bringing haiti home

Dear Candice,

            I’m having some serious Haiti withdraws. With all of my heart the only thing I want is to hold tight the innocent kids that I met there. With all of my heart, the only thing I want is to see God break me apart again in such a beautiful place. With all of my heart, the only thing I want is to serve.

            I’m in a creative writing class at school. Its my next-to-last class of the day. We rarely do much in that class but yesterday we were given an assignment. We had to write a paragraph description of a place. We had to describe the place in the most vivid way possible. It could be any place. Literally any place. So of course, I pick Haiti as my place. Here’s what my paper read:

            I will never forget Haiti. The dirty streets. The bone thin children. The old men smashing rocks into tiny pieces just to feed their kids the one meal they will get today. The smell of open sewers and people who had never seen clean water- much less showered. I remember the miles of tarps that they called tents set up as shelter from the rain. I remember looking at the tops of giant green mountains with sides that had fallen due to the damage. I remember the young girl holding her baby of just a few days thanking God that her baby was alive. I remember the hope that overflowed from every dark brown face. I will never forget Haiti.

            So the next day in class, we had the opportunity to read our paper. I was sick so I sounded kind of weird and no one else had read theirs so I didn’t raise my hand. But then a few minutes passed and a few kids read their papers. So when my teacher said, “Anyone else want to read theirs?” I thought to myself, “What am I even afraid of?” so I raised my hand, stood up and began to read. Amidst my stuffed up voice and my shaking legs, I read it. When I was finished I sat down and waited for my teacher to say something. He looked at me and said, “Hope?” I simply replied, “Yes. Hope. Espwa.”

            I thank God for that amazing opportunity to share with the kids in my class how amazing Haiti was.

            I thank God that He provided a way for me to go.

I love you.

Love,

Sara

walking stories

Dear Candice,

Every time I drive past this one house in my neighborhood, there is a man who always sits outside. He looks at least 80 years old. He always sits outside on his walker. Without fail. Every day.

             I remember being younger and sitting in the mall with my dad. He asked me if I ever wondered about people and their stories. Ever since then about 6 years ago, I have always wondered what everyone’s story is. No one comes from the same place. No one has seen the same things. Everyone has been through, endured, and lived a totally different life. So I think about that man when I drive past him. What is his story? Where did he move here from? Who does he live with? Where has he been? Why does he sit outside everyday reading the newspaper while sitting in his walker?

            When we were driving from the airport to the Creche in Haiti, I was sitting by Caetlyn. I leaned over to her and said, “I wonder what their stories are.” To this day, I wonder what Dafka’s story is. I even wonder about your story. Where did you come from? How did you end up where you did in Alabama?

            Part of me hates not knowing. But part of me loves how my curiosity has lead me to actually asking some people what their story is.

            What beautiful work of a creative God to write the stories of every single person from celebrity to orphan.

            What’s your story?

I love you.

Love,

Sara