Through medical teams, food distributions and other aid, NVM has begun the process of restoring their country… one person at a time.

One of the many Haitians devastated by the earthquake.

From January 29-February 13 I was embedded with two of the medical teams from NVM.  I tried to capture my experience here on World Next Door for you to read.  Below you will find each of my articles from the trip and a video showing some of my photos that didn’t end up on the site.

Heartache

As I watch the devastation in Haiti, I cannot help but think about the injustices and hope I’ve experienced around the world…
Click here to read this article…

Compassion Fatigue

How do you continue to stay engaged when your heart can’t take any more?

Click here to read this article…

Never Too Young

Should children be sheltered from social justice issues? Or should they get involved from an early age?
Click here to read this article…

The Checklist

Even though I’ve traveled a lot before, I’m filled with fear and anticipation about my upcoming trip to Haiti…
Click here to read this article…

One at a Time

With millions of Haitians sick, hungry and homeless, is there any way to have hope for the future?
Click here to read this article…

Photo Gallery: Finding a Way

Despite having everything set against them, Haitians will find a way to go on.

Click here to see this photo gallery…

Sticks. Trash. Home.

As I watch the devastation in Haiti, I cannot help but think about the injustices and hope I’ve experienced around the world…
Click here to read this article…

Downtown

What I saw in downtown Port-au-Prince will change my life forever…

Click here to read this article…

Out of Obscurity

Geniuses around the world are living undiscovered in poverty. Did I just find one?

Click here to read this article…

Photo Gallery: Food!

It wasn’t until I saw a food distribution in Haiti that I realized the true meaning of hope and anticipation.
Click here to see this photo gallery…

The “Real World”

As I get back to “life as normal,” many Haitians continue to suffer. But I will not forget…
Click here to read this article…

B-Roll Photo Gallery Video

Finally, here is a short video showing some of the photographs that didn’t make it in to any of the WND articles or photo galleries on the site.  The music is by Sarah Scharbrough, who will be performing live at our One-Year Anniversary Party and Benefit on February 26.

Now, a lot of people have some pretty severe re-entry stories after trips like this. Collapsing and weeping in their closets when they see how many clothes they have, getting furious at their friends who just don’t understand, feeling nauseous in restaurants as platefuls of food go to waste, etc.

But that’s not really what’s happening to me. I’ve gone through reverse culture shock before. I understand the fact that some of my friends don’t get it. I’ve come and gone like this enough that I can get back to “normal” in just a day or two (instead of weeks, like it used to take!).

But there is something gnawing at my mind right now. A whisper of awareness that seems different somehow.

Unlike trips I’ve taken in the past, the crisis I just left is still going on in full force. Even if I get straight back to work and throw myself in head-first to life here in the “real world,” there will still be a disaster going on 750 miles off the coast of Florida.

Reality Check

New orphans like this little one must now be cared for by their extended family.

Let’s face the facts. Across the city of Port-au-Prince right now, tens of thousands of people are living in tents. Refugees inside their own country. Some are sleeping under rudimentary shelters made out of sticks and trash… others are crowded 8 or 10 deep in tents donated by organizations like the Red Cross.

There is very little food, very little electricity and very little sanitation. Some Internally Displaced People (IDP) camps with thousands of residents each have only three or four latrines. The situation is desperate, made even worse by the ongoing stress and fear many Haitians still feel because of the quake.

So as I catch up on The Office and 30 Rock, Haiti is still right there, in the back of my mind.  It won’t go away…

With that in mind, as we bring this chapter of our Haiti coverage to a close, let me share with you one last story from my time in Haiti that continues to pop up in my thoughts at unexpected times.

My interpreter, Jean.

A Night With IDPs

As my time in Haiti was coming to an end, I wanted to get a sense of what life is like for IDPs living in tents, so I asked my interpreter, Jean, if I could spend a night out where he stays.  He agreed, so as the sun set on Wednesday night, we drove downtown together.

Jean, along with around 300 other IDPs, is living in the compound of a church just down the street from his unstable home.  Although the streets in his neighborhood have been mostly cleared of debris, there are still countless collapsed buildings around every corner.

When our car pulled up to the church, I could see a trash fire burning on the opposite sidewalk.  Otherwise, it was dark.  There was no electricity.

As we walked through the church courtyard in the dark, I could see many tents, tarps and mattresses crowded into any available space.  Many people sat around talking and listening to battery powered radios.

For many Haitians, life is now an even bigger struggle...

After introducing me to his friends, Jean ran over to a pile of stuff covered in a plastic sheet and started digging through it with a flashlight to look for something.  I realized that the pile was a collection of his possessions… Things he had “rescued” from his dangerous house, which even now he fears will collapse.

When Jean returned, he had in his hand a portable DVD player.  A couple of other guys got to work hooking it up to a car battery.  Within minutes, I found myself watching a Jean Claude Van Damme movie under a tarp with a bunch of Haitian refugees.  It was surreal, to say the least.

Time to Sleep

After the movie was over, everyone set up their mattresses and lay down outside.  With so many people and so few tents, most prefer to simply sleep under the stars.  Although the mosquitoes were out in force, the breeze felt nice.  Before too long, I had drifted off to sleep.

Earlier that night, Jean had said something about how much he “fears” the rain.  I didn’t really understand what he meant until around 4am, when it started to pour.  Groggy, tired and quickly becoming soaking wet, I grabbed my mattress and followed Jean into his tent.

The tent was large, built for perhaps 5-6 people.  But inside, I found myself crammed into a corner with 9 other Haitians.  I curled up against the side of the tent and tried to fall back asleep, but as I looked around the tent I realized that I was the only one doing so.

These pregnant women must face an uncertain future with their babies.

Everyone else was sitting up, talking in hushed voices.  There simply wasn’t enough room for everyone to lay down, so nobody did.

Eventually, the rain stopped and dawn brought light to the courtyard.  I rolled up my mattress and stepped out of the soggy tent (apparently water had found a way inside).  As I followed Jean out of the church property, I took in sights that had been only shadows the night before.

Tent after tent.  Family after family.   One person had lost his job in the quake.  Another had lost her family.  These people lived every single day without knowing if their lives would ever get back to normal.

Jean and I got in the car and drove away.  But he would be back in the evening.  For now, at least, this was his home…

The “Real World”

Some friends I must not forget...

And now here I am.  Back in the United States.  Back in my comfortable apartment.  Back in the “real world.”

Of course, I say that a bit ironically.  I live in the land of endless entertainment, constant comfort and free refills.  I can go for days or weeks at a time without engaging with the outside world if I so choose.

What’s so “real” about that?

I am thankful that Haiti remains like a thorn in my mind.  I don’t want to move on.  Even tonight, as I lay down in my comfortable bed, Jean will be sleeping yet again on an old mattress under a tarp.  I don’t want to forget that.

Because only if I embrace the low grade fever of sadness will I be able to make a change…

Haiti, I won’t forget you.

How many times did I hear that as a child?  How many times was that drilled into my head?  I grew up knowing without a doubt that I had the potential to be an astronaut, a scientist, president… anything.

And for many young American children, it’s actually true.  With a quality public school system, academic scholarships and hundreds of extracurricular activities, kids in our country today have the chance to pursue any dream or talent that they want.

It’s the essence of The American Dream…

Unfortunately, this does not hold true in many parts of the world.  World-class scientists, engineers, artists and musicians are living and dying in obscurity every single day.  In environments of pervasive poverty, geniuses are being lost, simply because they do not have enough money to get an education…

A Place of Poverty

The other day I spent some time with my interpreter, Jean, in the village of Chambrun.  We didn’t really have an agenda other than to have some kids take us around and introduce us to their parents.  As always, I was looking to answer my two big questions:  “What is life really like here?” and “What is God doing?”

Women in Chambrun like this one have an incredibly hard time making ends meet.

As the kids took us from one side of the village to the other, I met a family who is now living in their kitchen because the earthquake had destroyed their home. I saw women carrying sticks on their head from miles away to use as firewood.  And I saw many hungry children that hadn’t eaten in days.

As I had expected, it was a scene all too common here in Haiti.  Very poor people made even poorer by the earthquake.

But at one point, as I was sitting on a rusty metal chair in front of one family’s hut, something caught my attention in the yard of the home next door.  There, watching us from a distance, was a boy holding a four-foot long toy helicopter made entirely from junk.

Bebeto with his fully functional toy helicopter!

Normally, this wouldn’t have come as much as a surprise.  Haitian children are extremely inventive with their toys.  But this helicopter was like nothing I have ever seen here.  This toy helicopter had working rotors.

I beckoned him over for a better look at his invention.  Sure enough, he had used old tomato cans, scrap tin and wire to build the body of the machine and had rigged up a battery and two small motors to run the main and tail rotors.

Now, it wasn’t powerful enough to actually fly, but this little toy took some real know-how to construct!

I wanted to find out more about him, so I began asking him some questions.

Meet Bebeto

His name is Bebeto (pronounced bee-bee-toe) and he’s 13 years old.  He loves to build things and has a new-found passion in circuits and electric currents.  Based on the admiring gazes of the other children, it is clear that Bebeto is something special.  This kid is smart!

Bebeto must now care for his niece and nephew like siblings.

As I asked him questions about his invention, the other kids got excited, talking over each other to tell me about the other things he had built.  Bebeto, on the other hand, was unbelievably modest… Most of his answers were short, followed by a bashful grin.

With the right schooling and a university education, Bebeto could very well go on to become a scientist, engineer or aircraft designer.  He could rise up out of poverty and come back to help in the rebuilding of this nation.

Unfortunately, the earthquake has affected his life in some major ways.  For example, while he does go to school, he must wait an indefinite time until schools here re-open (something that could very well take months or even years).  Like everyone else, his family is currently struggling to find food to eat.

Bebeto's niece. There is hope for her in Chambrun.

Additionally, during the quake, Bebeto lost his sister, who was living in Port-au-Prince when the disaster struck.  Now, her two children (ages 4 and 6) must be cared for by their grandmother, Bebeto’s mom. Their already thin family budget must be stretched even further.

If the standard story of poverty here plays out, Bebeto will drop out of school, get a low-paying job and attempt to take care of his family.  Some day he might marry a girl from the village and struggle to feed his own wife and children.

His dreams of becoming an engineer will fade as he faces the cruel realities of poverty.

An Advocate Steps In

What else could Bebeto be destined for?

But there is hope for the children of Chambrun.  Kids like Bebeto no longer need to slide into obscurity as so many have before.

Through the Nehemiah Vision Ministries school in Chambrun, 380 kids now have a chance to learn… to discover their true potential.  Through the school’s daily lunch program, these children have a chance to eat nutritious food every day.

But NVM cannot support these children alone.  They need the help of financial sponsors from all around the world.  Sponsors like you and me.

The future could still be bright for this clever young man...

For just $40 a month, you can sponsor one of these incredible children.  Your money will help pay for school supplies, uniforms and food.  But more importantly, your sponsorship will build into the lives of children that badly need encouragement in this difficult place.

These kids, who have been told by the world countless times that they can’t, will finally have an advocate that says they can.

And while not every child in Chambrun will go on to become a world-famous scientist or musician, at least now it’s a possibility.

All they need is you…

The Next Project Begins

As Jean and I got ready to leave Chambrun, Bebeto brought up a book to show me.  The title, in English and French, was Circuits.

He opened the book to a page full of elaborate diagrams and pulled out a sheet of graph paper.  On the paper, Bebeto had sketched the design for his next project… A C130 cargo plane.

I don’t know how he’s going to make it work, but I have a feeling he’ll find a way…

Now, I’ve seen photos on the news.  I’ve watched videos of the devastation.  But it wasn’t until I visited Port-au-Prince in person that I truly understood the scope of the Haitian earthquake…

War Zone

To get there, we hired a motorbike taxi.  Essentially, we paid a guy on a motorcycle to drive the two of us into the city.  We had no helmets, and we came absurdly close to Mack trucks as we weaved in and out of traffic.  But I wasn’t concerned about my safety.  I was too busy taking in the unbelievable sights and sounds.

The presidential palace in ruins. Once a symbol of freedom and independence in Haiti. Now completely destroyed.

As we drove past the U.S. Embassy and the Port-au-Prince airport, it looked like a war zone.  UN Armored Personnel Carriers rumbled down the streets, Humvees full of American troops whizzed by and countless helicopters criss-crossed overhead.  Every now and then, a giant military cargo plane would roar into the sky from the airport’s single runway.

American troops waiting to guard food distribution.

At strategic checkpoints around the city, soldiers from the American 82^nd Airborne division stood guard in full tropical camo with automatic rifles slung over their shoulders.

As we continued further into the city, I began to see the tent villages.

At first, they were nestled into small open places between buildings… a few people trying to live close to their old homes.  But once we reached downtown, the tent communities took up every single public place available.  Parks, yards, sometimes even streets.

Port-au-Prince has quite literally become a giant refugee camp.  And as we pulled up to our destination, I could immediately see why.

Total Destruction

Words cannot describe just how totally the city has been destroyed.  If buildings are not complete heaps of rubble, they are leaning dangerously to one side.  If they aren’t leaning, they have massive cracks in their walls.  If they don’t have cracks, their roofs have collapsed.  I could go on and on.

One of countless buildings destroyed in the earthquake.

Walking down a single street, I saw crushed automobiles, downed power lines, shattered windows, and rubble swept into the road.  Every time we turned a corner, the scenes of destruction continued.

Even now, the smell of rotting bodies drifts out of some of the wreckage.

As we walked past building after building, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was in some post-apocalyptic world.  Everything was destroyed.

In an attempt to show respect to the victims of the quake, I took only a few pictures while we were there.  But even if I could show you thousands of images, I wouldn’t be able to convey the totality of it all.

Not Deserted

Port-au-Prince is still absolutely full of people.

I knew I was going to see devastation, but I was totally surprised by one thing.  Before heading down there, I had imagined Port-au-Prince to be a ghost town.  I pictured empty, deserted streets and an eerie quiet among the broken buildings.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Port-au-Prince is teeming with people.  Everywhere I looked I saw vendors trying to sell things on the sidewalk, women doing laundry, pedestrians crossing the street and tap-taps (Haiti’s public transportation) driving every which way.

The real difference between the city now and before the quake is not the number of people.  It is the fact that those people are now living on the streets.

The main public park downtown is becoming a crowded slum.  People have already added wooden or corrugated metal walls and roofs to their temporary dwellings.  They are preparing to live there for a long time.

Port-au-Prince had roughly 3 million inhabitants before the quake.  200,000 died, which means that 2.8 million people still live in the city.  Except that now, they have no homes.

Vanishing Dignity

One of the most heart-wrenching things I observed as we walked around downtown was the absolute loss of dignity to which so many people had succumbed.

A tent city has sprung up in Port-au-Prince's central park.

On one busy street-corner, I saw a sight that will remain with me for a very long time.  A young mother, wearing nothing but a skirt, was bathing with her two naked children in an old, broken fountain.  There, passing just feet in front of them, were pedestrians, cars, street vendors…

Her dignity was gone.

As we walked through the streets, many people called out to me begging for food.  But these weren’t typical homeless people.  These were decently dressed men and women who used to have jobs.  People who used to have homes.  People who now must scrape by just to get a meal.

Most people here speak no English, but there is one phrase that many of them have learned since the earthquake…

“I am hungry.”

Overload

Many Haitians are still living among the rubble, trying to move on.

After several hours of walking around and sitting in utter disbelief, Jean and I returned to Pastor Pierre’s house.  That night, I went up on the roof to reflect on all I had seen.  I turned on some music and let the images from the day wash over me.

I’ve seen a lot of poverty, so I didn’t expect to get very emotional.  But as I thought through the absolute hopelessness facing so many of the Haitian people, something in my heart absolutely shattered.

Within minutes I was weeping.  Giant sobs shook me as I thought of people dead under the rubble, children without parents, families searching for food… Haitians who once had so little now have nothing.

After a few minutes, my sobbing subsided and was replaced by a quiet introspection.

As I thought about how I need to respond, I realized one significant thing.  I cannot forget this.  I must not.  The Haitian people will be recovering from this earthquake for decades.

With little dignity left, the Haitian people need us to remember...

As I head back home and sleep again in my comfortable bed, Jean will still be sleeping in a tent.  That woman will still be bathing on the street corner.  Bodies will still be found under the rubble.

Even if I move on, Haiti will still be here.

Never Forget

My time on the roof led me to one simple conclusion.  I must not let this become just a memory.  I must reserve a section of my heart for the nation and people of Haiti.  The Haitian earthquake must become a part of my low grade fever of sadness.

Because only if this becomes woven into the fabric of my life will I be able to make a difference here.  I must become an advocate for this nation, even when the memories of this trip begin to fade.

If I do, then as the rebuilding of this nation continues, I will be able to share in the joys of a God who loves to restore.  When hope and life spring up among the wreckage, I will be able to participate in the celebration.

God will not forget the people of Haiti… and neither will I.

These tent “villages” are springing up all over the place here. Some of the residents have lost everything they owned. Others are simply terrified of moving back into their unstable houses. Both types of people have one thing in common: they are living on the brink.

When we pulled the bus up to the small cliff overlooking one of the tent camps and began unpacking our supplies, people streamed out of their tents and up the hill. Within minutes of our arrival, lines started to form in front of the canopy we had set up… adults on the left, parents with babies and small children on the right.

Two boys in line for the mobile clinic take cover from the hot Haitian sun.

Some people were clearly in pain. Wincing and limping, they were dragged up the hill by their friends who begged the doctors to see them first. Others waited patiently with more “routine” ailments (more on that in a minute). Somehow, word had spread that we were there to help, and for the next two days, there was a constant stream of people in line.

The doctors and nurses began sitting down with patients. Our team of interpreters worked hard to communicate medical jargon across cultural boundaries while the doctors attempted to diagnose problems and prescribe medicine accurately with limited resources and equipment.

Taking in the view

Once things were well under way, I decided to take a look around. I walked up to the small ridge overlooking the tents and took in the view.

My very first thought was how shocking it was to see so many people in such a tiny area. Hundreds and hundreds of men, women and children living in just a couple of acres.

The view from the bus of the quickly growing tent community.

This new “village” has sprung up in what was once nothing more than a dusty valley next to a dried up riverbed (click here to see the site from the air). It’s essentially just a giant trash pit, filled with rusty metal cans, plastic bags, broken glass, and now, families.

“Routine”

As I mentioned above, most of the people our team helped had “routine” illnesses. But what is routine here would be viewed very differently back in the U.S.

The NVM mobile clinic was directly above a huge trash pit.

For example, many, many people came in with complications due to malnutrition. Children were faint, weak and tired. Mothers had a hard time producing breast milk for their babies. Young women complained of a lack of appetite and severe heartburn (which can come from a lack of food).

Gastro-intestinal illnesses were common as well. With no clean water for people to drink, diseases like intestinal worms, parasites and diarrhea were rampant.

Just about everyone we saw had respiratory problems. Right upwind of this specific tent village is a cement plant spewing up a cloud of thick white dust all day long. Down among the tents, it was literally snowing white powder.

Combined with the ever-present dust and thick automobile pollution here, there are few that can last a week without developing a cough, pneumonia or a sinus infection.

And then there were the tiny, simple things that had turned into problems much more severe. Small cuts had become raging, life-threatening infections. Simple diarrhea had dangerously dehydrated children. One man had lymphatic filariasis (elephantiasis) in his leg simply from being bitten by too many mosquitoes.

For a lot of this stuff, you or I would simply run over to the closest Walgreens to pick up an armful of cheap medicine. We might call in sick for a day and lay on the couch eating chicken noodle soup. Or if things wouldn’t just clear up in a day, we might run over to our family doctor and have the lab run tests.

For many Haitians, none of that is even an option. Their only choice when they get sick is to simply keep moving. To suck it up.

This old man was resting after constructing a tent by hand.

Sticks and Trash

On the morning of the second day, I looked out over the tent village again. From the time that we had left the evening before, more than 25 new tents had sprung up. People were constructing more every hour. I wanted to see it all up close.

I decided that the best way to find out what life is like down there would be to get my hands dirty. So I went down with a roll of duct tape and my big, sturdy camping knife. I helped people dig holes and set up their new tents, and made a nice mess of things since I had no idea what I was doing.

While I was down there talking with people and soaking it all in, I made three simple observations.

First, the “tents” these people are constructing are quite literally made out of sticks and trash. They stick flimsy, inch-thick twigs into the ground and tie them together with leaves or torn fabric. Over the top they drape trash bags, old sheets, rice sacks… anything they can find. It’s hard to even call that “shelter.”

This boy's face is covered in white powder from the nearby cement plant (click the image to see a larger version).

Second, the women and children who have no men to help build much more flimsy structures. Several times I came across tiny, 10 year-old boys scraping the dirt with pickaxes or thin old women poking the ground with machetes. I can’t imagine what will happen to their new home the next time it rains.

Finally, I noticed the conspicuous absence of something I’ve seen in every single slum and village I’ve visited over the years… cooking fires. Nobody was boiling water. Nobody was frying plantains. People were simply sitting in their tents… Waiting.

For what? I don’t know.

50,000 More

As the sun dipped behind the clouds on the second day and we packed up our equipment, I took one last look at the tent camp. Even since that morning, it had grown.

But this tent village is only one of thousands springing up around the city. Right now, preparations are under way for a massive new tent community just a ten minute walk from the village of Chambrun (where Nehemiah Vision Ministries operates). The plan is for 50,000 Internally Displaced People (IDPs) to begin living there soon.

A man and woman sitting in their new home.

Like the “village” we visited by the river-bed, this place will be full of sick, weary, and hungry Haitians who need ongoing help and development. But unlike the village we visited, these IDPs will not have to rely on a single bus-load of doctors…

In fact, NVM is just months away from building a brand new hospital and kitchen/cafeteria next to their existing clinic and school in Chambrun. They will be there as a beacon of hope for this new tent community.

Imagine… Instead of sitting sideways in a cramped bus seat, patients will be able to recline in a well-furnished hospital room. Instead of relying on a bin full of medicine, they will have access to a fully stocked pharmacy. Instead of checking the horizon each morning to see if the medical bus has come, these people will know that help is always just around the bend.

Very soon, children like this one will have a chance to be healthy once more.

It is no accident that Nehemiah Vision Ministries has been led to work in Chambrun. After having an incredible impact in one small village, they are now in a position to touch the lives of tens of thousands more.

In the midst of this devastating earthquake, God is using his people to bring hope, comfort and support to the broken people of this nation.

It’s clear to me now that nothing can stand in the way when the kingdom of God starts breaking in. This world is meant to be restored, and you and I are meant to be a part of it.

Now let’s jump in and get to work… there’s a hospital to build!

Our bus from the Dominican Republic arrived at 6am. We had a few hours to wash up and unpack, then headed straight out to the village of Chambrun. The team of doctors and nurses I was traveling with traded notes on the supplies they had brought as I stared out the window in amazement.

Here, in a city I had visited just three months before, was the definition of devastation. Buildings lay in rubble, walls had tumbled down, and just about everywhere I looked were people sleeping in tents, still afraid to go inside.

The NVM medical team getting ready to head out to Chambrun.

As we drove up the dusty road to the Nehemiah Vision Ministries clinic, I saw a handful of people milling around outside. “Huh,” I thought. “I expected to see a whole lot more…”

But then, as we rounded the corner, I was struck by the sight of hundreds of Haitian men, women and children sitting on benches crammed into the whatever shade they could find.

People were huddled under trees, sitting shoulder to shoulder on benches… Word had spread that there was a free clinic happening in Chambrun, and they had all come for help.

The doctors, nurses and pharmacists from our team began setting up and familiarizing themselves with the clinic. After wiping down a dental chair and moving a tub of medicine or two, I started to feel a little useless. So I broke out my camera and started walking around to get a sense of the bigger picture.

Crowds wait outside the medical clinic for a chance to be seen.

Outside the clinic’s doors were around 200-300 people hoping desperately to be seen by one of the doctors that day. Some of the patients had walked for miles to get to the clinic. Others came from the nearby villages.

It became clear right off the bat that most of the patients were not direct victims of the earthquake. There were only a few who had broken bones from falling rubble. Most people were there for different reasons.

The fact is, two and a half weeks after the initial shock, most people with severe wounds from the quake have already been treated or have died due to infections.

No, these were not direct victims of the earthquake. But almost every single person I met was indirectly affected.

This grandmother must now take care of two infant babies.

For example, one elderly lady came into the clinic with twin infant girls. As the doctors asked her questions, she sobbed in fits of hopelessness. This woman’s daughter had been killed in a building collapse and now, with no food or family to help, this aging grandmother was responsible for these two newborn babies.

Another woman I met sat helpless as a nurse treated her tiny daughter. The attending doctor asked her how often she feeds her baby. The woman burst into tears and said, “I have no food!”

With elementary schools closed across the country, many children that used to eat once a day at school now go for days without eating. Nation-wide, hundreds of malnourished children are dying each day as their parents look on, helpless and alone.

Several of the doctors in our team said afterwards that they had heard something odd from many parents. They heard several times about children that liked to “lick the dirt.” After discussing it a little bit, the doctors came to a conclusion about what was causing this peculiar behavior. These children are so deprived of essential minerals that their bodies have begun to crave dirt to get what they need.

What I saw on my first day was not at all what I expected. Instead of gaping wounds and gushing blood, I saw starving children and adults ill from water-borne diseases. Instead of performing amputations, our doctors were handing out vitamins.

A little girl has her feet bandaged.

These weren’t the earthquake victims we’ve see on the evening news. These were the helpless masses that have been left in its wake. I realized for the first time that in a nation as devastated as Haiti, it will be food, medicine and clean water that lay the groundwork for reconstruction… Not dump trucks and cranes.

As we neared the end of the first day’s work, local volunteers from NVM closed the gate. No more patients could come in…

But there were still hundreds left outside.

I started to feel a bit hopeless. With millions of people in need of help in this country, what could we even accomplish? We couldn’t even help everyone in one small village.

And now the government is clearing land for a 50,000 person tent-city on the main road just a 10 minute walk from the clinic in Chambrun. Tens of thousands of hurting, starving people in need of medical help, in need of food… of water.

One of the clinic's doctors tries to diagnose a young boy.

It all seemed so hopeless.

Last night, however, as I went through my pictures from the day, I realized something significant. I saw a picture of a tiny child whose mother now had vitamins to give him. “We helped them,” I thought. I saw a photo of an elderly lady walking out of the clinic with brand new crutches for her swollen feet. “We helped her too…”

Photo after photo. Face after face. These are the people we did help. And without our clinic, they would still be completely helpless.

“One at a time.” That’s the phrase that keeps running through my head right now. One at a time.

The only way we can ever make a difference in Haiti is if we are willing to help people one at a time. The moment we get lost in the overwhelming misery of a country brought to its knees, we run the risk of losing our hope in the beautiful work that is happening here.

The truth is, children are being saved. Families are being fed. Hope is still present in Haiti.

Even if it only shows up one person at a time…

Here I am, packing my bags yet again… Going through the same mental checklists, the same anxieties and the same excitement as I have many times before.  And yet, as with every trip I’ve taken so far, there is an element of the unknown hovering right in front of me, pulling me always toward fear or anticipation.  Sometimes both.

When I left for India, I had no idea what I’d be doing day-to-day.  I knew that I would have a place to sleep and food to eat, but that was it.  Talk about anxiety…

When I headed off to Kenya this past summer, I had no clue what life would be like living in Kibera slum.   What would I eat?  What would I do?  Would I even be safe???

And now, as I prepare to spend 2-3 weeks in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, I am struck yet again with the fear of the unknown.  How will I handle myself in a place of such devastation?  Will I be able to accurately tell the stories of the people I meet and things I see?  Or will I be simply overwhelmed by the agonizing injustice of it all?

As routine as packing for international travel has become for me, I don’t think I will ever get used to the whirlwind of emotions that bombard me whenever I open my suitcase…

I can’t imagine what Port-au-Prince will be like now…

Hmmm… Packets of tuna?  Check.  Books?  Check.  Camera?  Check.

I am heading to Haiti for three reasons.

First, I am going as a journalist for World Next Door.  Now, there are obviously a ton of reporters and photographers already in Haiti (most of which are a lot more talented that I am), but I still hope to contribute something unique to our readers.

I will be telling the stories of individuals – stories of doctors struggling to keep up, stories of children newly orphaned by the disaster, stories of people who are still clinging to hope…  And, as with every location or organization I visit, I will be writing about what God is doing in the midst of the devastation and I will be giving our readers lots of ways to get involved themselves.

Second, I am going to support the work of Nehemiah Vision Ministries.  I’ll do whatever I can to make sure that NVM is working at full capacity.  If I need to pick up rubble, I will.  If I need to carry patients, I will.  And if I need to approach you, our readers, for additional funds or medical supplies to make NVM’s work possible, I will.

One of the many children I will be interacting with while I am in Haiti.

Third and finally, I am going as a representative and “scout” for Grace Community Church, where I attend. Our church, which has already raised a quarter of a million dollars to aid in relief work, is overflowing with volunteers anxious to get involved.  I’ll be the eyes and ears on the ground for GCC as they prepare to send medical and construction teams and as they look for more ways to partner with what God is doing in Haiti.

Ok then… Laptop?  Check.  Malaria meds?  Check.  Water bottle?  Check.

I will be traveling with NVM’s second medical team.  To get to Port-au-Prince, we will be flying into the Dominican Republic and driving across the border to Haiti.  I plan to stay in-country for 2-3 weeks.

Now, I desperately need your prayers for this trip.  It will be emotionally, physically and spiritually intense.  It will be undoubtedly difficult to put my swirling emotions into words, but I know that God can use my presence there for some big things if I let him.

While I’m there I will be posting regular updates to my twitter feed (@barryrod).  Feel free to follow my posts and re-tweet to your heart’s content.  It will be a great way to multiply the work that World Next Door will be doing down there…

Haiti, here I come!

If you would like to subscribe to the World Next Door email newsletter, please give us your information and we’ll be happy to add you to the list.  We’re currently working on a nice template to use for this, but right now our emails are simply plain old text on a blank background.  I’m sure you understand! 

Finally, if you would like to help cover WND’s expenses for this Haiti trip, you can contribute on our website’s “give” page.  Anything that you can donate (even $10!) will go a long way in helping us pay for food, transportation and lodging.  Thank you!

Alright… Let’s see.  Kleenex?  Check.  Bible?  Check.  Journal?  Check.

Yeah.  Don’t want to forget those last three…

I’m going to need them.

After a week of constant news, constant worry and constant heartache, I was beginning to grow weary of it all.  I had begun to reach the invisible threshold of compassion fatigue…

I think it’s something everyone deals with.  We can only absorb so many awful stories and statistics before numbness sets in.  We get to a point in which we don’t want to feel bad anymore.  We wish we could just get back to life “as usual.”

How do we continue to care?

Now, I don’t think that compassion fatigue is necessarily a bad or evil thing.  In my opinion, it’s totally natural.  We all crave normalcy and routine in our everyday lives.

To stay actively engaged with the crisis in Haiti, we must willingly force ourselves to absorb heart-breaking material over and over again.  Eventually, this becomes a burden.

But here’s the thing… Even though compassion fatigue is normal, we must find ways to fight against it.  This crisis will not be over soon.  It could be months, years or decades before Haiti is finally back on its feet.

So how do we stay engaged?  How do we keep our hearts in tune with the struggle of the Haitian people?  How do we avoid “sympathy burnout”?

Well, I am no expert on this, but I have had quite a bit of awareness dumped in my lap over the last few years.  New social injustices, natural disasters and global poverty have all become a part of my everyday consciousness.

So here are a few of the things that have helped me to stay engaged when my heart longs to disconnect…

Make it Personal

Pastor Pierre of Nehemiah Vision Ministries. One man in the middle of the crisis.

Often, I find myself getting worn out in the midst of huge and staggering statistics.  When a news report says that 70,000 bodies have already been buried in Haiti and that up to 200,000 could have died in the quake, it’s hard to engage my heart.

I don’t even really know what 70,000 of anything looks like.  It’s a lot, of course, but big numbers begin to lose their meaning for me.

That’s why I find it enormously helpful to connect with two or three individuals.  When I am listening to the stories of just a handful of people, the big news reports and statistics begin to fit into a context I can get my head around.

For starters, you might take a look at some of the following…

• Nehemiah Vision Ministries’ blog – here you can see what is being done by a single organization.
• Twitter feeds of people on the ground in Haiti – some that I know of are @firesideint, @RAMhaiti, and @fredodupoux.
• The Livesay Blog – an American family living in Haiti and participating in the relief work there.
• World Next Door – I may be heading down there myself in the next couple of weeks. Stay tuned to this site and to my twitter feed for my perspective on the ground…

This little one needs you to get inolved!

Get Involved

David Livingstone once said, “Sympathy is no substitute for action.”  He’s right.

When you are reaching the threshold of compassion fatigue, it’s time to get into the game!  By volunteering your time, energy and money, you are giving yourself a reason to continue caring.

Because I might be heading down to Haiti soon, I now have a filter with which to engage the news and stories I hear each day.  I can envision myself in those situations and know more specifically how to pray.

But you don’t have to go to Haiti to help Haiti.

Consider volunteering with organizations in your area that are preparing to send medical teams.  Put together a fund-raising event doing things you love to do (artwork, music, pottery, whatever!).  Find creative ways to raise money and get your friends and family involved (one person I met recently had her friends pledge a certain dollar amount for every point the Colts scored on Saturday… they raised over $6000!).

By staying active in your engagement, you can avoid the restless emotional fatigue that comes from just sitting at home with the news on…

Pray Well

One of many children that need our prayers right now.

At some point, of course, there will come a time (or many times) where we are simply overwhelmed by the immense tragedy of it all.  It is in time like these when we have no choice but to pray.

But how to you put words to what you’re feeling?  As I look at the unspeakable tragedy going on right now in Haiti, I don’t even know how to pray.  Thankfully, the Holy Spirit is able to take our heart’s groans and turn them into prayers.

Romans 8:26 says “the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.”

So even if we have no words to pray, we need to continue opening our hearts to God.  He will hear.  He will understand.  Even if we do not…

Accept the Fever

Of course, if we choose to truly engage our hearts with the struggle and pain of the Haitian people, we will never get back to normal.  By wading into the tragedy with our hearts and hands open, we run the risk of catching the Low Grade Fever of Sadness.

It’s not life threatening.  You can still grow, laugh, and learn… but just below the surface will be the knowledge that the world is broken.  That things are not as they are meant to be.  It’s a sadness that can never really leave you until the Kingdom of God is finally revealed in all its power.

But if you are willing to take on the Low Grade Fever of Sadness, if you are willing to let the plight of the poor become part of your consciousness and if you are open to the life-change that may result, I guarantee that you will never be the same…

———

It’s never easy to keep your heart engaged with issues hundreds of miles away, but it is possible.

Don’t give up!