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!
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Friday, April 20, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, April 16, 2012
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,
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.
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.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
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!
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!
Friday, April 6, 2012
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.
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.
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