Haiti - December 2010

Working with NOMADS is not the only way I serve the Lord and helping others.  After I returned from the NOMADS Annual Meeting in September 2010, I saw a notice for mission team going to Haiti in December.  A tremendous earthquake struck Haiti in January 2010 and leveled many buildings and homes.  Thousands of people were homeless.  I had never been to Haiti, it seemed like a good place to do a mission, and I had no reservations to joining the team.  So, I signed up with the team.  I cannot say the Lord was speaking to me about the trip, but I sensed He was.  Usually, when considering a venture to a new place outside the US where I may not speak the language or understand the culture, I might have some degree of concern or question.  This time, none of that.

The nine or so team members came from all sorts of places throughout New England, or the northeastern part of the United States, extending from New Hampshire to West Virginia.  We had a great group of men and women of very different backgrounds.  Our team planned to stay about a week.  We did not expect what lay in store for us.

Arriving at the airport in Port au Prince a local guy who worked at the United Methodist Guest House greeted us.  The Guest House was run by the United Methodist Committee on Relief, or UMCOR, and would house us for the week.  The guy knew just how to lead us through the crowded airport to our transportation.  We loaded the luggage in the back of a truck that looked a lot like the ones used to haul prisoners.  The back of the truck had a large cage surrounded by heavy mesh on the upper third so we could see out.  It had two metal benches along the sides.  Aside from the jokes of traveling in style, we enjoyed our first glance at the nation’s capital.

Surprising to me was the extent of devastation.  Crumbled buildings were everywhere.  Most showed no signs of recovery from the earthquake.  I presumed there might be bodies still buried by the rubble.  I felt a certain sadness mixed with my curiosity and wonder of this country.

Haiti was about to have a political election.  I heard there were about thirty candidates running for president.  Candidate posters were everywhere, perhaps geographically to support the candidate of that particular area.

On my first day of work I rode by van to the work site across town.  A new concrete structure stood in place of the previous building.  I thought it was a simple construction and soon realized the entire structure was made of concrete, including decorative molding around the walls.  The job that day was to sand the walls and ceiling to make them ready for painting.  The quality of workmanship was very nice.  The team joined a small group of local workers and made ourselves dirty and dusty.

The trek across town showed me more crumbled buildings and hoards of people on the streets.  I soon noticed the tent ‘cities’ set up in every open space, sometimes the street.  In sharp contrast were the children dressed in school uniforms walking to school.  I heard that most of the schools in Haiti are private and to attend, the children must be dressed in clean uniforms.  In spite of the poverty that plagued the country, parents insured their kids were clean, properly attired, and in school.

The United Methodist Guest House was a two-story building located inside an expansive walled compound.  The compound also housed the Methodist church of Haiti, a private school, and apartments for local clergy, staff of the United Methodist Committee on Relief, and some workers.  A gate into the compound was at the end of a short, narrow street off a busy main thoroughfare that bordered one side of the compound.  Along that short street vendors would set up wares to sell to visitors.

The second day began very differently.  We woke to sounds of crowds in the street about a block away from the Guest House.  A few of our team climbed a ladder onto the roof to see across the treetops.  The air hung with smoke from fires in the streets.  Apparently, factions were demonstrating to express displeasure with the election.

The demonstrations lasted most of the week.  Out of concern for our safety, the UMCOR staff kept our team within the compound.

To use our time wisely, we set about doing small projects.  A few of us painted the inside of a large schoolroom.  While painting I noticed very few wooden tables, and soon learned why wood was rarely used in Haiti.  Termites are quite good at finding any wood; just about anywhere wood is used.  I saw the tracks of earthen ‘tunnels’ stretching across the concrete floor from wall to table.  Termites had eaten into all the tables, desks, and chairs, etching their unique designs into all the wood.

I found a group of local workers who were repairing a cistern.  They were preparing to plaster the walls of the cistern and could use my help carrying debris and water.  The workers stretched a long extension cord from another building so they would have light in the hole where they worked.  The school closed due to the civil unrest, so there was no electricity available to the workers.  I retrieved my headlamp from my bunk.  While the battery lasted, they had a little light.  I worked with them for two days and ended up leaving my headlamp with them when I left.  One of the workers spoke a little English so he and I tried to teach the other our native language.  I think he learned more English than I learned French Creole.

The Guest House could accommodate maybe fifty people tops.  One team was waiting to fly out while we were there.  The airport closed because workers could not get to work through the clogged streets.  Needless to say, the team was not going anywhere.  Meanwhile, two other teams came in from remote areas of Haiti to await the next available flight.  Somehow, the Guest House made room for everyone.  Water supply and electricity are sometimes unavailable or in short supply.  With the sudden high number of residents, we soon ran out of water for showers and toilet.  To complicate things further, the electricity was intermittent.  UMCOR had a generator for such times, which was nice.  However, the diesel fuel had a bit too much water in it so, no generator.  As they say, No problemo.  We waited out repairs to the generator and applied the old adage, ‘If it’s brown, flush it down; if it’s yellow, let it mellow.’  We survived just fine.

By Saturday, we thought about venturing out to visit a Methodist Children’s Home.  The kids ranged roughly in age from 7 to 17.  Their parents were killed in the earthquake.  I soon learned how starved the kids were for love and attention.  I left my ‘comfort zone’ in the car and went to play with the kids.  After a while I settled onto a concrete step to watch the older kids play soccer on a small slab.  Though they played in such a small confined area, they were very good.  Later the game turned to basketball with some of our team joining in.  I think the kids had a great time.

The next day, Sunday, found our team attending a church service near the parsonage where we should have been working.  This was another adventure.  First, we walked a couple of blocks from the parsonage to the church.  Along the way I saw collapsed buildings that appeared untouched since the earthquake.  I wondered if any bodies remained under the huge concrete slabs.  One of those buildings was across the street from the church.  I questioned how one building could be flattened while the nearby church seemingly remained intact.

The church filled to capacity, and it was not a small church.  Surprising to me, all the adults sat on one side and all the children on the other.  Our team was asked to sit with the children, for some reason.  Beside me sat a young sister and brother, about 4 and 6 years old, respectively.  The girl kept looking up at me.  She was shy but curious.  After a while, I started making my hand like a spider, as I once did with my own children.  The girl laughed.  I soon learned that I started something that I should not have started.  Hearing a sound, I glanced across the church and the mother was pointing her finger at her kids with the distinct sight and sound of ‘you children best behave or you are going to get what fer when you get home!’  Sheepishly, I put the spider away.

Like any curious child, the girl now began to poke her finger at my arm.  She seemed intrigued with my skin color.  She then pulled the hair on my arm and examined my skin more closely.  My first thought was, ‘hey, watch out for mom over there.  I don’t want to get you in trouble (again).’

The church service last about two hours, quite a bit longer than what I am used to.  After church we said our goodbyes to the fine people of that small part of our world and headed to a Canadian-owned restaurant for lunch.  The restaurant sat high on a hill overlooking an expanse of tropical trees and houses, most of which were covered with blue tarps.  Lunch was native fare and very good.  I had a chicken dish with the ubiquitous beans-and-rice (or rice-and-beans, which I understand is entirely different from the former) and plantains.  Of course, I had to wash it down with a good-ole Coke in the old 16-ounce glass bottle.  As we left, we were intrigued with the gate guard armed with a machine gun.  Hmm.

Our driver took us away from the city, along curvy roads, up into the high country.  Within minutes clouds and a fine mist surrounded us.  It was cooler as we stepped out into the fresh air.  Wow, was it ever beautiful!  Lush green hills stretched in every direction.  One of the sights was a building that one of our team members had worked on when she visited Haiti years earlier.  Now, the building was inhabited due to the earthquake.  I sensed a bit of sadness as she looked over the area.

Monday was a day of finishing our projects around the compound and sorting items received from UMCOR (disaster relief stuff).  I should say that the sorting of UMCOR stuff is significant since I later participated in a mission to the disaster relief facility that UMCOR maintains in Baldwin, LA.  It was good to make the connection between collecting and packaging disaster supplies in the US and then unpacking those supplies in Haiti.

Since our return flight was scheduled for Tuesday, we figured the airport would be back up and running by then.  We checked our reservation occasionally and found that it remained intact.  No worries.  The Lord was watching over us as we headed out on Tuesday morning skirting the city to avoid debris-cluttered streets.  Getting through the airport was relatively uneventful.  All of us boarded our flight to Miami.  Once there, we said our goodbyes to one another and headed to our respective flights home.

It was a good trip.  I would return to Haiti, if given the chance and the Lord makes it possible.

Host of the Haiti mission team

Very nice accommodations

Sleeping quarters

Dining area - local cuisine

Road outside gate to Guest House compound

View of Port au Prince, Haiti

View of Haiti countryside - blue tarps cover many homes

Population displaced by earthquake almost 1 year later

Collapsed building across from Methodist Church

Many people live in tents on the street

Typical city life in Port au Prince

Our team assembles for work

Enjoying local fare after church on Sunday

At work on concrete wall

Playing with boys at the Methodist Children's Home

Most of the children lost parents in earthquake

The people of Haiti are very nice

I would revisit Haiti for sure!

Finding My Niche, My Passion

The Lord had blessed me with a wonderful truck – Dodge 3500 diesel with more towing capabilities than I would ever imagine – and a 5th wheel trailer, my home away from home.  He led me to an organization named NOMADS that enabled me to travel, help those in need, travel, meet and make new friends, travel, find a true purpose in life, travel, experience new and varied adventures, travel, and serve my Lord and Savior – all at the same time.

As part of beginning a new life, I learned the NOMADS were having an annual meeting in Marion, North Carolina, in October 2010.  I figured North Carolina was a short distance, relative to traveling across country to, say, Oklahoma, where most of my family lives.  I figured what better chance is there to try out my new trailer, hauling it down there and all.  I could do that!

I went.  I outfitted my trailer with more ‘stuff’ than I would ever need even if I were to venture into the far northern reaches of Canada in search of the real northern route between the Atlantic and Pacific.  I hooked up my trailer and headed south.  The trip lasted about 7 hours and for the most part was uneventful, until I arrived.  I followed the hand signals and vocal commands of the volunteers who assisted NOMADS entering the campground.  Never having experienced such a seemingly easy thing to do, but at the time such an insurmountable task, I pulled my trailer proudly along the narrow gravel drive between the other parked RVs, 5th wheel trailers, those common bumper-hitch trailers, and quite an assortment of towing, towed, and other miscellaneous-use vehicles.  I leaned back, ball cap cocked in cool fashion, dark sunglasses hiding the fear in my eyes, and negotiated my way using the clambering of my diesel truck to hide the loud pounding of my heart.  I unobtrusively wiped the sweat from my hands and brow, hoping the cool 70-ish degree weather would not give way to the truth of my nervousness.

As I steered into my volunteer-directed slot with my trailer close behind I was suddenly slammed forward as if God had put his hand in front of me and stopped me and all the weight I towed on a proverbial dime.  I thought, what the…!  A gathering of old guys, as if I am not one of that auspicious group, approached my truck and trailer peering around to see what caused me to stop so suddenly in the middle of the gravel path.  All nervousness set aside for the moment, I jumped from the cab probably looking more scared than the oh-well-just-another-opportunity-to-exercise-my-prowess-in-towing-a-trailer look that I tried to purvey.  My eyes quickly searched the surrounding area for the cause of my abrupt stop.  I quickly searched for the huge fallen tree in the road that I somehow missed while concentrating on how well I looked in front of these seasoned travelers and trailer haulers.  If not a tree, then it was surely a rogue cinder block that ran undetected from a pile of blocks several feet away coaxed by other veteran blocks to pass this coming-of-age test into what blocks really do when no one is watching and wrench itself under my wheel causing me to look incredibly stupid while the remaining blocks laughed and giggled at my expense.  No, the real cause was the entangled cable that attached my emergency break enabler.  It caused the trailer brakes to engage and, well, as designed, stopped me in my tracks.  I acted as if stuff like that happens, as I was sure all the seasoned old-guy travelers knew quite well, and quickly untangled the short cable and returned to the protective shelter of my truck cab.  I pulled the trailer into my assigned spot and greeted my audience of veteran onlookers as the greenhorn traveler I was.  It may or may not have been obvious I was a ‘newby’, still they greeted me with friendship and offers to help.  I was among friends.  I was among fellow NOMADS, followers of our Lord Jesus Christ, in other words, family.  Wanting to experience all that is involved in setting up a trailer, I politely declined the many offers for help and in short order, unhooked and set up my campsite.

The week in Marion was short but filled with a new world of happiness, something that had eluded me for many years.  I found so many friendly people.  Like me, they wanted to serve the Lord.  They wanted to help others with little regard to what it cost them.  Though I first thought they were a bunch of old people, I knew down deep in my heart they were all close to my age.  Until, perhaps, came the Fifties dance.  Those who know me know that I am not a fan of dancing, unless, of course, I have a little help from Jack D, Uncle Bud, or one of those guys.  I am also not a fan of alcoholic beverages but I am able to recognize and understand the need to seek that kind of help when absolutely necessary, such as dancing.  I realized that I was just a babe in the fifties and not familiar with poodle skirts and saddle shoes.  I managed to hold my own with my biker jacket, white tee shirt, and blue jeans rolled at the bottom.  Forget the ducktail – not enough hair for that.

Another high point, or low point depending on how you look at it, was my first night.  It was cold in the hills of North Carolina in October.  Growing up in a mobile home, I recall my dad always said you have to light the pilot light on the heater before turning it on.  Otherwise, gas will leak into the house and kill everyone!  That fear carried with me over the years was now screaming in my ears.  Not wanting to die on my first outing with my trailer, I searched and searched for that elusive pilot light.  I decided to tough it out and pile on the blankets, rather than risk being asphyxiated by propane in the night.  Wouldn’t you know, I did not bring enough blankets.  I was cold all night and slept fitfully as a result.  The next morning could not have arrived soon enough.  Skipping my morning shower and venturing out in search of anything warm, in the early dawn I saw one of the friendlier guys I had met upon my arrival the day before.  I approached and greeted him in a nonchalant manner, as if I was another early riser.  Still trying to suggest I was a member of that coveted group of seasoned trailer haulers and early risers, I thought quickly how I would broach the subject of heat in my trailer.

“How’d you sleep?”  He looked warm and cozy in his flannel LL Bean fall jacket.

“Oh, not so well,” I replied trying to be patient before moving to the heat topic while not divulging my utter stupidity and ignorance over such a trivial matter of trailer sensibility.  “Couldn’t find the pilot light on my furnace.”  For a brief moment it seemed the man eyed me with a look of suspicion, understanding, or disbelief.  As if directed by God to be compassionate, he offered to take a look.

Being extremely patient and helpful, he looked all around the trailer, inside and out.  He checked the propane tanks (full), the water heater (fine), and the furnace (looked fine to him).  Standing outside the front door, he asked if I had checked the furnace switch on the wall mounted control switch.

I said, “Yeah, but I couldn’t find the pilot light and…”  I told him about what my dad had said all those years ago.

Without cracking a smile he said quietly, “Your trailer doesn’t have a pilot light.  It’s electronic.  Just turn it on.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage.  Standing just inside the open door I flipped the switch to heat and listened.  The furnace sprang to life.  I heard and felt heat pouring from vents in the floor.  I gave my caring friend a hearty but somewhat sheepish word of thanks.  He went on his way and I went inside my trailer.  I will forever remember and appreciate his great sense of consideration and discretion.  Yep, feeling utterly stupid but fortunate at the same time, I sat on my couch for several minutes enjoying the growing warmth in my trailer and trying to forget the cold night I just spent on my first outing with my new trailer.

I sat in my warm trailer consoling myself with thoughts of gratefulness for the Lord leading me to NOMADS.  I prayed a word of thanks and appreciation for Him putting that new friend in my path and blessing him with graciousness to help me without throwing my stupidity or ignorance in my face.  I thanked the Lord for leading me to something that I would soon realize is my niche, my passion: Serving the Lord by Helping Others.

The Lord Has a Plan for Your Life

As I mentioned earlier, I joined the United Methodist NOMADS in the summer of 2010.  I never dreamed of being a ‘Nomad for Christ’ or any facsimile of one.  I loved to travel, seek adventure, explore, and see new places.  I was not, however, one who particularly enjoyed meeting new people and talking to strangers.  Yeah, I am a natural introvert.  Being a member of NOMADS allows me to be who I am, do what I like, and enjoy life.  The past few years were not conducive to these new feelings.  Here is how I came to find NOMADS.

I had just been at the proverbial bottom of the barrel after the love of my life went away.  Some might say it was my time in the barrel, to use yet another cliché.  I felt that I had no purpose in my life.  All my dreams vanished.  I moped for a while, felt sorry for myself, and hated life.  In the midst of my personal hell on earth, I sought solace in a rather strange place – the aisles of a grocery store.  I enjoy cooking, or rather creating delectable concoctions to tease the palette.  I love to eat, too, which makes for another story.  For comfort to my tortured psyche I would cruise the local grocery store, lumbering along through the aisles of canned vegetables, frozen treats, produce from various corners of the earth, and all kinds of sundries.  I found comfort in these aisles, conjuring all kinds of recipes, some practical and some not.

One day I turned down the frozen food aisle.  I usually avoided this strange place made cold by the look of frost inside the glass cases.  This place, to me, meant manufactured food products that attracted attention by the realistic appearance of the contents, something I learned back in Marketing 101, but did not hold promise once purchased and prepared in the microwave.  I avoided this place so I would not be tempted to devour ‘plastic’ foods that contained more sodium, sugar, and unidentifiable substances than any industrial chemical plant.  For no particular reason I blindly followed my basket along the path between two long ice laden freezer cases.  Toward the end of the ice tunnel, I encountered, smack in the middle of the aisle, a wire display with six or so racks of paperback books, all aligned on top of one another from the floor to the top of the six-foot display.  Though I traveled this aisle infrequently, I did not recall such a rack in the store, much less in the middle of the frozen food aisle.

What I found even stranger, in every rack was the same small paperback book: God Has a Plan for Your Life, by Charles Stanley.  I did not make the connection.

Through my days, weeks, and months of wallowing in self-pity I can hardly count the times when I cried out for someone, anyone, to help me.  I knew no other person was coming, though I hoped so much for my love to return.  I knew she was gone although I kept asking myself why.  I knew the answer too.  In the end, as I looked up from the very bottom of my life, I cried out to the Lord to save me, to help me up from where I lay, to give me purpose, to lead me through this life because I admitted to myself that I was incapable to leading myself.  In the end, I gave up.  I quit dreaming.  I quit wanting.  I quit everything.  Through tears, heavier than the hard rains of a summer thunderstorm, I cried out to the Lord to take control of my life.  I was finished.  I had nothing else to do with my life.  Here in the middle of the frozen food aisle, on a rack of small paperback books, all the same from top to bottom, glaring out to me in broad letters easily read from ten feet away was the answer I needed.  In this simple, unobtrusive way, the Lord was telling me that He had a plan for my life.

At first, I stared at the rack.  I tried to rationalize why that rack was there.  I tried to reason why the title of that book was what I needed.  I stood in the aisle looking at the books, all the same.  No other titles by the same author.  No other Christian books.  The rack was not even in the aisle with the magazines, puzzle books, and school supplies.  Was this for real?  I looked around.  No one was in the aisle with me.  Just that book and me.  After several minutes I picked up the book and flipped through the pages.  Nothing stood out to catch my attention.  I thought perhaps a page or paragraph would keep my eye and I would read a little before placing the book back where it was.  No, I reckoned that I was to purchase the book before reading it.  I put a copy in my basket.

When I got home I did not read the book right away.  Later that evening I sat on the couch and opened the book to the first chapter.  I read slowly, taking in every word.  After a few pages I began to tear.  I did not feel the Lord speaking to me directly through that small book, rather I could hear the author speaking to me softly, telling me how the Lord cared for me.  The Lord wanted me to realize His plan for me.

Over the next few weeks I could only get through about half of the book.  It was a small book, not quite a half inch thick.  Still, I would be stuck each time I tried to read farther.  I read the same paragraphs repeatedly.  I prayed to the Lord, telling Him how sorry I was for the wrongs I had done in my life.  I asked for His forgiveness.  I asked Him to allow me to seek forgiveness from those I had wronged and hurt.  I asked Him to take control of my life, my body, my mind, my being and make something out of me for His Glory.  As days and weeks went by I slowly began to see Him working.  When I would grow impatient, I would remind myself of words from the 23rd Psalm, ‘The Lord is My Shepherd.  I shall not want.’

I love to travel and explore new places.  I thought about buying a travel trailer and truck.  After searching for months and visiting dealerships in Ohio, Pennsylvania, Maryland, and North Carolina, I realized that a new truck was beyond my willingness to spend $50,000 for a new vehicle, especially since I already owned a 2001 Dodge 2500 diesel truck.  The truck was outfitted with a hydraulic dump bed.  I had loaned the truck to a guy in North Carolina who wanted to buy the truck and dumper.  After using the truck for six months, and perhaps unknowingly damaging the truck bed and making off with a box of tools, he no longer wanted to buy it.  I took it back, sold the dumper insert, repaired the truck, and outfitted it with a hitch.  At the same time, I found a 5th wheel trailer.  With both the truck and trailer, but not yet possessing the skill and experience, I was ready to travel.

Over my recently ended career I became involved in disaster response.  This and my participation in missions for my church led me to seek out volunteer opportunities where I could help people in need.  I explored the Red Cross but the people in the local office had other things on their mind than taking my offer to help.  I saw a notice for training to become a member of an emergency response team.  I took the training and was subsequently certified as a disaster response trainer.  At one of the meetings someone mentioned the United Methodist NOMADS.  I noted the organization and went home to search the Internet for more information.  I found the NOMADS site, read about the organization, and sent in my application.

After months of searching for a new truck and travel trailer, I suddenly had both.  I believe the Lord blessed me with these things as part of His plan for me.

The Big Inning

I heard once that God created the earth during a baseball game, more specifically, the big inning.  I never knew all that much about the Bible but I remembered that bit of humor when my memory could not hold on to other jokes.  The only other line, or Scripture, I held in memory was the beginning of the 23rd Psalm: The Lord is My Shepherd.  Though my years of wandering apart from the Lord, I kept those words as my source of strength.  Following the birth of my beautiful daughter, I began attending church service and learned much more about my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  Though my spiritual path, as I heard it called, led me slowly through processes of the church, I did not learn much about whom the Lord was or what He meant, or should mean, to me.  I kept some distance from the Lord for many years.  I thought life was good, relatively speaking.  I had a wife, a family, a home, a job, and things.  What I did not have was love.  In this world it seems to me that love is elusive, seen only occasionally on the faces of an elderly couple who speak a language known only between them.  I wish I could find that kind of love before my time on this earth ends.

Aside from the ‘big inning,’ my beginning came at the end of life as I knew it.  That is a long and perhaps boring story but one that is very personal and important to me.  I may go into detail on that if or when anyone asks about it.  Meanwhile, I intend to use this ‘blog’ to post various stories of my new life as a Nomad for my Lord and Savior.  I am not one who goes around preaching about Jesus Christ and God.  Rather, I wander the world helping people in need.  I go where my Lord and Savior guide me.  I have few, if any, building skills but I do whatever work needs to be done.  I take along a few tools and I generally travel by camping trailer.  I do have a few things that come in handy -- ears for listening, eyes for conveying compassion, hands for holding or working, and a heart for caring.  I also have a wonderful gift for doing whatever I do and I am not sure what anyone would call it.  I believe that gift is what folks call a Spiritual Gift.

In the summer of 2010, I was searching for something to keep me busy.  I had recently ended a 38-year career of working five days a week and found myself with no wife, no job, a new neighborhood, and a new problem.  That problem was what to do with myself.  It took me a while but I found and joined a group called United Methodist NOMADS.  The term, NOMADS, is actually an acronym for Nomads on Mission Active in Divine Service.  NOMADS is an organization with a website through which I am able to identify people and places in need.  I go on-line, select a few projects, and wait for word on places and work.  Generally, I find a few words that describe what the project entails; sometimes the words are only near in describing the actual work needed.  No matter.  I go anyway.

I will post now and then photos and brief descriptions of what I encounter during my travels.  I will state repeatedly that credit goes to the Lord who sends me.  I do not expect anyone to understand my intentions or reasons, but if you do, thanks.  I welcome comments and questions.