2012 Haiti Trip (III)

"God is our refuge and strength,

an ever-present help in trouble."

Psalm 46:1, NIV

Finally.
We made it!
We exited the airport.
Our eyes spotted the bus.

We dashed through the sea of would-be helpers and porters (since we could not afford to pay them) and  hastily climbed onto the bus. Once aboard the bus, we were all bubbling with excitement. After all, why would we not be?

We were in Haiti.
We successfully went through customs unscathed.
We were looking forward to all that was awaiting us in Tibouk.

A few moments later, after inhaling some snacks and light refreshments, we prayed and the driver began pulling away from the parking lot. As we went through parts of Port-au-Prince, I could not believe how different things looked from my childhood years. Gone were the paved roads and the working traffic lights. Yet, there was a sense of new beginnings as well. I could see it in the eyes of many passers-by -- they were somewhat more determined, perhaps more driven to survive and succeed as they walked on the street.

We left Port-au-Prince and my mouth dropped.

Before us, there was this newly paved road that looked oh so inviting. On either side of this new two-lane highway, there was beautiful scenery for us to behold. To our left, there was the sea -- so blue, so beautiful, so beckoning. To our right, there was greenery that came in all kinds of shapes, shades, and textures. My heart was drawn to the beauty and I found myself praying and praising God for allowing me to see it. I was encouraged to think that Haiti can indeed rise again.

After a while, the landscape began to change. The more we move towards the north, the more poverty-stricken the towns and people on our path seemed to be. We saw dilapidated houses, naked children, piles and piles of refuse . . . We saw a truck overloaded with merchandise and men, and another that had just been in a fatal accident. Everywhere we looked on the road there were indicators of people seeking a better life, a more secure way to improve their financial state. The state of want was utterly shocking to even me, accustomed though I was supposed to be to Haiti's conditions. The needs were so immense and plentiful that silent tears flew down my cheeks.

Every stop on the road had to be carefully analyzed and planned. Would there be restroom facilities for us to use? Would it be a safe place for a group of Americans to stop? Would we be charged extra just because we look and smell like money to the impoverished inhabitants of the area? Would it unnecessarily lengthen the duration of an already long and strenuous journey?

The two team leaders thought through all such questions and more. It was past 6 pm by the time we arrived in Borgne and we still had a 2-hour bumpy ride ahead of us before reaching Tibouk. We stopped there, stretched our legs, and then proceeded to continue on our way. Several times, I was convinced that the vehicle was going to break down. Other times, when it turned pitch black, I thought of the danger of being stopped by bandits.

There was no doubt about it, my faith was challenged; and I faced fear and discouragement on that first day of our trip. However, God's sustaining hand was guiding us ever more protectively all the way to Tibouk. He taught me to not throw away my trust in Him. He taught me the commitment of perseverance so that when I have done the will of God, I will receive what He has promised me in His Word. He taught me that, indeed, He is a mighty fortress and an ever-present help in trouble.

"Did we in our own strength confide,

Our striving would be losing,

Were not the right man on our side,

The man of God's own choosing.

Dost ask who that may be?

Christ Jesus, it is He.

Lord Sabaoth His name,

From age to age the same,

And He must win the battle."

-- Martin Luther (1483-1546)

Father, I thank You for the wisdom and the discernment found in Your Word that guide Your followers on the strenuous road of faith while on this earth. Thank You for the protection and provision You provide. Help this follower to press on with joy and love in his heart. In Christ alone, I pray. Amen!

2012 Haiti Trip (II)

Despite the peace that I felt within, a lump began forming in my throat as I stepped away from the customer service desk. A college friend who accompanied me on the trip took it upon herself to search for my elusive blue duffel bag, hoping it would magically appear. Yet, all her searching was to no avail. Silent tears filled my eyes as I allowed fear to enter my mind:

How am I going to teach?
How effective can I be without my notes?
How will I ever retrieve my hoped-for materials and belongings?
How am I going to survive without my snacks if I can't eat the food available in Tibouk?

The Holy Spirit shushed me with God's Word to Paul --

"My grace is sufficient for you,

for My power is made perfect in weakness."

2 Corinthians 12:9, NIV

Comforted and strengthened, I told the team leaders that I was ready to leave and we proceeded to go through customs. By then, all the other passengers had already exited the airport, leaving only this group of 21 Americans at the mercy of money-hungry clerks. As I suspected, two head clerks began inspecting our instruments, medical supplies, and anything at all that seemed to scream "money" to them. Soon, the request came -- an astronomical amount of money to let us through. 

Others turned to panic.

Yet, somehow, God's sufficiency kept coming back to my mind.

In fact, as I thought and thought about how sufficient God's grace was for me, my heart became filled with a desire to sing. I heard God's voice say, "Sing!"

"Here?" 

I mean, with all these people around me in the middle of this airport, could I just burst into song? Would that be appropriate?

Within seconds, I realized that God was not interested in my being appropriate; He was interested in my willingness to praise Him and rely on Him. So, I complied.

Soft and low was the first phrase as I began to sing. Then a second and a third erupted into the air. Slowly, those around me began noticing that I was singing and the deafening noise of incessant talking and bargaining lost a bit of its former intensity. After the song ended, I turned to the worship leader who was on the team and asked him if he would lead the whole team in singing. His response was not unlike what I said to God:

"Do you mean . . . here . . . and now?"

My eyes confirmed his request and he started singing,

"Blessed be Your name

In the land that is plentiful

Where Your streams of abundance flow

Blessed be Your name"

Ha! I had not thought of that myself. I had been entertaining the thought of my lack and my want; yet, God is using Matt Redman's lyrics in Haiti to teach me that He is my Shepherd and that He will supply my every need. So, my tenor voice joined in singing:

"Blessed be Your name

When I'm found in the desert place

Though I walk through the wilderness

Blessed be Your name"

Indeed. I can certainly relate to the desert. However, this is not a pity party; this is praise.

"Every blessing You pour out 

I'll turn back to praise

When the darkness closes in Lord

Still I will say

Blessed be the name of the Lord

Blessed be Your name

Blessed be the name of the Lord

Blessed be Your glorious name"

By now, most of the team was singing. My eyes were closed but I could feel the intensity of the singing all around me and I could hear the bargaining becoming less and less noticeable. The Haitian airport workers were wildly interested in our singing and were paying attention to our faces. Then, I thought: "What does it matter that I have no blue duffel bag with my pre-packaged goods to sustain me?" 

"You give and take away

You give and take away

My heart will choose to say

Lord, blessed be Your name"

As the singing came to a close, several airport workers approached us and began talking to us. One, in particular, came to me and said, "I can tell you love Jesus. Your face looks so joyful." God used that man to remind me that as I choose to praise Him with sincerity of heart, others will come to see Him in me. Soon after that, our team leaders returned from the bargaining booth telling us we were free to leave. In fact, as I understand it, we did not have to pay anything.

So, in the end, much more was accomplished without my luggage than would have been had I had it with me all along.

We were then rushed outside and made our way to the bus awaiting us to begin the long drive from Port-au-Prince to the northern village of Tibouk, Haiti.

It should be smooth coasting from then on, right?

Father, I am so grateful that You are always looking for worshipers and that You will do whatever is needed to get a hold of our hearts. When we are distracted and discouraged, strengthen us with the sustaining power of Your grace. Teach us to stop wherever we are on the road and simply worship You. In Christ, I pray. Amen!

2012 Haiti Trip (I)

Tick, tock goes the clock . . .
. . . and it is time for me to re-open the lock.

I am back.
What a break!

From June 29 until August 19, I took a long pause from blogging which interrupted the sharing of my story. There are several reasons explaining the pause but I will mention two big ones because those two serve as a wonderful segue between the first part of my story and the ensuing phase of my spiritual journey.

The first reason is my 2012 Haiti trip.

As soon as I finished posting "Deadly Exposure" on June 29, 2012, my mind became consumed with preparations for my 2012 Haiti trip. Since 1996, I have been going back to Haiti at least once a year to volunteer my time as a music teacher at a wonderful music camp in the North of Haiti -- a camp that was [and has been] instrumental in the deepening of my faith and the developing of my new nature as a man sold out to God. (Several entries will be devoted to that later)

Yet, this year felt very different. For one thing, I did not go to Haiti in 2011, which created a sort of break in the long streak of going once a year. I felt somewhat disconnected since the two-year hiatus prevented any kind of instructional continuity to remain between me and the students I knew. To make matters even more disjointed in my mind, I was to go to a new location (a place I had never visited) with new people (whom I was scheduled to meet upon arrival) and possibly teach entirely different students (whose musical talents and proficiency levels I would not know until I arrived on site).

My questions were:

What do I do?
How do I prepare?
Will I even be effective?
Should I just stay home?

Well, I prayed and prepared the best I could -- teaching materials, healthful snacks I knew I would need as a vegetarian, songs for me to sing, gifts for people I encounter, etc. I left OKC on July 18 in the late afternoon, made it to Miami (after a layover in DFW) at 1 am on July 19, caught a hotel shuttle around 1:30, slumped in bed at 2:00, woke up at 4:45 am to meet the other team members, and together we headed to the Miami international airport from where we flew to Haiti.

Once we landed in Port-au-Prince, we went to the baggage claim area to collect our belongings. Guess whose luggage decided not to make it to the Port-au-Prince Mais Gate airport that morning? Yes, you guessed it:

Yours truly! (bowing)

My luggage was nowhere to be found -- including all the teaching materials I carefully prepared, the snacks I eagerly packed, and the gifts I tenderly wrapped. Talking to the AA baggage clerks only confirmed what I had already imagined -- it was an oversold situation and my luggage simply did not even get on the plane leaving Miami. I was given a notice containing a claim number and a phone number to check on the status of my suitcase. However, having mentally tallied the severe costs of time, money, and energy required for a 14-hour trek from Tibouk to Port-au-Prince, I knew right then and there that I would not have access to my suitcase for a while. Tears filled my eyes as I contemplated spending potetntially 11 days in total need, total dependence, total surrender to God's provision.

Then, it dawned on me that my predicament was a test which challenged me to behave with integrity:

Would I trust God or would I fret?
Would I deny my flesh or would I cling to my perceived rights?
Would I honor Christ with my response or would I discredit His name?
Would I curse ineffective individuals or would I bless them with my forbearance?

Once I realized what that test entailed, a peace that passes all understanding rushed inside of me and I was still. I thanked the baggage clerks for their help and chose to trust God. That was only the beginning of a trip that was packed with unexpected twists and turns on the road -- all of which combined to further transform my heart into one in desperate need of faith.

Father, how can I keep from shouting Your praises? Your hand is ever guiding, ever molding, ever touching, ever soothing, and ever moving me closer to Your heart. Help me to love You more and more on this journey. Amen!

Deadly Exposure

"If You, O Lord,

kept a record of sins,

O Lord, who could stand?

But with You there is forgiveness;

therefore You are feared."

Psalm 130:3-4, NIV

"You can never be too careful."

I do not and cannot remember when I first heard the above phrase. If pressed, I still do not think my memory could squeeze out the reason it was told me as a child. However, I can assuredly testify to the truth and the soundness of its message, especially in the case of the following episode in my life.

My sister's wedding came and went. It was a beautiful and blessed event but, unfortunately and unknown to my family, it left a sour taste in my mouth. So, it was not surprising when, a few days later, I had another bout of severe depression and could not think clearly. Wanting to numb the pain, I set caution aside and went back to reading romance novels -- having chosen to completely deny the deadly grip the world of fantasy had on me just two years prior. The more I devoured such literary smut, the more aware I became of an increasing desire within me to "experience" what I was reading.

Well, having grown up with two God-fearing parents who thoroughly imparted God's standard of pure conduct to me, I fully knew how unwise and dangerous pre-marital sex (of any kind) was for anyone. And, considering the fact that a Boy's Brigade counselor told me  that I would never get married, my twisted and indulging mind grew sick thinking of the tormented life awaiting me. Not once did it enter my mind that I would not have had to battle with such thoughts had I guarded my mind and heart against the lure of romance novels.

One day, I took one of the novels I was reading to school and kept it on my desk, half hidden between folders and notebooks for easy access. Instead of paying attention to the tasks at hand, I would continue reading all the while being careful not to let teachers notice what I was doing. 

I wish it was one of my teachers who did notice.

Well, that day at recess, I was approached by one of the boys who sat in the back of the classroom. In his eyes, there was a steely glint of pleasure and power that worried me. I braced myself for what was coming my way.

What he said next both shocked and intrigued me:

"I saw what you were doing in class and I know what you really want." He was both eyeing and sizing me up as a snake corners an unfortunate prey.

"What was I doing?" was my hesitant reply. 

O, how I wish my tone had not betrayed the worry that suddenly came over me!

"There's no need to pretend," he continued. "You and I both know what I'm talking about. That stuff you're reading is for girls. I can bring you literature fit for the man you're dying to become."

I should have ended it all right then and there while it was still in my power to do so. However, far from being careful, I merely sat there and took the enticing bait. I listened to him and marveled at his promises. The word "literature" should have warned me of the illegitimacy of his claims since I never knew this classmate to be one who actually "read" anything. On the other hand, I was really interested in becoming a "real man" and, perhaps, that boy held the key to the secret which seemed to have bypassed me for far too long. 

The next day, I did not bring a romance novel to school since I was promised "something better." When that came, I was neither prepared nor pleased. It was in the middle of a French Literature class that my classmate dumped an opened magazine on my desk. My eyes grew wide in disbelief as, before me, was laid a page full of images of a sexually explicit nature. 

"This is no literature," I thought. "This is blatant pornography." 

I quickly closed the magazine and promptly returned it to my classmate, being careful not to let our eyes meet. He and I never talked about it again. However, I wish I could have closed my mind as quickly as I did the magazine. I wish I could have shielded my eyes from seeing what I saw.

That single instance of porn viewing had an adverse effect on my heart. Far from lifting me up from the pit of depression, it helped further my descent into despair and dissatisfaction. I felt dirty, guilty, and lonely. I was both repulsed and enticed, a dichotomy that was truly disturbing to me. Everywhere I looked, my photographic memory would replace real-life sights and superimpose those indecent photos onto them. I was having trouble forgiving myself and could not fathom receiving God's forgiveness as I increasingly became more and more consumed by those images. 

At night, when everyone else was asleep, I could freely and remorsefully weep over my sin -- chanting in my heart how I should have handled that unfortunate affair.

In the end, all the should-haves, could-haves, and would-haves in the world could not change my heart because they failed to meet one essential requirement -- I needed to surrender my secret to Christ. Sadly, I kept and nursed that awful secret until it led to deeper pitfalls . . . 

Father, I no longer stand condemned because my whole sin is nailed to the cursed tree of Golgotha. I now stand amazed in the wake of complete forgiveness from the nail-scarred hands of Christ who took upon Himself my wretchedness. Thank You for guiding me to confess to You and to receive Your forgiveness fully even when it is hard to forgive myself. Lead me, O Holy Spirit, to be careful in all my dealings so that I may only do that which pleases and honors You. In the name of Jesus, I pray. Amen!

And the Bride, Not the Brother, Was Ecstatic

Most young boys could care less about weddings . . . Well, their bellies certainly appreciate the food served at the rehearsal dinner and the reception but for the most part, weddings leave the average young boy simply bored and uninterested.

For me, that was not the case.

As far back as I can remember, weddings always fascinated me. As soon as an invitation made its way into our home, my mind would begin the process of waiting with feverish anticipation and longing for the day of the big celebration. On the day of the wedding, I would don my best apparel and would be among the first guests to arrive at the location. Once there, I would dreamily take in the music with all the different instruments and musicians involved. I could never stop admiring the flowers, the beautiful bridesmaids in elegant dresses, and especially the radiant bride.

Though I also loved receptions and cakes, the wedding ceremony was always the main thing that intrigued me. I would pay close attention to see the transformation that always took place in the eyes of the groom when he would spot the bride being led up the aisle to him. I would also tremble with excitement when the officiant would say to the groom, "And now, you may kiss your bride." 

With ecstatic and expectant eyes, the bride would wait for her newly acquired husband to kiss her. And they would both leave the church with joy and satisfaction.

Well, even at 11, I already began imagining how it would be for me. I wonder what my wedding would entail. Who will be my bride? What will she wear? What music would be played? I kept those questions to myself, not wanting to be ridiculed.

One afternoon, my oldest sister came home with the news of her upcoming wedding . . . and my eyes were soon filled with excitement and disbelief. Finally, there was going to be a wedding in my own family. It did not take long for the whole house to be bustling with sundry tasks, activities, and planning sessions. Everybody was giddy and happy about the wedding.

Armed with uncommon ebullience, I excitedly took my news to my peers at school. The kids looked sincerely interested. Encouraged, I decided to share a bit about my own aspiration to someday get married. I was in the middle of describing what type of music I thought I would want to have at my own wedding when I finally realized that the kids were wearing a completely different expression on their faces . . .

. . .  It was purely condescending pity. And worse, it became obvious that they were trying unsuccessfully to suppress their laughter at my expense. A lonely tear trickled down my left cheek and I excused myself, only to hear a loud guffaw exploding behind my back. Later that week, I shared that incident with a leader from the Boys' Brigade association and what was told me there was even more hurtful:

"Don't kid yourself, Lou; you'll never get married. Where are you going to find a girl who would want to marry you?"

Ouch! What was I thinking? I really must not be a normal human being.

Those hurtful thoughts colored the way I viewed my sister's wedding when it took place a few months later. It negatively impacted my view on marriage, in general, for a very long time. I could not get myself to be truly happy for others because all I kept thinking about was how there seemed to be a huge STOP sign in front of my face.

On the day of my sister's wedding, she was ecstatic. Her face was radiant. She looked stunning in her dress and was grateful to enter the mysterious inner circle of holy matrimony.

But, I, her little brother, was not ecstatic.

I sported a smile but my heart was slowly decaying.

Oh, how easy it was for me to be deceived by the sly serpent of bitterness. I was drinking its poison, completely unaware that I was only killing myself. I was shooting my heart with the following bullets:

I will never be a normal person.

I will always be all alone.

I will never be loved.

Gratefully, in time, all those lies were replaced by the truth of a Sovereign Lord who has made me His heir. He made me in His likeness, declaring me perfect in His sight. He walks with me every step of the way, richly provides for my every need, and loves me unconditionally.

He is my Lover.
I am His chosen bride.
I, too, can be radiant and ecstatic.

Father, forgive me for allowing the poisonous words of mockers and naysayers to affect my view on marriage. You, O Christ, are very much in love with Your bride, longing for the day of Your celestial wedding with the church. On that glorious day, Your church will be truly radiant and ecstatic. May I never tire of counseling my heart with Your holy, generous, and transforming truth! You are love, constancy, intimacy, and transparency combined. It matters not what mockers say -- Your Word is that which will always remain. May I walk in Your truth as long as I live! Amen.

Chapel (Part II)

"My brother . . . writes poetry . . . and he can lead."

As the above words came out of my sister's mouth and 78 other pairs of eyes began staring at me, my 11-year old heart began pounding heavily out of fear. My mind was terrified to think of all the things that could go amiss and the myriad of ways that I could be teased and ridiculed. Leading would mean saying farewell to any chance at gaining anonymity or staying in the background. Singing or reading my poems (such an intimate part of my identity) would expose my heart that much more to any potential harassment that could come from even more bullies. Being in the limelight as a leader/singer/poet simply was not my idea of a good time.

I was afraid of not having a willing heart.
I was afraid of not having what it takes to make a start.
I was afraid of not having the 'chops' of a successful leader in my cart.

At that moment, the counsel of God's Word reached my mind:

"I sought the Lord, and He answered me;

He delivered me from all my fears."

Psalm 34:4, NIV

So, I quieted the raucous noise of fear in my heart in order to listen. It was clear that God was talking to me and tugging at my heart as I felt something I had not sensed before -- a deeper awareness that, despite the inadequacies I possessed, God would enable me to accomplish all that was meant for me to do. I still had no idea how He was going to guide me through this leadership venture but I knew without a doubt that I needed to surrender my will to His.

Obediently, I took out my notebook and a pencil and started asking for ideas and suggestions from my classmates. I was shy at first but the longer I went at it the more confidence I gained.

In the days and weeks that followed, I was humbled (well, more like embarrassed) on multiple occasions as I went through the process of learning the ropes of leadership by trial and error. Yet, I was also encouraged by the response given by several of my classmates. Those who were more artistically inclined found that I had a lot in common with them; and so, we gradually became friends. The bullies in the back started treating me differently as if looking at me through new eyes.

All of that brought a wave of confidence. Still, every once in a while, I had nightmares of making a fool of myself. How would I ever be able to live it down?

When that Friday morning finally came, I was a mess. My stomach was in knots, my hands were sweating, and my heartbeat was going 90 miles a minute. I was certain that I would mispronounce words and embarrass myself before the whole school. I was afraid that any one of the components of our program could go terribly wrong and I would be the one to receive all the blame.

Yet, the chapel presentation went without a hitch. All the participants did what they were supposed to do and even went beyond the call of duty. Afterwards, I saw faces and shook hands that I never knew existed at that school. Everyone was so happy and impressed.

And I was grateful.

And I was assigned more leadership duties.

And I learned that this could only have happened because,

"I can do all things through Him who gives me strength."

Philippians 4:13, NIV

Christ, my saving God, my great Deliverer, is the One who destroyed my sworn enemy. My fear, this cruel taskmaster, this tantalizing terror that once paralyzed me and restricted me to the back of the classroom and anonymity was buried under the sea of His loving mercy on my behalf. He provided a way for me to get out of the garbage dump of psychological paralysis and brought me to a place where I could experience absolute safety from every cause and kind of anxiety.

He is my Leader.
I am His follower.
We are journeying together.

Father, direct the eyes of this follower to see You fully. Guide me to look past my failures and help me to lean on Your strength in my weaknesses. Stir my heart with a renewed passion for You so I may offer my all to You every day, every hour, every moment -- for only You can make a way through the desert, the desolate places of my heart. I offer my parched, broken, and contrite heart to You. Be my sole vision as I seek to lead others, O Ruler of all!

Chapel (Part I)

At College Evangelique Maranatha, chapel services were held every Friday morning and all students were required to attend. The first time I went, I was quite apprehensive about what I would find there since I was equally concerned with content versus context as I was with people's actions and attitudes. As a result, I arrived early, chose a convenient corner in the back of the room, and retreated there for safety . . . and analysis.

Once the session began, I found that I liked it very much. The content comprised singing, scripture reading, praying, and a special presentation, all of which was delivered in a context that was relevant for the students present.

"So far, so good!"

Then, the school principal explained how each grade, starting from the highest down to the lowest, would take turns planning and leading chapel for the remaining Fridays of the school year. "It is to be an outlet that will help students develop leadership and performance abilities," said the principal.

"Well, as long as I get to stay in the background . . ."

Realizing that my grade's turn to lead would not be happening for seven weeks, I paid it no mind. I was hopeful that the smart kids in the front of the classroom would spearhead this effort and no one would ask me to do anything. However, as the trimester progressed and we were approaching week # 5, I began to get slightly worried.

Naturally wired as a planner, I could not help noticing that, thus far, no one in the class had talked about taking charge of planning, assessing the gifts represented in the classroom, or even suggesting ideas for our chapel presentation. 

On the 5th Monday of the trimester, one of the teachers walked into the classroom and asked us how things were coming along for our chapel service. I was anxious to find out but feigned indifference for fear of attracting attention. It was then that something happened which has since altered the course of my life.

A clear voice from the front broke the silence in answer to the teacher's question; it was that of my lovely sister -- the one who inspired me to give my life to Christ on that muggy Friday evening back in 1979.

(She and I had been in the same grade since 5th grade because the primary school bumped me up a grade on three different occasions.)  

My sister looked in my direction and then humbly offered, "My brother and I can sing a duet.  He writes poetry, too. And he can lead because he does that at home every time we 'play' church."

(My sister, my cousin, and I used to fill our evenings with 'playing' church -- reenacting all the elements of a church service, all the while dwelling on humorous moments we had observed in that context through the years.)

Once my sister spoke, my first thought was:

"So much for staying in the background!"

With that statement, my sister once again became the catalyst for a new direction in my life. Eyes, too many pairs of eyes, converged to the back where I was sitting. I could not be sure what my classmates were thinking. Some might have been puzzled or shocked or doubtful. However, a change occurred within me as they were looking; I had no choice but to embrace the new calling God had reserved for me:

I became a leader for my class.
I became a leader for life.

Father, just like You selected Saul to be the first human king of Israel, thank You for reaching Your sovereign hand even into the decline of my ways and directing me to be a leader in my own circle. I give You honor that Your grace does not depend on my worthiness or faithfulness but solely on Your will and purpose. Help me to follow You as I seek to guide others to You and Your holy ways. In Christ alone, I pray. Amen!

The Language of My Heart

I am a lover of words.

I have always ascribed importance to words.

My heart has always been an eager recipient of words.

The above statements aptly reflect, and perhaps interpret, the reason I have been so deeply affected by the words said to me from the time I was a little boy. 

Words of exhortation from Papi.

Words of encouragement from Manmie.

Words of empowerment from my older siblings.

And, unfortunately, words of derision, ridicule, and scorn from too many -- family, friends, foes, folks of all types and from all walks of life.

For the longest time, Haitian Creole -- the language of the street -- left a sour taste in my mouth because the majority of harsh words and belittling comments thrown at me were uttered in that language. So, I resolved to look down upon that language, sadly not realizing the fault was not in Creole itself.

French, the other language available to me in primary school, was more my cup of tea. It requires a certain finesse that suited my sensitivity and sensibility; so, it readily fed my ego. As a result, it was not at all surprising that I spent much more time on polishing my grammar, enhancing my vocabulary, improving my pronunciation, refining my enunciation and style than I ever did on seeking to reach people's hearts.

At 11, in the midst of dealing with bullies in the back of the classroom on the one hand and carrying guilt about my premature involvement with Aspipa on the other, God paved a way for me to connect the dots between my love for words, the importance I give them, and the necessity for words to reach hearts -- including my very own.

I began learning English.

My English teacher in secondary school was my older brother, my elder by ten years. He walked into the classroom and said, "Good morning." I remember thinking how differently these words fell and landed upon my entire being. It was as if the English language had been looking for me all these years and we finally met. I sensed a burning desire within my breast to learn how to speak it fluently.

So, I eagerly began the process.

In the midst of learning it, it felt more like I was taking a shot in the dark. I did not always sense that progress was cropping up until one fine day it all began to make sense and I could converse with native English speakers relatively well. I studied it some more and my understanding deepened until I became fluent through consistent practice.

In time, I grew to love English so much that I found that it had become the language of my heart. I soon felt that I could think more easily, more completely, more passionately, more thoroughly, and more urgently in English than in any other language.

It was then that God's revelation blew me away. 

"Son," said He, "I have given Myself to you; My Word ought to be the language of your heart. It is unto My Word that you should ascribe importance, passion, commitment, reverence, and respect. It is My Word that you should love and use to reach the hearts of others. It is My Word that should move your own heart. Desire Me, love Me, listen to Me, seek after Me, follow Me, obey Me, wait for Me, and feel Me."

I was speechless.

I, the lover of words, had no appropriate word on my tongue in answer to the Word, Himself.
Why?
The writer of Hebrews explains it in the following terms:

"For the Word of God is living and active.

Sharper than any double-edged sword,

it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow;

it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart."

Hebrews 4:12, NIV

Gratefully, my heart has received His language.

He has been teaching me to speak it fluently ever since.
I speak it each time I feel tempted, convicted, and laid bare before God's eyes.
I speak it by saturating my mind with the saving truth that revvs up the engine of my heart.

So, whether I use Haitian Creole, French, English, Spanish, Italian, German, Russian, or even the few short phrases I manage to croak out in Cantonese, I pray that I will exude the heart of God's message to the world. May His Word, the true language of my heart, reach the hearts of all who listen to me and may they hear the true Speaker through this lowly messenger!

Father, thank You for Your precious Word filled with words of life, words of hope, words of conviction, words of redemption, words of passion, words of love. Help me to daily and gradually take in bite-size portions of the Holy Scriptures through the patient practice of scripture reading, meditating, studying, and memorizing. Help me to hide Your Word within me that it might truly become the language of my heart throughout this journey. In Your precious name, I pray. Amen!

Aspipa

"The man of integrity walks securely,

but he who takes crooked paths will be found out."

Proverbs 10:9, NIV

Less than a week after I began my secondary school education, I turned 11 years old on October 13, 1985. That morning, I went to the local church (Eglise Baptiste de Bolosse) with great happiness in my heart. My happiness was based upon the fact that, in a short year, I would turn 12 and I would become eligible to rightfully join the group Aspipa.

Aspipa!

That single word gave me goosebumps. As a small boy, I regularly dreamt of the day when I, too, could follow in the steps of my older siblings and become a part of that privileged society. Aspipa is a Creole acrostic that stands for Asosyasyon (Association) Pitit (Children) Pastè (Pastors) -- Pastors' Kids Association.

What was so neat about Aspipa?
What could be so exciting about a bunch of pastors' kids meeting weekly on a Friday evening?

For one thing, the group was exclusive. In order to participate, one had to be the offspring of an ordained minister and be at least 12 years old. For another, everything that was discussed in the group stayed in the group. For someone who was often shoved aside and whose curiosity was mounting every year, I anticipated the day of my eligibility with uncommon impatience. I just had to be alive one more year before I could be included in that special group.

So, it came as a complete surprise to me when, on the afternoon of my 11th birthday, the president of Aspipa came to talk to me.

I remember the conversation as if it happened yesterday. I was just sitting at home with a captivating novel in hand when he said,

"I would like you to come and join Aspipa this coming Friday. This year, we will focus on giving a lot of concerts in churches around Port-au-Prince and I have a great song picked specifically for your lovely singing voice."

"What?!?!"

Though I became speechless, he could see by the confused expression on my face that I did not quite believe him.

So, he said,

"Believe me. You have a truly unique gift and I would love for you to join us this year. Please?"

At the time, I was thinking about all the reasons that should lead me to say no:

I was not yet 12.
I needed the approval of my parents.
My joining seemed unfair to those who had rightfully joined the group.

However, how could I possibly wait a whole other year when this offer is within arm's reach? Since projects may vary, I wonder if Aspipa would even be giving concerts the following year. Would it not be "foolish" of me to let this opportunity pass me by? Who needs to know the truth, anyway? How could it hurt?

Without flinching, I pounced upon this rare opportunity saying,
"Yes, I'll be there."
And he left.

I kept this offer a secret out of fear that my older siblings might stop me. When Friday came, I told my parents and my siblings that the president of Aspipa invited me to attend that evening's meeting. I went to the meeting and was asked to try singing the solo, which went so well that my name was added to the roster of soloists for the upcoming concerts. So, based on my voice alone, I was accepted into the group -- no questions asked.

Since no one asked, I felt under no obligation to tell them that I was not eligible based on Aspipa's requirements. Yet, on the inside, I felt like I had waved integrity and truth goodbye. I counseled myself countless times saying that it was no big deal, but deep down I knew the truth which says,

"The integrity of the upright guides them,

but the unfaithful are destroyed by their duplicity."

Proverbs 11:3, NIV

Despite the fact that my premature involvement with Aspipa was almost right (after all, it wasn't even my idea), deep down I knew the right thing would have been to address my ineligibility from the start. Deep down I knew that the integrity of a person in big or small matters will always be a big deal because it matters to God Most High.

• Although the solo gave me a sense of success (especially on concert nights), I failed to truly enjoy it knowing the truth I was hiding or suppressing from others in the group. 
• Although the group afforded me a sense of status (now that I was in the "know"), this elevated position failed to bring me the satisfaction I had craved prior to joining the group.
• Although Aspipa provided me with a great outlet for singing, I forfeited all the benefits that could have been mine had I simply recognized the foolishness of instant gratification.

It wasn't until much later that Aspipa's president caught wind of the truth and confronted me with it. I wish I could have been the one to come clean and confess it to him. I wish I could have had the courage to forgo the satisfaction of the moment. Yet, I learned once more that, with each mistake, there is a whole lot more grace available from God's pool of love.

Thank You, dear Master, for bringing me to Your grace. It is Your amazing, boundless grace that lightens the load of my guilt even now. It is the beauty of Your acceptance that allowed Aspipa to be used as a refining instrument in molding my heart and preparing it for Your truth and love. As I follow You, order my steps that I may walk in true humility and integrity every single day of my remaining time on this earth. May my journey of love bring me securely into Your sturdy arms!

In the Back

Each need has a purpose.

Hunger can be satisfied by daily bread. 

Thirst can be quenched by earthly potions.

Fatigue can be relieved by sleep and relaxation.

For me, it did not take long upon entering secondary school to realize that I had a deep-seated void within my soul and heart. I was empty and needed fullness. Far from being satisfied, all my wanting and waiting led my mind to a single recurring question:

"How, dear Lord, could I possibly learn anything from this misery?"

I felt miserable because, as a classic introvert, I had a strong need to be "left alone." It wasn't that I really wanted to be a loner, but I needed time in solitude, privacy, and thought to adjust to my new environment. There were so many new names and faces to learn and recognize, new habits to form, and old habits to break.  I needed time to test the waters and see if I could find at least one good friend with similar interests and leanings -- one I could trust and to whom I could talk freely.

Yet, that was not to happen. I was not given time to observe and think. I was in the spotlight -- and not the coveted kind, either. Try as I may, I could not remain unnoticed. The bullies in the back of the classroom had found their new toy, their new "rag doll," in me. 

I was teased, and pushed, and mocked, and harassed, and embarrassed, and shoved, and threatened all on my very first day in secondary school. While teachers taught in the front of the classroom, the bullies in the back were busy teaching me all the things that I should hate about myself and life, in general. In a flash, I pictured the remaining seven years of my formal education at that school and the thought of those interminable years weighed heavily on my shoulders.

"Is this to be a repeat of primary school?," I asked in my heart. 

"Will a guy ever get a break in this wretched life on earth?" 

"Can't I just skip secondary school?"

"Do I even need school?"

As it turns out, I really did need school. 

I needed to attend secondary school and I needed to enroll in the divine school of life. 

It was in God's classroom that my question changed its tune. I became aware of the fact that, perhaps, obstacles and problems surface so that I might ask,

"What, dear Lord, will You have me learn from this misery?"

In time, I learned to occupy my time well in the back of the classroom. It was there that the void within me was filled as Christ entered my mind and united my heart with His very own. It was there that He taught me to listen to the heart and not merely the mouth. As the Word says,

"For out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks."

Matthew 12:34, NIV

With purpose and discernment, the ultimate Lover directed me to pay attention to those bullies. I learned to see the hurt they were hiding behind their mask of machismo. I learned to discern the true motive behind their snide remarks and belittling expressions. I learned to invest in the stock of God's love which is the greatest unifier, bringing me to treat my bullies with kindness and understanding despite our differences and my initial predisposition to hate them back.

So, yes, there were bullies in the back.

And, yes, there were great trials in the back.

However, I learned that trials and bullies are great teachers. I ought to know because I had to learn from the best, the toughest of them.

Father, I know that in all things You work for the good of those who love You, who have been called according to Your purpose. Your ways are often circuitous and curvy; help me to rely on the truth that You are always in control, guiding me ever so securely to Your love. Thank You for leading me and help me to follow gratefully! In Christ alone, I pray. Amen!

A Ticket to Normalcy

As the academic year 1984-1985 came to a close, I passed the national exam which qualified me to obtain le Certificat d'Etudes Primaires -- a certificate that enables and authorizes pupils to begin their secondary school education. I looked at my report card with a double sense of security and satisfaction. I felt endowed with pride to know that I, too, would be allowed to turn the page to the secondary school chapter of my life. That fortuitous report card represented to me a ticket to freedom, a ticket to normalcy.

It promised freedom from bullies.
It pledged normalcy for my awkwardness.
It signified a departure from things that I thought were best left in the past.
It affirmed my heart's strongest desires to flee the offenders and oppressors of my young life.

Soon, it began to sink into my mind that I was saying goodbye to L'Ecole Primaire Mixte Bethanie and, with it, all the heart-wrenching incidents that constituted my primary school saga. I beamed with pleasure at the thought of spending an entire summer (the first in many years) completely devoid of dread since I was not returning to that undesired, uncomfortable place.

True to its promise, summer 1985 was a delightful respite. My family traveled to the Northwest of Haiti where we vacationed in coastal towns, swam in the clear water of the ocean, savored delicious mangos and other tropical fruits, visited friends and relatives, and relaxed greatly while enjoying each other's company.

Yet, as they say, "All good things must come to an end."

We returned to Port-au-Prince at the end of the summer and turned our attention to the much-needed preparations for the upcoming school year. A trip to the tailor resulted in my getting fitted into a new school uniform. School supplies were bought and financial arrangements were made on my behalf. I looked forward to that first day in secondary school with baited breath . . .

. . . until it finally came.

On that unforgettable October 7, 1985, I walked past the primary school, past the familiar sights, and made my way to Collège Evangelique Maranatha -- the secondary school that would become my educational home for the ensuing seven years. 


I was surprised when the same paralyzing shyness that marked my days in primary school decided to pay me a visit. Though uninvited, it categorically took a firm hold of my being in this new environment. Feeling lost in the sea of over 80 students in my classroom, I felt too timid to sit towards the front where I would more likely be singled out. So, I opted to sit three rows shy of the very back of the room, certain that there I would remain unnoticed.


Why did I not remember that most troublemakers prefer to sit in the back?
Why was I so guided by fear that I would forgo the blessedness and light of the front?
Why did I think that I, with my record of attracting mockers, could ever remain unnoticed?


It did not take long for me to realize how terribly mistaken I was. 
It did not take long for me to realize that my escape to "normalcy" was akin to fleeing the rain of mockery only to take a deep plunge into a river of much more bullying and ridicule than I ever encountered in primary school.


 Father, You are the only sure and blessed hope I have on this journey of love and faith. All the earthly desires, yearnings, and longings that haunt my nights end up failing me at one point or another but You remain constant and dependable through it all. Thank You for being both the ticket and the destination of true normalcy!

1985 (Part III)

Living in Oklahoma at this point in my life, I woke up yesterday morning with an aching heart as I recalled the events that stunned the US and the world on April 19, 1995 -- the terrorist bomb attack on the Murrah building which claimed 168 lives and injured more than 680 people. No one was prepared for what happened back then. It was tragic, inhumane, and devastating!

As I followed my routine yesterday -- prayed, read my scripture of the day, penned my devotional thoughts, logged onto a social network before getting ready to head out the door -- I saw many status updates relating to the Oklahoma City bombing. They were all dripping with raw emotion. Seventeen years later, people are still grieving over losses and insecurities caused by the selfishness and hatred of some ill-advised individuals.

Interestingly though, an unrelated status update from another contact popped up as I was getting ready to log off. It was a plea for prayer on behalf of a friend of said contact who is contemplating suicide. Still reeling from my close call with suicide by fire, that post caught my attention . . . showed me a connection between my childhood and the bombing in OKC . . . and sent me right back to 1985 in Port-au-Prince, Haiti.

Shortly after my suicidal attempt, I became attuned to all things that were detrimental to life. Whether it was verbal, physical, emotional, or sexual abuse, I automatically equated all oppression with death threats.

Sufficiently disturbed, I quickly developed a keen awareness of any and all troubling events that were taking place in Haiti. The dictatorship of the Haitian government of the time grew increasingly more oppressive, forcing all political parties to swear allegiance to the president and re-confirm him as President for Life through a constitutional referendum. That decision negatively affected people from all walks of life.

Beloved public figures were being shot.
Protesters began marching all over the city.
Clergymen began speaking openly against Baby Doc.
Artists of all types were producing politically-charged works.
It was becoming obvious that the Duvalier regime was crumbling.

A strong sense of unrest and uneasiness invaded my chest. Though it was difficult for my 10-year old mind to determine the gravity of the political situation, I knew enough to feel afraid of the potential threat such a heated political climate posed to the lives of many, including those of family members.

Without diminishing the depth and scope of the tragedy that took place in OKC, I dare say that I saw a concerted effort within the Haitian people, back in 1985, that was echoed by Oklahomans as they banded together to face and combat oppression as a united front. It was that unity that gave them strength and courage to overcome insurmountable and heart-wrenching trials.

I was comforted by that unity.
I was challenged to seek harmony.
I was convicted to belong to a covenant.

Father, forgive me when I selfishly abuse and oppress others. Help me to thank You for creating an environment where I was exposed to the riches of Your grace. Thank You for placing inside of me a strong desire for fellowship and unity with others. Thank You for fashioning human beings in a manner that fosters the greatest and best results when they work in harmony. Help me journey joyfully with other followers! Amen.

One of Them

God gave me two older brothers.
I tended to think about them as one unit.
They are my heroes and I love them very much.

Growing up, I idolized them both because they were widely popular. They succeeded in pretty much everything they set their minds to tackle -- sports, academics, languages, the arts, etc. One was particularly gifted in amassing knowledge; the other was especially skilled and savvy when it came to interpersonal skills. Understandably, their list of friends was quite lengthy.

In contrast, I felt quite inadequate and unfit to be in their company. I was not a good athlete -- a sorry soccer player, to say the least. I felt awkward and shy around people, thoroughly scarred from years of bullying and betrayals. I felt that my only saving grace at the time was my singing voice, but what 10-year old boy would ever brave the snickering of other boys to use singing as his trump card?

For fear of not being counted as one of the boys, I kept my heart closed.
By closing my heart, I kept myself out of this coveted unit of brotherhood.

Though it was no fault of their own, I felt somewhat excluded from my brothers the first ten years of my life. It did not help then that there was a 10-year age difference between me and the first one, nor did the fact that an 8-year gap separated me from the other. Living in completely different generations, we were worlds apart outside of the Lilite family culture.

By the time I was 10 years old, they had both already moved out of the house, living in an apartment not too far from my parents' home. I used to relish going there to visit them because it made me feel special to be able to have some good and necessary male bonding time with my brothers.

Sensing my pleasure to be around them and aware of my awkwardness especially around other boys and/or men, one of them suggested taking me on a trip to Les Cayes (the main city located in the South of Haiti). They were both invited to attend a conference there and thought it would do me some good to join them on the trip. They requested permission from Manmie and Papi to take me and the rest is history.

I remember thinking, "Je suis l'un d'entre eux!" -- "I am one of them." That was such a boost of confidence to my boyhood. It was also such an open door that revealed a new dimension of God's favor to me.

I was invited.
I was wanted.
I was included.

I am sure my brothers had no idea how much that trip meant to me. In fact, at the time, I did not have the words to express to them the depth of my appreciation but my face was beaming and my heart was soaring throughout our preparation for the trip and our delightful stay in Les Cayes.

Eventually, that trip with my brothers served as a pivotal moment in the growing and strengthening of my faith.

It helped me understand my identity.
I learned that my identity is God's child. He made no mistake in creating me. Despite the fact that I felt inadequate and awkward, God made me a boy for His glory and pleasure. He has uniquely fashioned me to display His glory and no one else can play the part He has written specifically for me.

It opened my eyes to see my responsibility.
I learned that my responsibility is to embrace all my faculties and use them all for God's glory. I grew to understand that God has designed me to love Him fully and relate to Him intimately, i.e., to know Him and be known by Him. In asking me to love others, He has asked me to take the time to invite, include, and invest in others so that I might know them and be known by them.

It caused my heart to value Christ's call for unity.
I learned that the heart of God cherishes unity or harmony among people. I was made aware that feelings of estrangement and isolation were never meant to be a part of the human experience; they are the direct result of a false sense of identity and the failure of recognizing one's responsibility on this earth. Like the psalmist says,

"How good and pleasant it is when brothers live together in unity."

Psalm 133:1

That trip to Les Cayes with my brothers was a God-send. It has sent me on a much bigger, longer, wider, and deeper journey to become one of "them" -- the great cloud of witnesses, the fellowship of the saints, the body of believers -- as I endeavor to live with my identity, my responsibility, and my call to unity.

". . . So send I you to hearts made hard by hatred,

To eyes made blind because they will not see,

To spend, though it be blood, to spend and spare not;

So send I you to taste of Calvary . . . "

Father, thank you for the gift of my two brothers. Thank you for using their invite and their investment in me to point me to even greater and deeper truths about You. Thank you for including me in the great throng of believers, the sweet brotherhood that Christ's blood affords. Guide me to move steadily forward on this great journey or quest of enlarging this brotherhood by extending love and grace to all placed on my path. In Christ alone, I pray. Amen.

1985 (Part II)

The year was 1985.
1985 was and will forever be unforgettable.
Unforgettable trials and triumphs marked my days.
Days of bliss preceded days of bleakness which led me to a place of depression.

Any kind of depression is lethal and should be addressed promptly. Yet, my depression was particularly dangerous because, by then, I had mastered the art of keeping those closest to me in the dark about the true condition of my heart, my mind, my well-being.

Even today, judging from the long hiatus between my writing of 1985 (Part I) and this entry, I realize how incredibly easy it is still to suppress those long ago thoughts and feelings which used to engulf my whole spirit and body. Hence, I am stepping forward in sharing my journey of faith; I will courageously walk down memory lane to January 1985.

On my first day back at L'Ecole Primaire Mixte Bethanie from the holiday season, a deafening whisper entered my then 10-year old brain after a particularly brutal recess -- my least favorite period of the school day. Featuring uncommon harassment and deep shame, recess on that particular day revitalized and increased the downward spiral of my depression.

"Death is your only escape." 

The horrid, yet quite inviting, thought penetrated my skull as though guided by the skillful hands of a neurologist. I turned and looked around to verify that no one else had addressed me specifically. All the other students seemed to be hard at work, listening to the teacher and taking notes. They were completely oblivious to the life-threatening conversation I was having in my mind.

I, too, sat and was hard at work. But, unfortunately, my work was altogether different from that of my classmates. I was not listening to the teacher nor was I taking notes from the lecture.

Instead, I was numbly listening to my own poisonous thoughts. I sat within the lies of inward shame and distorted reality. I cocooned myself inside the beliefs of self-deprecation, worthlessness, bitterness, self-hatred, and resentment.

A deep sadness enveloped my entire being. I lost interest in school and in life in general. I had trouble concentrating and focusing on things that once mattered to me a great deal. I began wishing that either death would simply come to me or that I would go to it willingly.

"You are so worthless and alone."
"It would be so much better if you were dead!"
"Nobody would miss your unfortunate face."
"Is life on this earth truly worth living?"
"Death would eradicate all ridicule and shame from your sorry life."

The more the lies came to my head, the longer I allowed myself to entertain the thought of potentially taking my own life which, I thought, would end the torment I endured from the bullies and mockers of my young life.

An opportunity arose one friday evening when family events were orchestrated in such a way that I found myself all alone at home. I told myself it was now or never because privacy in Haiti has always been a precious commodity.

Yet, how would I actually face death?

With time running out, my eyes and mind were busily scanning the house to find the instrument that would accomplish the ghoulish deed. Finally, overcome with the drumming of suicidal thoughts, I was merely looking at the kerosene lamp placed on the kitchen table when a sinister plan took a hold of my irrational brain.

"Burn down the house and yourself with it!"
I filed the demand into my brain and decided I would follow it to the letter.

So, I slowly and carefully removed the lamp's outer glass and exposed the bright and menacing flame. I then guided the flame to the northeastern corner of the tablecloth and, within seconds, the whole thing was burning.

Clear as a bell, a question popped into my head,

"DO YOU REALLY WANT TO DO THIS?"

In an instant, I grasped the selfishness of my entertaining suicidal thoughts.
In a flash, I realized how precious life was and how arrogant I was to decide when mine should end.
In a moment, I knew that God was using my depression to draw me closer to Him. He made me understand that death itself was seeking to deceive me.

So, quickly resolving not to let my family's house burn to the ground, I snatched the burning tablecloth and proceeded to extinguish the fire with my own bare hands, all the while burning my hands in the process. To this day, I still carry the scars of that burning incident on the back of my left hand -- they are daily remembrancers of the cost of life to me.

Sadly, I could not face the truth of telling my parents. When Manmie and Papi returned home that night, I fabricated a story to explain why the tablecloth went missing, why the kitchen smelled like smoke, and why I needed Manmie's help with my burnt left hand.

I still had more learning to do . . .
I still had more growing to do . . .
I still had more living to do . . .

Father, if not for Your love, where would I be? Had You not been the horn of my salvation, I could have lost my life on that January evening so many years ago. You are my strength, my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer. Only Your joy could have replaced the depression of my youth and transformed it into a story of hope, love, and faith. May I follow You all the more gladly throughout the length You have ordained for my days! In Christ, I pray. Amen!

Of Mangos and Mores

One spring morning, I woke up with the awareness that the house felt and sounded different from the night before. There was a familiar and welcoming scent in the air and I could hear happy, excited sounds coming from the kitchen to my receptive ear. Yes, the house felt nothing like it did on the previous day.

The day before, I was morose because I had a terrible day at school. I was particularly teased that day and felt completely worthless. To make matters worse, I had to go to bed hungry that night because we had just finished the last of our food supply.

That morning, however, was quite different.

Papi came home!

As soon as my groggy mind zeroed in on that realization, an emotional change took place within me and the muscles of my body rallied together to move into action. Racing, I got out of bed and dashed to the kitchen to kiss Papi and welcome him home. I had eyes only for him and was satisfied to be held in my father's strong and comforting arms. It was then that I truly opened my eyes to see what was around me.

The sight was overwhelming to say the least.

Everywhere I looked in the kitchen, there were mangos of all shapes and sizes greeting and inviting my ravenous eyes and growling stomach. Busy at "work," my older siblings were already eating and joyfully chatting in the kitchen. I looked up at Papi as I realized that he had just brought all these mangos from Bas-Molas just for our pleasure -- and survival. Soon, I joined the rest of the family, eating my fill of all kinds of delicious Haitian mangos.

Days later, Papi had already gone back to Bas-Molas; yet, we were still eating mangos -- for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Conversations between me and Manmie went like the following:

"What's for dinner?"
"Funny you should ask. How about . . . mangos?"
"Again?!?"

It astounded me to sense a different response from within my heart. The mango harvest was so plentiful that even our voracious appetite did nothing but make a small dent to the generous supply. Our kitchen wall was lined with huge sacks and baskets that were overflowing with mangos.

I began feeling like my family could never consume all of these mangos.
I began resenting the sight and the smell of this never-ending, boring diet.
I began pouting at the mere thought of another "mango" meal.

How typical! 

Human beings are rarely content with what they have. In need, they want plenty; in plenty, they want something else.

Naturally, I began cultivating a heart of grumbling made worse by the fact that those mangos, encouraged by the humid air of Haiti, began to go bad. The delectable taste turned suspect and the beautiful orange began to take a brownish tint. Moreover, the inviting smell was being replaced by an increasingly putrid stench emanating from the bad mangos sitting at the bottom of the sacks and baskets.

Sufficiently disgusted and fed up, I went to school that day and began complaining about those yucky mangos to my classmates. To my surprise, more and more heads were turning toward me until the whole class of some 20 students heard about it and convinced the teacher to let them all go to the Lilite household during recess. Upon arriving home, I told Manmie that my classmates would like to eat some mangos.

I realized that day how rich I was in comparison to many of the other students. I had grown tired of mangos whereas my peers were ecstatic to eat them, thanking Manmie profusely in the process. My heart had become disgruntled whereas their hearts were humbly accepting God's provision for them.

How convincting!


I learned to be grateful that day for what was provided for me. I learned to see how important it was to be generous with others instead of complaining about the unwanted surplus of goods.

Father, please forgive my discontent with need and my frustration with the surplus that I do not want. Help me to see that this social norm of being dissatisfied with my lot runs contrary to Your plan. Help me to follow You with gratitude, contentment, and generosity! Amen. 

1985 (Part I)

"But I trust in Your unfailing love;

my heart rejoices in Your salvation.

I will sing to the Lord,

for He has been good to me."

Psalm 13:5-6, NIV

Prayer works.

I grew up in a family that valued prayer and used it numerous times on a daily basis. Naturally, I acquired a passion for prayer because I saw how genuine and faithful my parents were about praying. There were times when logic dictated that we should lose our home because my parents could not come up with the payment on time. We would call to God and, in time, the needed sum would be provided to us through a generous benefactor or through the blessing of one of my older siblings finding an odd job that would net enough funds for us to make the payment.

Prayer matters.

I remember vividly the day we sat down for breakfast and Manmie calmly announced that we had no sugar for our oatmeal and no prospect for lunch or dinner. I let that sink in. Then I looked at the somber faces of my older siblings and boldly said that I would pray for sugar and for food for the rest of the day. I prayed a short but direct prayer.

After the prayer was over, we began eating our oatmeal and, to my amazement, it tasted sweet.

I was truly excited!

At the end of the meal, a knock on the front door led Manmie to open the door to a friend of the family who brought to us two bags of rice, all kinds of vegetables, a jug of oil, and some chickens. God answered my prayer right then and there. I was hooked!

Prayer prepares.

On New Year's Eve (31 December 1984), I accompanied my family to the local church, Eglise Baptiste de Bolosse, in order to attend an annual service of gratitude and devotion to God -- bidding farewell to the previous year and dedicating the year 1985 to the Lord.

The service began at 9:00 pm and ended shortly past midnight. It was packed with testimonies, songs, prayers, and words of encouragement. However, what I remember most is the presentiment I had that 1985 was going to be a major faith-stretching season in my life.

The year 1985 was the year when I moved from primary school to secondary school in Haiti -- a transition that carried with it psychological, spiritual, financial, physical, and intellectual concerns that lodged a foreboding sense of dread to my troubled heart and mind.

I was concerned about so much -- both the known and the unknown. I was worried that my transition into secondary school would simply be a repetition of my starting kindergarten with all the rejection, ridicule, and bullying I endured in the process. I was also worried over facing new teachers, new peers, new subjects, new challenges, new failures, and the like.

So, that New Year's Eve night, I poured my heart out to the Lord in prayer.

I moaned.
I sighed.
I sang.
I wept.

As it turned out, there was nothing better to do as I welcomed 1985. That year came and did not disappoint me one bit. Its numerous challenges did more than stretch my faith; they directed me to trust more fiercely in God, the Leader of my life.

Father, I live in a world where fear is as readily available as the air I breathe. It is so easy for me to give in to a sense of dread and mental paralysis, so overwhelmed am I by fear-inspiring circumstances. Please remind me that You are near. Please teach me that You are in control and can always be trusted. Please open my mouth to join Job's voice in saying, "I know that You can do all things; no plan of Yours can be thwarted." Teach me to follow You with confidence and faith. In Jesus' name I pray, Amen.

Waiting

Wait!
Hurry up.
Just a minute, please.
How much longer is it going to take?

The above dialog is a fair/faithful script that depicts two particular characters holding opposing views. Both characters have a strong presence in my heart. On the one hand there is Mr. Life (circumstances) which delights in forcing me to wait, and on the other there is my inner voice which seems to rebel against patience at every occasion.

Wait, Lou, wait!

It seems that my entire life has been a laboratory for me to learn the ABCs of patience. My mom informed me that I was born almost two weeks past her due date. I was three months old when Manmie got sick and I was left into the care of others until she recovered. So, even as a baby, I was granted the opportunity to learn the art of waiting.

Wait, little baby, wait!

I was about to turn 4 years old when my family left the remote mountains of northern Haiti and moved to Port-au-Prince so that my older siblings and I could pursue our formal education. The house into which we moved had not been completed yet, contrary to the agreement between Papi and the contractor. The living area was the only room that was complete with a roof. The other rooms in our modest house were completely exposed to the elements.

We arrived in Port-au-Prince just in time for the rainy season. Night after night, Manmie had to shield us from the rain with whatever item she could find. According to my family, I eagerly encouraged my family to pray for the workers to finish the roof. Those memories of waiting in the wet rain still seem bereft of any sign of patience on my part.

Wait, little toddler, wait!


As I grew older, I was provided with ample opportunities to become increasingly more desirous of speed, alacrity, and immediacy in the ways things were done in Haiti.

I wanted missionaries to meet the numerous needs facing them at a faster pace.
I wanted pastors to minister to their parishioners as soon as problems surfaced.
I wanted the women carrying baskets full of produce to arrive at the public markets earlier.
I wanted my classmates to accept, embrace, praise, and love me more readily.
I wanted everything to happen as soon as the wish popped into my head.

Wait, little boy, wait!

By the time I was 10 years old, I had already convinced myself that I deserved better in life:

-  Better circumstances
-  Better food
-  Better health
-  Better friends
-  Better family
-  Better country
-  Better everything

Such convictions resulted in an attitude that reflected the arrogance that I knew better than God did in terms of what I deserved and when I should receive what I thought I deserved. I did not realize that God really knew what He was doing in causing me to learn the art of waiting. There were battles to win, sorrows to overcome, failures to surmount, and mountains to climb -- none of which could have happened without acquiring the wisdom that comes through a season of waiting.

So, at 10 years of age, I was  made aware that I was embarking upon a journey of patience for the rest of my life. It became evident to me, then, that God will always use any combination of pain and pleasure in His timeline for His greater purposes and that the manner in which I respond to His timing will determine whether or not I will let those opportunities for growth slip by me untapped or unused.

Wait, precious child, wait!

"Wait for the Lord, 

be strong and take heart 

and wait for the Lord." 

Psalm 27:14, NIV

Father, infuse my veins with the passion and power to accept seasons of waiting as lessons of wisdom from Your loving hand. In Christ alone, I pray. Amen.

Wanting (Part II)

A couple of hours after I finally fell asleep, I was awakened by other family members who were preparing themselves for a brand new day. Since it was a Thursday, I quickly stepped out of bed in order to attend the neighborhood prayer meeting that regularly took place on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 5:00 am. Upon arriving there, I soon felt warm all over by the blazing fire of the Holy Spirit through the fervent prayers of the people gathered together.

I simply sat there.
I savored the delicious and holy nectar.
I saturated my heart, mind, and ears, listening rivetedly.
I soaked myself with the brook of prayer bubbling all around me.

Then, something exciting happened to me.

God touched me.
God talked to me.
God tossed His fire at me.
God turned His face toward me.

I understood at that moment that, despite the strongly alluring nature of my "wanting" (the ever-consuming lust of the heart of man), its pull is quite insignificant compared to the "wanting" of my all-powerful God -- a divine longing that is altogether holy, perfect, uncompromising, unending, all-encompassing, ever-reaching, and joy-producing.

On that early morning, I learned and sensed how clearly God functions through His "wanting":

God wants me.
God wants all of me.
God wants to guide me.
God wants to hear and heal me.
God wants to touch and transform me.
God wants to restore, strengthen, and uphold me.

God wants my heart, not my sacrifices and rituals.
God wants my hands to be laborious, fruitful, and productive.
God wants my head to be filled with thoughts that are pure and lovely.

God wants me to share my entire being with Him -- my days, nights, concerns, heartaches, dreams, hopes, successes, failures, ups, downs, doubts, fears, joys, sorrows, plans, victories, sufferings, pleasures, etc.

God wants me to be His, and His alone.

God's heart spoke with such clarity and boldness that everything else disappeared around me. Unconsciously, I stopped paying attention to what was happening during the service. I heard no intelligible word, no memorable song, no specific message from the congregants during that entire prayer meeting.

What I did gain, however, was a vibrant sense of understanding -- a keen awareness of why God sent Jesus on His earthly mission. This awareness made me unite my voice with that of Job asking:

"What is man that You make so much of him,

that You give him so much attention,

that You examine him every morning,

and test him every moment?"

Job 7:17-18, NIV

God loves people because, in them, He has deposited His spirit.
God desires human praise because He inhabits the praise of His people.
God longs for the creatures He has created because they are made into His likeness.
God yearns to save all of mankind from doom and despair, offering them hope through the cross.

God wants me.

Precious Father, thank You for desiring all of me. Help me to never forget that I am special in Your eyes -- a masterpiece created in Christ Jesus to good works which God prepared in advance for me to do. May Your "wanting" guide me to follow You gratefully for the rest of my life. Amen!

Wanting (Part I)

"The Lord is my Shepherd,

I shall not want."

Psalm 23:1

Close in rank with John 3:16, the 23rd Psalm is a very famous passage of biblical scripture that has penetrated many remote areas in the world, though not all. So, it is not unusual for a 10-year old boy to know the entire psalm from memory. At that age, I had been reciting Psalm 23 for so long and so frequently that I stopped paying attention to the meaning of the actual text.

One evening, I was having trouble falling asleep when, as a silent exercise, I began reciting Psalm 23 in French, "L'Eternel est mon berger, je ne manquerai de rien." The literal translation from the French is, "The Lord is my Shepherd, I will lack nothing." 

That stopped me cold.

Lacking nothing? 

Whom am I kidding?
Whom am I trying to trick?


I thought to myself, "Living in Haiti is living in lack." At the very least, I lacked sleep that night. As for the rest, my busy mind continued to inventory my state of lack: 

I lacked good food, loads of money, a nice home, a sense of satisfaction, a feeling of acceptance, a sense of belonging, an awareness of my real identity . . .

I could not really put my finger on it but, somehow, that night I began questioning my sense of lack. Am I really lacking the objects described above or am I simply wanting them? Further questioning revealed that those were mere samples of a multitude of wants, desires, and cravings that rushed through my head and crowded my heart that night. I realized while lying on that small twin size bed that "wanting" has characterized my heart.

Wanting to own

Wanting to have

Wanting to acquire

Wanting to possess

Wanting to control

Wanting to boast

Wanting to matter

Wanting to master

Wanting to be . . .

Wanting to be needed
Wanting to be wanted

Wanting to be sought after

Wanting to be celebrated and recognized and praised and . . .

All of a sudden, I became incredibly aware of the full power and the great danger of this wanting -- it is overwhelming, unrelenting, and heart-numbing. 

Could I be the only one consumed with wanting?

"For everything in the world --

the cravings of sinful man,

the lust of his eyes

and the boasting of what he has and does --

comes not from the Father but from the world."

1 John 2:16, NIV

A profound mystery unlocked itself in the deep recesses of my heart -- this wanting is covetousness; it is the dissatisfaction with my plight and the constant search for what others have. It is sin; it is lust. It is the antithesis of the love that God wants me to have, the complete opposite of the contentment to which I must aspire. It is in direct contradiction with what God's love tells me to do.


Lust says, "Gimme, gimme."
Love says, "What can I give away?"
Lust says, "What about me?"
Love says, "What about God? What about others?"
Lust says, "I want to spend this moment in this manner."
Love says, "I want to spend the rest of my life in the ways of God."
Lust says, "I want my preferences to be satisfied now regardless of others."
Love says, "I want to always give in to God's choices and standards. I want to do only that which will exalt God's name. I want to ennoble, encourage, and edify others."


I finally fell asleep close to dawn . . . but my heart is still awake, seeking to understand how to yield all my wants, cravings, choices, desires, and preferences to the Master.


Father, thank You for loving me so much that You'd want me to understand the 'wanting' that has lodged itself within my breast. Help me to say no to lust -- learning to want You and You alone. Shepherd my heart to follow You completely with joy and satisfaction. Amen!