who have gone before would rather have navigated on rough seas with the same result, literally. Still I have no problem, bring it on. We will meet our host, Jean Jean and his wife, rest up, and meet some people. Notice the Balm of Gilead after every incursion into stress. The next day it begins. We get up at eight, have breakfast, get assignments, and go to the job site by ten. we help the hired locals who are building a small cinderblock home to replace a hovel that sheltered a Haitian Mom, Dad, and children. I don't know exactly what I will be doing, and that is what bothers me. I only have vague pictures in my mind. I'm strong from the thighs up except for my right shoulder which hurts like there is a nail in it when I move. So what? I'm used to it.Now my knees are a different story. They belong to an eighty year old man, bone on bone. I wish he would give back mine. Give me some cinderblock. Let me haul cement. "Let me I'll fetch it!" I'm stoked. At noon or so we go to a feeding station. Notice we have labored for two hours while hanging out and talking to friends. My question, "Is this what Jesus did?" Let me explain. "Feeding station" : once a day ( get that ! ) the church boils up a big cauldron of rice and beans over an open fire. Children come and get a meal. I asked, " How many times a day do they do this?" The answer was "ONCE"! NOW THAT IS A HORN IN MY GUT. I eat about every two hours if I am hungry or not. How can these precious little ones go on one meal a day? Yet somehow they do and have a ready smile with a thousand teeth for you. Now I hate beans; and I loath rice. They rank right along with dog food with me. Cat food is worse. The smell makes me hurl. If I can do something about this, like maybe live a little kid's life while I am there, I would eat rice and beans once a day exclusively. Then write to you who read this and perhaps we can do something, anything, together. We will "hang out" and make friends with the kids. English is the language of success. We are to converse with the kids and help them with it. Thank goodness we don't have to palaver in Creole! I only can say: "Hello", "Goodbye", " What is your name", and "How are you". Pretty sad huh? Next we visit a school. That's all I know about the school. Having taught junior highs for thirty years, I am in my element. I have been through the crucible of fire. I called our plac of rest a compound. That connotes an image of high cement fence two feet thick and barbed wire on top. The leaders call it a guest house which congers up images of southern plantations and corinthian columns. I am not totally off the mark. In Ethiopia the five acre compound had a six foot brick wall with concertina wire at the top. I lived in a cinderblock two bedroom, kitchen, and living area unit built by forced Arab labor in the seventies by the Communists. Hopefully the guest house is somewhere in the middle. It has bunkbeds, indoor toilet, and one or more showers. Wonder what the locals have. In Gambella the toilet was anywhere you could squat down, mostly behind the back door. After school we head back to the chateau (sorry) for a debriefing. Is this Special Ops? Then we will hang or have devotions till supper. This will be a gourmet Hatian meal I'm told. Am I on vacation or what? What about experiencing the life of a poor child? How does it feel to go around all day with a worm of hunger gnawing at your belly? The children used to sleep on a dirt floor because there was no room for them in the bed with mom, dad, and siblings. They would come to Jean Jean's wife, a nurse, with bug bites, sores, and worms. They now have poured concrete floors in the homes we will help build. They are so much better off sleeping on the concrete. Please pray for my guilt and Jesus' guidance for what I can do. Day three.