Frankly I’m not sure how to explain my trip. . .

I’ve tried since getting back to write it all out. My first attempt took the approach of Jules Vern. An epic tale with more exhaustive detail then should be read pour forth from my fingers. I had been watching the Lord of Rings extended additions while I was sick in bed with Dengue fever. I think that had some influence. As I started to grapple with some of the problems and sadness I saw in Haiti I wrote a short terse rant mostly to vent frustration with the world, sin, and myself. This is now my third and final attempt to share and make some sense of my trip which in spite of this building intro was on the whole very good, inspiring, and a sincere blessing from the Lord. Our team did some good work and was blessed with a spirit of unity. I think it has been harder for me afterwards then during. Entonces, all that to say I’m going to take the approach of the strong silent western cowboy (if that’s possible), and say what needs to be said if I can manage, and speak with photographs taken during the trip by the team and myself. They can probably tell a better story than I can. Enjoy and thank you for prayers and support.

Part uno: The Trip to Gonaives

The trip from Port au Prince to Gonaives is around 60 miles. . .

the thirteen of us traveled in the back of a diesel truck with very poor suspention. . .

            

it took six hours . . .

The difficulty of traveling exposed us to the incredible infrastructural problems face by Haiti. But also we were exposed to its beauty and its people. . .

When our truck would slow down (which was often considering our average speed) a Haitian or two would hop on for a free ride. They were always incredibly surprised.

Our truck ride in someways set the initial tone. Things were going to be hard. While the team was generally in good spirits we arrived tense, exhausted, and feeling very far from the familiar.

   

Late in the day as a storm was rolling in we stopped on the causeway just outside the outskirts of Gonaive. Last year the city was hit with three consecutive hurricanes. The city was then flooded and a massive lake formed displeasing thousands, and for a time cutting the city off from the major highway into the city.  Abandoned structures appear like ghosts, rising from the water. I felt heavy. I was burdened by an invisible weight without a name.

We arrived just before dark and were welcomed my Maula's family and settled into our new surroundings. . .

That night we spent our time getting to know Maula Jean Marie the local missonary we would be  designing for. He gave a presention of their ministy which started with a video you all can see on youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wflBx80wTMo
He also shared his testimony. A miracle of a story













more to come soon (and I don't mean in a week, probably tonight) . . .