Julio

 

 

It has been a while since I wrote in my blog. Actually, I haven’t written for more than six years. Not that I had nothing to write about, the opposite is true but maybe it is more my doubt about who to write for.

And then for some reason it changed this morning. At the end of a WhatsApp conversation. Just these words,” I forgot to tell you, Julio died”

Now for most of you that follow our mission work in Haiti, this will not ring a bell. Julio was an unknown person in a world that looks without much mercy upon a man who is mentally challenged. To be honest I have never really understood what the man’s problem was. There was something wrong in his head but what, I don’t know. Then again, aren’t we all somewhat challenged? He would just pop up in these places like church or on the road, at the gate of the orphanage begging the guard to let him in and then the guard would come ask me if I was ok with him coming to see me. As if they did that for anyone else. He would always look at me with what I would call puppy eyes and have these soft-spoken, long-drawn-out conversations sharing the figments in his head and asking me advice on what to do. He came out one day and surprised me with his request to consider him for the position of principal for our school. I did not see that coming and had to use my best words to not hurt him while letting him know that was not an option. Another time he haunted me for a week to have Corn Flakes flown in from the US because he loved them so much after someone had him taste them. He came to tell me that people wanted to kill him or at least was convinced they were after him. He told me he had lived in the US for a while, but I was never able to get that confirmed. Yet in all his conversations he never raised his voice or uttered an angry word. He would stand up at a church service and recite a song or a poem and many people would laugh at what he’d say. He always filled me with intense sadness for him and it hurt me to see him treated like a pariah.

And now he’s dead. From what I hear he was buried like Eleanor Rigby who died and was buried along with her name, nobody came. His cousin went to town and bought a casket. He was buried in the cemetery without anyone there. No service, no funeral, no fanfare. All on the day he died.

Thinking about this reminded me of this story that Jesus told according to Luke 16, vs 19-31. The story of the rich man and the poor Lazarus. Lazarus got carried away by the angels, sort of like Julio did. The rich man had a funeral. He was buried, it says. Probably had the pomp and circumstance accustomed to a person of his standing. Of course, I know it’s a parable.

But the message to me today is that we have the poor Lazari ( is that the plural of Lazarus?) of this world around us and we have a chance to show them love. We often rather focus on the powerful ones and their funerals. I have seen pompous funerals in the same village. We have plenty of those around where we live. What are we doing about the poor ones? Maybe their message is way more important than we think. Maybe they show us about a world we simply cannot see. Yet! Jesus says whatever you did for one of these my brothers, you did for me. Not a chance we really want to miss.

That’s what I wanted to share with you.

Hein

Matthew Twenty Eight Newsletter

Dear Friends of Matthew 28, I hope that this newsletter finds you well. I am writing to tell you of both the troubles and joys of our work in Haiti. At this time of year, with as much turmoil as the Haitians are facing, we should all be thankful for having our basic needs covered—most of us have so much more than that. I have just returned from a couple of weeks in Bohoc. The country is still, after several months, more or less in a lock down. This means the transportation of food has come to a standstill and many places are faced with insanely high food prices. By now most of you will understand that the Haitians cannot fall back on savings and are now able to eat just a few times per week—if that.  Compared to last spring, the rice prices in town are up 300% and fuel as much as 500%. Taking a motorcycle to town is so expensive that most local traffic has come to a halt. It has severely affected our operations as well. Just the last food transport from Croix-de Bouquets took us three tries to accomplish. The first two times the road was blocked close to the destination, and the truck had to return without food.  It is so frustrating and every time that happens, we lose $500. Thankfully, we did receive a generous supply from the Midwest Food Bank. We have enough to cover a few months if the local market were to dry up. At the same time the needs are so staggering. Just the other day we visited a family some three miles away from the orphanage—a pregnant mother, a husband without a job, and six children. They live in a tiny little house made of branches and dirt, and their belongings fit in two buckets. No food! It left me speechless and in tears. Another four families, not too far from there, were pretty much in the same situation. No food! Thankfully, although temporary, we were able to make some improvements to their situations. Depending on which statistics you believe, the country currently has three and a half to eight million people who are severely food insecure. These are just fancy words for crazy hungry and unsure when to expect their next meal. For some it might be tomorrow, for many it may be in a few days. The roads are currently unsafe for travel; luckily, we have been able to come and go through the Pignon airport. The road problems are caused largely by groups of young, unemployed and uneducated men who are easy targets for politicians in the opposition. These men agree to mobilize for a meal or a couple of dollars. The politicians use them to get their way and try to make the current president give up his position. Thankfully, our area of the countryside has rarely been affected by these movements directly. Only its effect on the food supply becomes a major issue. There is no telling how long this situation will last, though it is clear that the people need a resolution soon. Despite all this tragedy, there are things for which to be thankful. I would like to share those with you.   Our children are doing very well. As you can see, Djoudmika, our youngest found some stickers!  They have not missed a day in our school yet—while most of the schools in the country have been closed since the beginning of the summer vacation. So far, the bulk of the Haitian students have missed 50 days of school. We have stayed open! For the teachers among you, imagine the setback of not having school for a total of 5 months! We were able to do a medical check for the children since Lala was able to fly in and come to Bohoc. Thankfully, there were only a few minor problems. Thanks be to God. In addition, we have been able to feed not only the 33 children in the orphanage plus the staff and their dependents, but also, without interruption, the 1150 children in the feeding centers. What a blessing! We also continue to feed some 50 to 60 students in the school as well as the teachers and staff. This means so much! Children should be able to grow up without the stress of hunger wherever they are in this world. I am so thankful that you agree with and support this mission! Our responsibility on God’s earth is not limited to the borders of countries. Last week, when I watched a mother hen hide her chicks under her wings in the courtyard, I was reminded that God shows us these things to guide us in our actions—to be an example of his unconditional love. The parable of the Talents (Matthew 25:14-30) shows how we have been given, all at our own level, a choice: to make this world a better place or to just leave it and throw up our hands and give the problems back to God. Now more than ever we need your prayers and support for the people of Haiti. In the future, we would like you to consider coming to Bohoc and to help us with the education or medical care for the many entrusted to us. The current problems are great, but we have been able to continue our work flying in on Mission Flights International to Pignon. If you feel called to come help, please let me know, and we’ll plan you in. We have made some great advances despite these difficult times. We just recently flushed the first toilet in the Matthew 28 courtyard! This is no joke! We are moving up in the world, be it slowly, and I hope to go back soon to finish it all. Below: Berlinda making the First Flush! Below: Kerby and Tenor "Watching papa putting in the new toilet" We are currently looking to fund several exciting projects that would greatly increase the quality of life at the orphanage. Solar Electricity. We have dealt long enough with the unreliable power from the state and need to move on to greener ways by installing solar panels. A Well for the School. We need to drill a well on the school property. We have spent too much time and resources trying to keep the water flow going but enough is enough. The plan is to drill a well, close in the water tower, and to make a secure room for the well and a generator. Water Purification System. We are also going to install a water purification system to provide the school with ample potable water. Currently, our guards walk two miles every day with a wheel barrel of drinking water. Classrooms and Library. In May, we plan to construct two more classrooms and a library. Finally, I must share with you the importance of being there for the children and, believe it or not, even more for the adults. They surely know what is going on in the country and, although it has not yet been a problem in our area, they realize that, due to the current political climate, many missionaries are choosing not to return to Haiti. In many of the conversations I have had these past weeks, the Haitians have expressed their fear that we all would be leaving them. They are a very vulnerable people and we need to stand by them as we have in all the years up to now. This is what I talked about when I told the more than 150 of you who came with me to Bohoc that your life would be forever changed. We are counting on you! Thank you for the love you expressed in your support for our work, Blessings Hein Vingerling

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Johannes Ibubesi

There it was! 

Nervously I handed the baker my dime and held my hands open to receive my treasure. Quickly I left the store, afraid to answer any questions he might have asked. Of course it was all in my mind, the baker just made another dime. On the way home I opened my prized possession and ate the tasteless candy that was inside the transparent toy submarine hull. That had been the object of my desire ever since I spotted it a few days before in the bakery window close to my school.  

That morning when as usual a row of coins were laying on the edge of the breakfast table for me and my siblings, I had picked up my dime, which was destined to go into the collection box, that always was passed around during the first hour of class. That time was set aside to learn about the foreign missions, supported by our school and our church.  Each week stories about the missionaries captivated my imagination and often I dreamed away thinking about all the adventures of these men, invariably dressed in white suits and tropical helmets. Stories of mass conversions where dozens were baptized with a garden hose came to mind. I don’t know where some of these crazy stories came from but I still remember them. Maybe it was the teacher who was fired up by zeal for the Lord, who knows.

My father was an avid supporter of mission work and believed in the sending of Christian teachers to not only teach the Gospel but to provide solid education in reading writing and math. His church was strong in that area! So supporting the mission and teaching his own children to give faithfully every week was part of our upbringing.

With a lump in my throat I had lied to the teacher that my father had forgotten to give us money that morning, and luckily he had moved on to the next person with the collection box. I am sure that my face would have given the truth away had he probed.

Now I was on my way home and hid the toy in my pocket before I got into the house. Once inside I quickly brought it to my room and made plans to try it out that night. We had a full size bath tub in the bathroom where normally once every week all the children were bathed in rows of two or three next to each other. I hated bath time because my parents believed in cold rinses after we had been washed with hot water. I hated it! Imagine how surprised my mother was when I announced that night that I would like to take a bath. I smuggled the sub into the bathroom and got all into playing with it, when all of a sudden my mom knocked on the door. Quickly I hid the toy behind my back when she entered. When she asked what I had there I answered “Nothing” but I knew I was in trouble. She then asked me to show the “nothing” and I ended up confessing in one breath! Like always when I had done something bad she was not angry but very saddened that I had done such a low thing with my mission money. My mom was good at guilt trips! I was determined never to sin like that again. What did I know about the seed that was just planted in my heart?

Fifty-two years later!

Sitting in the airplane on our second leg to Port au Prince Haiti, I sat next to the newest member of our Matthew Twenty Eight team, who for the first time in his life went on a mission trip. Richard who was born in raised in Cameroon turned out to be a very pleasant man and we bonded instantly. I shared with him that I had been in Cameroon 23 years before to work on a mission hospital in the rain forest! We had plenty to talk about and then the conversation came to my early years in school and the stories I remembered from those days. About a book that I read then of a boy in a missionary school ,named Johannes Ibubesi, that was still stuck in my mind. I told Richard how important mission education had been to my father in those days. With wet eyes Richard looked at me and said "I was in mission school with a Dutch teacher who taught me all the basics that put me ahead of the crowd in Cameroon". “Without that man I would have never made it out of Cameroon and into the world”. “Your Father was right, he did a great thing for me”! Now it was my time to tear up and I realized that my submarine had come to circle the globe! I had just found the “Johannes Ibubesi” from my book! God’s ways are wonderful!

Angels?

 Violent protests in Haiti related to the alleged fraud in the election process of the new president.

It was not until I sat down in the airplane that was about to leave Haiti’s tumultuous capital, Port-au-Prince, that my mind started to put the happenings of yesterday into perspective. The wonderful team that was with me had worked hard on a slew of projects and most all had been finished by Thursday night. During the week I had kept an eye on the reports of manifestations and violence in relation to the election that popped up all over the country. Our area as usual had nothing to worry; people just went about their business to survive from day to day. I felt that keeping the news away from the team was warranted. After all we could not change anything and it might have made some of them very nervous. Thursday night it became clear that the route we were planning to take the next day was going to be impassable because of protests. Several vehicles traveling on route national #3 in Thomonde had been set on fire and that was something we could not risk. Early Friday I called a friend who is a commander in the Haitian police force and discussed a plan for getting to Port-au-Prince. Our route was going to take us North, through the mountains and close to Gonaives so Lala and Youvendjy who had been with us, could be dropped off. After that we would drive south on the #1 along the coast and head for Port.  During the day I kept getting information about the possible trouble spots, but we did real well and had smooth sailings until late in the afternoon we received a warning about a town just ahead of us called Saint Medard, where supposedly a protest was getting out of control.  I told everyone that it could become a little tense and to better say a prayer. When we approached the town it was clear that something was going on. People everywhere along the road seemed to look or wait for trouble to happen. Traffic was slowing down and all of a sudden two guys jumped on the back of our van. They stood on the bumper holding the rooftop rack. One of them was dressed entirely in white, the other in red. Initially Jeff, our driver, let them be but after we came to a stop he went outside to ask them what they wanted. He acted very timid and clearly afraid of what might happen. When he came back in he just said they were obviously locals and said they wanted to ride with us to the protest. We drove on slowly for a short distance and when we came to a complete stop, the guy in the white jumped off, came next to Jeff’s window and said he was going to help us. Next he directed Jeff to turn into the oncoming lane and for more than half a mile we zapped past a long line of vehicles all waiting to move on.  Suddenly our lane had traffic in it and when we slowed down, the man in white cleared an opening in the standing traffic and directed Jeff to pull in. Once again he made us go in the left lane and we passed another line of standing cars and trucks. Still standing on the back bumper he motioned Jeff to stop and he guided us through the line of waiting traffic onto a small gravel trail that led us away from the busy road. Soon we were completely surrounded by banana plantations and had no idea where we were. The thought crossed my mind that we might end up getting robbed but I was more intrigued about what was going on then to worry about that.  About ten minutes later and after making a lot of turns we ended up at the main road again but now on the other side of all the trouble, at least that is what it seemed. Just at that very moment two guys on a motorcycle blocked our way and started cursing and screaming at Jeff who they said had been passing them too close. They turned nasty real fast and it looked like they were picking a fight. In that instance our guy in white stood all of a sudden next to these two upset fellows. It seemed he huffed up and in a lightning fast movement he grabbed the ear of one of them, twisted and yanked it and made the guy instantly change his attitude. Clearly he was in charge. Now the two motor guys were docile like lambs and quickly left the scene. When we turned on the main highway our hero jumped off, said goodbye and smiled when Jeff put an unexpected tip in his hand. He had not asked for anything! On we went with Red guy still guarding our back. He stayed on the bumper for the next 20 minutes until we had passed all possible trouble spots. Once we turned on a local road leading to our destination for the night, he simply jumped off and disappeared. 

Two rows in front of me I hear some people telling how scared they had been yesterday, in the same place, when a crowd was beating on their car  and windows. Wow! What exactly did happen? We sure had been protected from something that could have been frightful.  Angels?

Never Alone

Being in any Haitian church on a Sunday requires a lot of patience from those of us who like short and to-the-point services. I always try to avoid the first hour or so, when the Sunday school part takes place. Sunday school is the time during which memorization of Bible verses is done, verses that so many of the Haitian Christians have readily available at any occasion that calls for it.

In my youth, memorization was a part of our Sunday night routine. It was a time when my siblings and I had to memorize Psalms that had to be recited in school, the next morning during the first hour of class. Each student had to stand up at their desk and spout out the stanza, that our teacher had selected from our hymn book for that week. We were graded by how good we did it. It was quite an experience, I must say, because we went to a poor inner city school where many of the kids used God’s name more to curse than in any other way. Up until the moment that it was my turn, I would be nervous, anxiously waiting.  Once I was done, I would, in a more relaxed way, enjoy, the occasional hilarious, butchering of the lyrics by kids that had no clue of their meaning.

Anyways, in later years, I did not spend much time trying to learn Bible verses by heart. Early on in Haiti, I was once amazed to listen to a ten-year old blind boy, who, according to the leader of the church, had memorized the entire New Testament and all of the Psalms. The boy was teaching the other children the verses in one of our feeding centers. Although I often wished that I had that ability, I never put any effort in it.

On a Friday just recently, I woke up early with a strange urge to read Psalm 23; for those of you less familiar with that, it is the well known “the Lord is my Shepherd” Psalm. Not only did I read it, but it felt like I had to memorize it. And although I did not quite understand where this feeling came from, I did it. I even studied some websites explaining the use of phrases like “the valley of the shadow of death,” which are not exactly terms that we, in modern times, use a lot. The consensus was that it meant something like a very bad place or time in our lives. When I was done, I knew it by heart.

At seven thirty that morning, after breakfast, I continued to work on the project I was doing for a couple of friends at their house. Three hours later, I fell off of a ladder, fracturing one of my vertebrae. In that split second when visions of being paralyzed in a wheelchair flashed before me, I realized that I was powerless to change the outcome and waited for the impact with the ground. Then I understood!

“Even when I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.”

Even when I write this I am still recovering, and it looks like I will be alright, but I wanted you to be witness of the strange and wonderful promise in these words. I am never alone.

Miranda

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world. James 1:27

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' Matthew25:40

Never before did I feel God’s hand in my life stronger than that day in February 1996. This story is the heart of my book.

Three years earlier papa had passed away. One of the anchors in my life was gone! But I was not very sad. That may sound strange but the day before he died, he told me that he was so ready to go and I knew it was the truth. Hanging on longer would not have made any sense. We both knew where he was going and that was a great comfort. A year later my mother followed. Her life seemed so pointless without him. She was just waiting to go too. I travelled to Holland to visit her after she had a major stroke. She was completely out of touch with the world except for this little squeeze in my finger, just once, when I said goodbye to her. No last words, but I knew she wanted so much to be with papa.

A few months later, my only brother, Piet called me and told me this would be his last Christmas. He had had a bout with colon cancer and it seemed he got better but it came back with a vengeance. It was as if my heart froze in my chest. He had a family with four young children. Piet and I were so close. Would this dying streak ever end? God, why? Why? I prayed and prayed and I trusted He would heal him. I went up to the altar in a healing service on behalf of him and then I prayed more but just a year later Piet lost his fight too and left us. This time I did not see God’s wisdom, I was disillusioned and full of doubt. I didn’t get it.

Then came the day we buried him. The day that we found ourselves walking behind the hearse from the church to the cemetery, holding the hands of his little ones together with what seemed the entire village. This made no sense.

In the evening we gathered at my sister’s restaurant. Life goes on. Over a meal we talked about our lives that we were living so far apart from each other, on different sides of the ocean. My sister, Sient, asked me about the children in Haiti. She loved children so much and she always supported our work. We, my wife, two of our daughters and I had just come back from a visit to Haiti. While there I had been faced with a difficult question to do something for the orphans in the area. At the time I had not been able to give an answer and now I shared this with my sister and said it would be nice if one day we could build an orphanage. But even though she nodded in agreement I knew it was not likely to ever happen.

When I was leaving my sister’s place, she walked me to the door. It was past closing time and there were no guests left. We said our goodbyes and I noticed that she fumbled an envelope in my coat pocket. When I asked her what it was she just said “It’s ok, that’s for your work in Haiti”. That was just like her, few words but all deeds.

Sitting on the edge of my bed that night, I remembered and pulled the envelope out of my pocket. A little yellow note stuck to it read “For the orphanage, I think it’s a good idea, you should do it!” Inside there was a wad of Dutch guilder bills, the equivalent of thirty-two hundred dollars.  My head was spinning. This was incredible. From what I knew, this might suffice to buy a piece of land large enough for an orphanage and gardens. My mind was reeling. Although I did not realize it yet on that sad day, God had put a new purpose, a new thing to live for, in my life. But at the time that was not so clear.

As soon as I got back home I called my friend Mark to tell him what had happened.  We started to make plans. A good friend was a full-time missionary in Haiti and I wrote him to ask if he knew of any suitable land for an orphanage that was for sale. Within weeks I received a wonderful response.  Charlie had wanted to start a farm for orphan boys in Haiti to teach them better ways to do agriculture. For this purpose he had purchased a very nice piece of land covered with fruit trees. I read on and it got even better; there were several small buildings on the land that could be of use to start the orphanage. Sadly enough he was not able to carry out his plans because he was to be transferred to Kenya, but my letter had been a godsend. Charlie had already made some payments and now he was offering us to take over the land if we were willing to pay off the remainder he owed on it. It was almost too good to be true. I hastened to write him that we were interested and to ask how much was still owed to the seller. A little over a week later he gave me a call. He said “Hein I need an answer because I need to leave to Kenya”. What he said after that stunned me. He still owed thirty-two hundred dollars and if we paid it the land was ours.  Wow! God had to be in this, what could stop us now! The path became visible!

One a Tuesday in February, Mark, Robert our pastor, and I got on a DC-3. We flew to Cap Haitien the second largest city of Haiti. From there it would take a rough, four hour long road trip in the back of a dump truck to cover the forty-nine miles to Bohoc, a small village in the Central Plateau. The next day we were scheduled to sign the contract and transfer the title of the land. I hoped for a chance to talk things over with some of our missionary friends before all that would take place. When we exited the airplane, I was glad to spot them on the outside of the chain link fence that surrounded the airport.  Quickly I walked up to them much to the dismay of an official who started yelling at me. We talked briefly but I found out that we would not see them until Saturday night as they were on the way to the capitol for important business. They had to go now and there was no more time to talk.

We made the exhausting trip without problems. The next day we travelled back almost halfway along the same road to meet with the attorney. We signed the papers, and now were the proud owners of the land for the future orphanage. My excitement knew no bounds.  What a privilege to be able to do something so great for these poor children of Haiti. I was elated. That night sleep did not come easy because of all the plans racing through my mind.

Early on Thursday we joined the work crew that we hired to widen the path that ran from the property to the main road. In awe I watched a bare foot Haitian cut down a sizeable tree with a razor sharp axe. He didn’t miss a lick and soon the tree fell to the ground. Haitians are such strong and skilled workers and it is a delight to work alongside of them. By Friday others had finished digging the trenches for the kitchen and storage room foundations. More footings would follow soon for the dorms. This was so awesome, no red tape!  Things were moving right along and my enthusiasm grew by the hour. I pushed away the thought that we had to leave in four days. I wanted to stay so bad to see all of the construction being finished. That was however not an option and besides there were still many other things to be done before the place was ready for the first orphans. We had arranged to leave all this in the hands of our Haitian friends under the leadership of Paulius Lucien who we hired for this job.  This is how we wanted it to be, Haitians working on their own problems with a little help from us.

Late that Saturday evening our friends arrived after an all day truck ride from Port au Prince. They were worn out but nevertheless asked us to come over for a short while to share our plans. We headed to their house and told them all that we had been doing that week and all the plans we had for the orphanage construction. I had expected them to be exited for us but in the middle of my story things suddenly turned sour. Barbara got a worried look on her face and asked me straight forward with whom we had been working on this project. When I mentioned that it was the magistrate, a sort of mayor, she did not seem to like that answer. Her response made me upset as she went on to say that there was a big problem. I asked her why but she did not answer me. She told us she had promised to keep certain things confidential and was not at freedom to share any more with us. We had come to a dead end. Our conversation was finished. If we were going to be left in the dark I had no desire to stay in their house anymore and I got up and left with Mark and Robert following. My excitement was gone and a dark cloud positioned itself in my mind. Was I waking from a dream? Had reality caught up with me? There was apparently a big thing that I had overlooked and that was about to cause trouble. I felt guilty that I dragged Mark into this and even more that I had all the locals so worked up over the prospect of an orphanage. It was maddening not to know what was going on and I felt stupid. Why had I jumped the gun on this project? Should I have spent more time planning? I didn’t know and I felt sick to my stomach. I looked in despair to my friends for answers. They had none. A long sleepless night followed and things got from bad to worse in my mind. The darkness from my brother’s death was back.

Sunday morning brought no new insights. More than the night before it felt that I had been wasting my time and my sister’s money. I wanted to get out of Haiti and get this nightmare behind me but I knew that was not possible at least not until Tuesday. But was that really an option? Turmoil ruled my heart to the point of making me physically sick.

We had been invited to have breakfast with another missionary couple who had just finished their first year in Haiti. It had been a difficult year and both of them had been plagued with disease and discouraging events. Our conversation over breakfast was not very uplifting and fueled my negative feelings even more and I lost whatever motivation I had left.

It was time for church but I really had no desire going there this morning. Mark and Robert started to walk along the dusty road and reluctantly and more out of habit, I was following at a distance.  Loneliness and sadness filled my heart and if it had been possible I would have flown back home to never return. Consumed by such thoughts I walked by myself, far behind Mark and Robert.

 Although it was nothing special, my attention was drawn to something that happened on the road before me. A little girl came from one of the little houses along the road. She was dressed in a torn up, stained dress and walked up alongside Mark while taking his hand. She walked a few steps beside with him but then let go. Now she moved to the other side where Robert was walking. She took his hand and walked a few steps with him. Something seemed different however. It was as if she was looking for someone. She let go of Robert’s hand and then waited in the middle of the road until I had caught up with her. What happened next left my heart forever in Haiti. I reached out my hand expecting that she would walk with me too but instead she blocked my way and wrapped both of her arms around my legs. She turned her little face up and I looked down into a pair of dark eyes I will never be able to describe other than the eyes of Jesus, and then I broke down in tears. All of my pain and frustration came out and I stood there crying. The embrace of the little arms became stronger trying to comfort me and my tears now flowed freely. I don’t know how long we stood there but I noticed that some people had stopped to watch us and somewhat embarrassed I carefully loosened her grip on me and took her hand. I did not want her to go away as strangely I felt so comforted by her and asked her if she would like to come to church with me. For just a fleeting moment I thought about first asking her mother who would not know where she had gone but decided that in Haiti this was no big deal and turned onto the path leading to the church entrance.

The church was packed with singing people and there was only one small spot left on the bench closest to the door. As soon as I sat down the little girl climbed in my lap and rested her head against my chest. My tears were back and I was relieved that I sat in the back where no one would see me cry. The little girl wiped the tears from my face only to make room for new ones. I felt so sad and she did not know what was in my heart. Or did she? I noticed Mark and Robert look at me and then I realized that Barbara, the friend who had made me so upset the night before, was sitting three rows in front of  me. Just at that moment she turned around and smiled at me. She was saying something but the singing was too loud to hear. However the words forming on her lips I will never forget.   “She’s one of your children”.

The eyes of my heart were opened.

Sitting in my lap was a little orphan girl that God had sent to me.  He did not want me to give up and He knew the only thing that could stop me was a little child.

Oh, the emotions of that moment…

Before I totally realized what had happened, the child slid of my lap and dashed to Barbara to give her a big hug. My anger towards Barb melted away. Next a deacon shoed the little girl out of the aisle and she slipped out of the church in the back.

 I do not remember anything other than that I cried during most of the service. After church we got together and I asked everyone if they had understood what happened there this morning and all of them were speechless and in awe. Barbara’s words were “Hein, that was the Lord God speaking to you”

I asked Pauluis to go look for Miranda, as I found out that that was her name. Everyone knew her. She was a homeless orphan staying here, then there just for a day or for a little bit of food. I wanted her to be our first orphan and asked Pauluis to arrange for her care while the construction was underway which he gladly promised to do.

In the afternoon, Barbara, who now had asked permission to speak about the problem told us that there was another initiative to build an orphanage with money they had donated. She thought that would create a conflict of interests. We did not see one. A real issue never existed, but it surely put me to the test and shook me to the core.

And what happened with Miranda?   People were sent out to search for her but no one could ever find her. She was no longer around. In Hinche , the provincial capital they found out that she had died some time before!

 

I struggled with this for many years and recently when I told this story in church to our orphans, I again shared my confusion with Pauluis. He was very clear about it. Miranda had died before I saw her on the road…

One day I will know for sure but it will not change the miracle of meeting her and the change it made in my heart. Now, eighteen years later, I realize that God gave me a new life that same day I said goodbye to my only brother. His ways are wonderful and amazing!

 

 

Copyright © 2014 by Hein Vingerling