A good weekend has been had. It started with a happy rush of relief when I awoke Saturday morning to find my hand had returned to normal size and color. Earlier in the week I was stung on the finger while trying to remove some sort of monstrous tropical insect from my neck. I don’t know what it looked like, but it was a hand full. And it had the last word. The sting smarted fierce, but I was incredibly brave and just shook my hand like a Polaroid picture. Over the following days, my middle finger puffed up to the size of an Oscar Meyer Wiener. In my best “doctor treat thyself” efforts, I simply observed the ever-enlarging monstrosity. Fairly confident that the disfigurement was due to allergic reaction and not infection, I tried not to worry, swinging my appendage this way and that, knocking over small objects in its path. Patrick thought likely we’d have to amputate and, “then you won’t be able to drive stick shift.” Just when I was beginning to believe I would be elephant finger for the rest of my life, or that some nest of tropical insects babies were brooding in my digit, my finger returned to the ranks of the normal. Yippee! This calls for a celebration. I just might have to hit the swing set!
Yesterday we spent half the day at CONASPEH. On Saturdays, Patrick teaches in the seminary. Currently he is only teaching English, but will eventually add theological classes as well. He enjoys working with the seminary students who are mostly adults, eager to learn, and very affirming. I enjoy sitting in my office, researching something new in tropical medicine and/or sounding out Creole words and listening to Patrick’s voice happily bounce off the cement walls, the class answering back in echo.
Today, after a breakfast of eggs and mangos and a strong-coffee wake-me-up, Patrick and I ventured up the mountain to Petionville where we met a pastor whose church we were visiting.
The church teetered on a hill, rising to the sky. The foundation was relatively new, the walls painted bright white and pink. Silk flowers decorated the windows and the alter; fans stirred the air. We arrived during a bible lesson; a pastor was passionately teaching about a chapter in the Bible to a patient audience who listened quietly. We were provided an excellent translator; Pedro had grown up since an infant with American missionaries—his parents near by--so had learned English from his earliest days. He enlightened us about the words to songs, subject of teaching and preaching, and the church service was illuminated in understanding.
The service meandered through the morning. Our favorite part is always the music. The congregation rose up in song, singing tunes so familiar for them that no sheet music, no hymnal, were necessary. The church band graciously did not attempt to overplay the voices, and instead inspired the rhythm and pace. The music moved to a Caribbean beat, and we had a hard time standing still. I think it was obvious we were enjoying ourselves; I received big grins from several of the women on the front row. Either they were happy we were happy, or they were laughing at two white kids groovin’ to the music.
Today was Patrick’s first sermon. He had fretted about it for most of the week. Although well versed at speaking in front of groups in the States, he has always spoken about the poor to the people of America. This was his first sermon TO the poor. And being a humble soul, he wasn’t sure what he could offer them, for ultimately he is in Haiti to listen. But he delivered a beautiful message.
Patrick stood up with the translator. He introduced himself to the congregation in Creole, describing his and my joy in the opportunity to work with them, to learn from them, to worship with them. I didn’t even know he had those phrases in his brain! I need to study! He is passing me up quickly! He then began his sermon in English with help of translation from our new friend. His message was simple and beautiful. He spoke of God’s presence in all times, in celebration and in suffering. He discussed his understanding of God's desire for justice and abundance for all people. He spoke in short sentences, mostly to accommodate the translator. The congregation listened, they smiled, and he won a lot of “Amens--” a clear statement of approval. I was beaming.
After church, the pastor invited us to his home where his wife of 45 years greeted us, as did his 2 sons, his daughter and his granddaughter. The home was simple, painted a strong pink, and well kept. Sodas and sandwiches were offered to us for lunch. We soon found out that they had lost one of their children only days before, a 31-year-old woman and mother of their granddaughter who lost a struggle to a mysterious illness. The shock of the fact that just days before they had been through a funeral, yet they were extending themselves with cheerful hospitality was staggering. The granddaughter—who days before had lost her mother—shook our hand warmly, and accepted our condolences with a smile.
At the end of an afternoon spent sitting in their living room, sipping soda and eating spicy mayonnaise sandwiches, the family presented us with a gift. We weren’t sure why. I mean Patrick’s sermon was good and all, but gift-worthy? They gave us a large Haitian painting of a rural village scene. We didn’t know what to say. I kept thinking, “they must have confused us with someone really important.” Their hospitality was overwhelming and left us feeling a little uncomfortable.
We ended the day at the radio show, staying distant from the microphone because our translator didn’t show. Of course the ever-challenging Pastor Guy kept asking us questions. Patrick made a brave attempt at an answer to a question he partially understood, but the fatigue of the long day at church got the best of him. So we refrained from any further on-air torture, and just kindly listened, picking up a word or two in each sentence, full comprehension evading us.
Now we collapse into bed, too tired to tackle Creole. We have a busy week ahead and are looking forward to a rejuvenating sleep. The hum of the fan drowns out the noise on the street. Eyelids are heavy and dreams are just around the corner. Sweet dreams my friends. We’ll chat again soon.
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