Sunday, September 8, 2013

Does Micronesia Really Exist???

I’m used to questions.  People are always asking me what different countries are like, what things are challenging, and what is rewarding – but traveling to Micronesia was probably the first time I had friends asking me if my next destination was even a real location.  Well, turns out, my plane ticket to Micronesia was not a scam; and the tiny island of Pohnpei does, in fact, exist.

Micronesia is comprised of several states, each of which is comprised of many islands.  I am currently living on a small island within the state of Pohnpei.  If you care to browse the internet for pictures of Pohnpei and stumble across breathtaking photos of waterfalls and beaches that look too good to be true, you’ve actually reached a quite accurate view of Micronesia.  It undoubtedly is one of the most beautiful places on the planet.

The Iris Micronesia mission school is being held at a marine park that offers access to a lagoon, coral reefs, and open ocean.  While living here, I have seen countless fish, a massive stingray, and even a sea turtle bumbling by.  Some days I feel like I live in an aquarium.  Monday through Thursday, we spend the mornings in class but usually have a few hours free in the afternoon before night class.  We are able to swim through the lagoon, kayak in the ocean, or take a walk down a road that looks like a scene from Jurassic Park.  I am not sure if I technically live in a rainforest or a jungle, but either way, it’s pretty cool.

The varying hues of the water (depending upon the coral, depth, and tide) creates breathtaking views that change each day.  The stars at night are mesmerizing, and it’s easy to get a neck ache from looking up for so long.  Almost every place I’ve been on the island has stunning views of the ocean.  Even in a poor village, people live in homes with views we would pay millions for in the states.  While on a village outreach, my group stayed at a modest house atop a hill where our hosts apologized for the lack of luxury.  I gazed out their window - view of mountains, palm trees, sparkling ocean, and a brilliant rainbow stretched across it all – and I assured our host we had far more than we could have ever asked for. 

Fortunately, the beauty in Pohnpei makes up for what the school lacks in physical comfort.  The students and staff are split up into small homes – some merely tents and others open-walled huts.  I was placed in a hut with three other girls, and we each have a little space on our wooden floor for our belongings and sleeping mats.  Every night, I fall asleep to the sound of geckos chirping and rats scurrying across the rafters of our hut.  The rats here are most definitely a mutant species that has the ability to chew through tents and thick plastic containers, as well as jump from trees into the ocean and swim like fish.  When one of the girls who lives in my hut first arrived to the island, she saw a large animal in a tree and excitedly exclaimed, “There are monkeys here?!”  Much to her dismay, I soberly replied, “That wasn’t a monkey.  That was a rat.  It’s just the size of a monkey.”

I spent my first few nights nuzzled under a mosquito net but started to notice the top of the net collecting rat poop.  A little more added to the pile each day.  Trying to be hardcore, I continued to forgo the use of my tent.  However, after a cockroach made its way under the mosquito net and crawled onto my legs while I was trying to sleep, I decided to abandon my wimpy mosquito net and erected a tent inside my hut for double protection.  Every night, I now crawl into my tent, zip that door as tight as it will go, and pray that all critters stay out.  Unfortunately, the cockroaches have found elsewhere to explore and regularly appear in my suitcase, backpack, purse, etc.  I wrestled one this morning before getting dressed as it decided to crawl through all of my clothes before I finally whacked it across my hut and found a bug-free outfit.

My animal-infested hut is conveniently situated right next to a port-o-potty, a far cry from the porcelain piece of heaven I use at home.  Quite frankly, I’d rather just dig a hole outside, but there is nowhere on base to do so discreetly.  Instead, we have a handful of overused port-o-potties which are filled with maggots, an occasional gecko, and then the normal port-o-potty goodies.  One of my new friends has deemed the port-o-potty directly across from my hut “the pit of death.”  Though I am thankful for a short walk to the toilet during the dark hours of the night, the lingering smell from “the pit of death” is not my favorite thing about Pohnpei.

The rain is another challenge here, as Micronesia is the second rainiest place on the globe.  The threat of precipitation is constant.  Since our hut is nothing more than a roof, a wooden floor, pillars, and three partial walls, we are growing accustomed to being wet.  Without real walls and doors, our hut offers little protection from the continual rain.  I have tried to keep my belongings as dry as possible, but this has proved an impossible feat.  Our clothes smell like mold, and everything always feels a little bit soggy.  Some nights, we get rained on while sleeping, and I am learning to deal with the moist feeling of my sheets that never really goes away.

Despite the challenges Mother Nature regularly creates, the beauty of Micronesia far outweighs the challenges.  My bed is literally about six feet from the ocean.  I stepped out of my bed the other day and saw a sea turtle swimming by.  I felt like I’d woken up inside a really cool movie.   I feel blessed that my house is on the ocean, that I see crazy animals every day, that I live in a rainforest/jungle, and that the scenery is breathtaking.

From Friday through Sunday, students are not in class but instead participate in a variety of outreaches.  The students are divided into “tribes,” and we staff are each responsible for leading one.  My tribe is named Rafiki, the Swahili word for friend.  The members of Rafiki are passionate about Africa, and we are dreaming of how we can collaborate after the school and make a loving impact on that continent. 

Each weekend, we are assigned to different outreaches around Pohnpei.  We spent our first weekend in a village, and this week we visited the local hospital and prison.  In upcoming weeks, we will be traveling to another island, learning water survival/spear fishing, and training on a “mountain survival” weekend.  So far, I’ve enjoyed the outreaches and the time getting to know my tribe better and better.  All in all, the outreaches have reinforced the lesson God has been teaching me over and over again throughout all of my travels – love is what people desire more than anything in the world.

On my tribe’s first outreach, we were stationed in a village where there was very little to do.  We were basically dropped off at a stranger’s doorstep (who knew we were coming) and told to bless the family.  After repeatedly asking what we could do to serve the family, if there were any needs in the community, if there were sick people we could pray for, etc., we realized that the only thing the family actually wanted was to spend time together.  Instead of working, we sat around sharing our testimonies and singing worship songs together.  On our second day of simply having fellowship time, I wondered how our hosts were feeling.  The woman of the household said that she wanted to share her heart with us and explained that she’d been craving fellowship with other believers.  She’d felt quite isolated previously and was overjoyed to have people worshipping in her home.  Tears streaming from her eyes, she continually thanked us for our visit.

Once again, the Lord reminded me that love does not always look the way we think.  Love is not a program or a church service.  Love is a person, and His name is Jesus.  And His presence came to the village, the hospital, the prison, etc. with us.  That’s what people really want.  We explained to our village hosts that Iris Ministries would be holding a church service every Wednesday evening at our base, and the family has come each week following our visit.  They are a part of our family now.

This past weekend, part of our outreach entailed picking up trash on the streets of Pohnpei before entering the prison.  We strolled along the road nearby the jail, throwing all kinds of rubbish into our large bags.  Some of the locals with houses along this street began to ask why we would spend time picking up trash.  Astonished that a bunch of white people were cleaning garbage on their streets, they invited us into their homes.  Within minutes, coconuts were cut open, flowers for our hair were picked, and one lady invited one of the guys and me to eat chicken and rice at her house.  With nowhere to wash my hands, I squeamishly dug in to the food kindly offered by this stranger, praying that the filth from my hands wouldn’t make its way into my stomach.

Because of strict visiting hours at the prison, we reluctantly had to cut our time in the woman’s house short; but she was thankful for the brief time together.  Though we were the ones being fed and welcomed, she continually thanked us for accepting her invitation to join her for some food.  Clearly, the Pohnpeian culture is extremely warm and hospitable; and it really is such a good reminder of the way we should live our lives.  Instead of being lost in the busyness of life, people are focused on family, relationships, enjoying fellowship, and hospitality.


            As our school and time on the island continues, I pray that God will pour out His presence more and more each day and that I will hear His voice clearly.  I am praying for a long term team to pioneer a project in Africa and a strong vision for the future.  Thanks to everyone who is partnering in prayer and love. 

Monday, July 22, 2013

Please Don't Wait For Me

Summer was always my favorite time of year as a kid – a beautiful season set apart for rest, sun, and beach adventures.  Now my seasons are all mixed up, and this summer has become an odd jumble of travel, weddings, working random jobs, planning, and catching up with family. 

I spent the first half of my summer visiting friends in California, one of the places I currently consider home.  While borrowing a friend’s car and driving down the 57 freeway, I had this sudden feeling of something I hadn’t felt in a very long time - normal.  Honestly, there is very little about my life that feels normal at this point, but for a moment - just a brief moment - I had a flashback to my old life.  I was temporarily suspended from reality and felt like I’d time-traveled back to the days when I lived in my cute Orange County apartment, had a stable job that never left me wondering how I would afford life, had tons of friends living close by, and attended a church that made my soul happy. 

Yet suddenly, I snapped back to reality and felt the unsettling weight of what I’d lost.  My visit to California was just that – a visit.  I had to remind myself that my normal life was gone.  I loved my former days living in California and mourned that loss as it hit me all over again.  I loved living near beaches with some of the best waves in the nation.  I loved surfing with friends and having bonfires every summer.  I loved the diversity of people, cultures, and food.  I loved the stereotypical, laid-back California attitude.  But most of all, I loved my amazing community of friends.  I loved their laughs, their depth of character, their generosity, their kindness, and their unceasing encouragement.

Tempted by thoughts of returning to my former life, I considered my options.  I could either move back to California, or I could continue on the path of missions.  Invitations to stay in Orange County were abundant.  I was offered several enticing living options.  Friends assured me that they could help me find a cheap car if I moved back.  I had old employers with job openings.  Every selfish part of me wanted to turn my back on the mission field and stay in California forever.  It would be so easy, so fun, so personally satisfying. 

However, with selfish reluctance, I turned down the offers of a place to live, a community to be a part of, and a car to buy.  As I prayed about the next step, I knew God was calling me back overseas.  Knowing I was making the right decision, I said no to every offer and decided to take up a different one…

About 5,000 miles from Southern California, there was a very unique opportunity calling my name.  In the middle of the Pacific Ocean, Iris Ministries just opened a brand new missions base on a small group of islands called The Federated States of Micronesia.  There, my former leaders from the Iris Latin America journey are currently preparing to run a training school for missionaries.  The Micronesia school is a continuation of the school I attended in Mozambique three years ago.  Its main purpose is to create communities of like-minded people who share the same heart/vision/mission.  These groups will dream with the Lord together and be launched to nations around the globe following the school term.  Iris Ministries hopes to send people to all corners of the earth (including my love, Africa) where they will remain for long-term projects.  

The Iris Micronesia school leaders asked me to take a position as an unpaid staff member – initially not the most tempting offer.  Yet, as I thought and prayed, I knew this was my next step in missions.  Though I’ve traveled quite a bit in the last couple years, my deepest desire has not changed.  My dream is to be planted in Africa, working alongside a dedicated community of believers with a heart to rescue children and foster healing in their lives through Christ’s love.  The missions training school in Micronesia will give me an opportunity to follow my dream and become part of a team who wants to do this together.

I’d be lying if I said the season following the school doesn’t scare me.  Though the school itself is only two months, the commitment to a long-term project afterwards could be years, decades even.  Though the love of Africa has been in my blood for years now, the reality of moving there long-term never ceases to scare me.  Africa is far.  It’s unpredictable.  I don’t know how I’ll afford it.  I will never blend in.  It’s just not easy.  

While thinking about my future, I landed in a familiar, bittersweet place.  It is there that I am often met with a mix of excitement and peace, but also sorrow for what is left behind.  One morning, I was listening to the soulful song “Don’t Wait for Me” by Josh Garrels, and I instantly related to the lament in his voice:  

Please don't wait for me/I lost my way again
I lost my job, I walked away/From the life that I was leading with my friends

When I was young I dreamed/Of a life that had freedom, that had joy
Oh life, it crushed my soul/With its cruel demands and fool's gold

Please don't wait for me/I lost my way again
I lost my house and my good name/When I found the road of my king

When I was young I dreamed/Of a life that had freedom, that had joy
But now I lost my life/For the one I dreamt of as a boy

Please don't wait for me/I ain't coming back again
I cannot turn around/From the place I'm going to where I've been*

As I listened to the lyrics, my heart reluctantly agreed with the words, “Don’t wait for me.”  The song croons, “Please don’t wait for me.  I lost my way again…I walked away from the life that I was leading with my friends.”  Oh, how painful it is to walk away from that life!  The life I was leading with my friends was a great one.  I miss it.  However, “I cannot turn around from the place I’m going to where I’ve been.”  It’s true.  I’ve seen too much now to go back to where I’ve been.  Sometimes I selfishly wish I could un-see some of the things I’ve seen.  But there are images burned into my mind that I can never erase: bloated, malnourished bellies; people missing lips and noses because rebel soldiers cut them off; tiny children begging for money and food on the streets; sick children wandering around camps for displaced persons; people literally living in garbage dumps.  Once you’ve seen these things, it’s impossible to not do something.  I can’t go back to where I’ve been. 

Garrels sings that he lost his way and lost his life when he "found the road of [his] king."  I know what it's like to find this road.  It can be a lonely road.  It can be a misunderstood road.  It can be a trying road.  But it's the only road to ultimate beauty, peace, and joy.

As much as I loved my old life and still miss it, there is nothing more satisfying or worthy than the life to which God has called me.  Even though I sometimes feel lonely, scared, or discouraged, deep down I am so truly thankful that I have found the road of my king.  As hard as it is, I am thankful for the unique calling God has placed on my life.  I will not waver in chasing the dreams the Lord has given me.  I know I am following the right road.

I distinctly remember attending a concert in Orange County a few years ago where the singer was trying to raise money for World Vision.  Before he sang, the audience was shown slides with statistics about orphans.  Several photographs of African children were displayed on the screen, and my heart almost beat out of my chest.  I knew those children were meant to be my family.  I knew that continent was meant to be my home.

I happened to bump into an old friend at the concert, and he told me that he'd just landed a new job in L.A.  I'll never forget his words that night.  "The job is hard, but I know it's where I am supposed to be."

And in that moment, I knew - as much as I loved California and as much as I treasured my life - I was not where I was supposed to be.  God had called me to the developing world and to a culture not my own.  Africa was and still is in my blood.  I could only have fun with my friends and enjoy the beach for so long before my heart would burst with sorrow for ignoring the path God had called me to.  I could ignore God's voice forever, but it would eat me alive.

If I had a dollar for every time I heard someone say, "There are poor people in America, Caitlin," I would have enough money to pay for my next flight overseas.  Yes, I am very aware that there are poor people in the United States.  In fact, there is great need everywhere - among both the poor and the rich.  There are "mission fields" everywhere.  But it's about finding "the road of my king" and figuring out whatever that means for my life and for your life.  For some people, the road of the king does look like staying in their home states, countries, and cultures.  For one of my friends, the road of the king looks like cleaning teeth in Orange County and praying for her patients.  For another, it means working in Parliament in London and spreading God's love to wealthy government officials.  For some of my friends, it means living in the inner city and hanging out with drug addicts and prostitutes.  For others, it looks like working in Hollywood and being a light in a very dark industry.  But for me, the road of my king looks like cocoa skin and bloated bellies.

So to my old life and my selfish ways, "Please don't wait for me.  I ain't coming back again.  I cannot turn around from the place I'm going to where I've been."

*Garrels, Josh.  "Don't Wait For Me."  Jacaranda.  Small Voice, 2008.  CD.

Link to song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eQKhD5j3mU0



Monday, April 22, 2013

Jamaica: One Love


Twenty-six countries.  Nineteen months.  Countless flat-tires, car breakdowns, sleepless nights and moments of roaring laughter.  One heart.  One vision.  ONE LOVE.

It’s hard to believe that our wild journey throughout Latin America and the Caribbean has finally come to an end after nineteen intense months.  When I joined the Iris team in September 2011, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.  My planned eleven months on the road quickly turned into nineteen, and I’d be lying if I said the journey wasn’t far more than I bargained for.  I was stretched in ways I never dreamt possible; sometimes the process was so painful I thought I would burst.  But in the end, I don’t regret a moment of it.  I have more trust in God than ever before.  I have renewed faith for impossible things.  I look at the future with hopeful expectation.  I am honestly in awe of Jesus.

Despite the challenges of the past year, the victories far outweigh them.  Besides going through my own personal transformation, I saw God do things in front of my eyes for others that I’d only read about before.  Collectively, my teammates and I saw cancer healed, deaf ears opened, blind eyes healed, the lame walking, limbs growing out, backs healed, and people set free.  Sure, I missed a real bed, hot showers, friends, family, normal food, and the distant memories of a routine—but no, I wouldn’t change the past nineteen months for the world.  The things sacrificed cannot even compare to the things gained.

As my teammates and I approached the end of our trip, I prayed that God would give us an exciting ending.   Though exhausted in every way, my teammates and I were determined to finish well.  From Cuba, we flew to our twenty-sixth and final nation—the beautiful island of Jamaica.  During our final hour, God still had some surprises up His sleeve for us and gave us a perfect ending for a wild journey.

Personally, I was elated to finish our time in Jamaica.  I’d been dreaming of visiting this island since I was a little girl, and reaching Jamaica seemed like the prize at the finish line of a very long race.  While planning for the Caribbean leg of the journey back in December, the Lord had told me to simply dream with Him.  Along the way, He met every dream, fulfilled every promise, and surprised me with unexpected gifts. It seemed only fitting that entering our final country was a fulfillment of a lifelong dream.  Being in Jamaica was like a physical manifestation of God’s promises. 

Right away, I fell in love with Jamaica.  The crystal-clear beaches, friendly people, delicious jerk chicken, and unique melody of the Patwa language—it was just as I’d always imagined it.

We began our time in Jamaica just outside Montego Bay to volunteer at a children’s home.  Days later, we worked our way to the sleepy beach town of Negril and ended our trip in the capital city of Kingston.  Through a complicated chain of events, we got connected to a Bethel Church team who was headed to Kingston the same week as us.  Every spring, Northern California’s Bethel Church (the church to which Iris Ministries is officially “married”) sends teams all over the world for short-term mission trips.  Because Iris and Bethel are closely linked, Iris’s Heidi Baker had visited Bethel Church at the start of our journey to officially commission our trip to minister in Latin America and the Caribbean.  It seemed significant that we’d begun our journey with a blessing from Bethel; and now, nineteen months later, we’d come full circle and ended with Bethel.

Partnering with Bethel seemed like a divine connection, but I was unaware of just how much had happened behind the scenes to connect us.  Upon arriving in Kingston, we met with the Bethel team as well as the local pastors who were hosting us and sat in awe as we listened to God’s divine hand in it all.  Unbeknownst to me, the Jamaicans had been dreaming of having people from both Bethel Church and Iris Ministries visit their island congregation for a long time.  The pastor who invited my team to join them in Kingston didn’t initially realize we were from Iris Ministries and freaked out when he found out that Iris and Bethel would both be at his church at the same time.  Meanwhile, one of the leaders of Bethel was receiving words from the Lord about Jamaica, even having a dream that revealed who her co-leader would be.  A Jamaican woman from the Kingston congregation had a dream of a large group of white people standing on their stage and didn’t know what it meant.  And my team weaved our way into this church through a friend of a friend of my parents who just-so-happened to go to Christmas dinner with one of the pastors this past Christmas.  The pastor normally spent the holiday with a different family but decided to change things up this past Christmas.  The connections made at that dinner were what introduced my team into this beautiful web of Jamaican and Bethel brothers and sisters.

I quickly realized it was no coincidence that all of us were in Kingston together. And as I heard the expectancy from the Jamaicans and the Bethel team, my expectancy grew as well.  I knew God was going to do something great in Jamaica.

We began our time in Kingston with a healing conference at the church, and right away God began to move in a powerful way.  From the first night to the last day, God healed and freed many people.  To be honest, I hadn’t seen an unusually large amount of healings throughout the other islands, but the Holy Spirit broke loose in this place; and people were getting healed left and right.  There were so many testimonies that I gave up trying to record them all.  Here are just a handful…

One man in the congregation had a friend who was stuck at home with a sick daughter but wanted to be at the conference.  As people were healed of various ailments, they marched to the front of the church to share their healings.  This man started texting his friend the testimonies. As she read the stories of healing on her phone, the Holy Spirit invaded her home, touched her daughter, and the fever left her body. 

Natalie received a word of knowledge that someone in the congregation was allergic to water.  She saw a picture of itchy irritated skin from the allergy.  As she shared the word aloud, I wondered if it was even possible to be allergic to water and where she’d gotten this idea from.  Yet sure enough, the following day, a man from the congregation grabbed the mic to share his healing testimony with the church.  “I was allergic to water,” he declared.  “Whenever I showered or got sweaty, my skin would feel itchy for twenty to thirty minutes afterwards.”  I looked at my teammates in disbelief.  This was real.  The man went on, “But I’ve been dancing around the church, getting sweaty, and I am not itchy!  I’ve been healed!”

On the first night of the conference, I prayed for a young man who had problems with heart palpitations and shortness of breath.  On my way home that night, I just-so-happened to bump into the young man in the parking lot.  He approached me and exclaimed, “I’m so glad to see you!  I need to tell you something!  I’ve been running around and around, and I’m not short of breath!” He was grinning from ear to ear.  This was good news.

Another young Jamaican man named Matthew, who helped serve as a chauffeur for me and my teammates, shared an amazing testimony with us.  Matthew explained that just getting to the conference was a miracle in of itself.  Though born in Kingston, Matthew had been studying in Montego Bay (several hours away), as well as spending time in the Cayman Islands where his family lived.  He was scheduled to start an internship back in Montego Bay after visiting the Cayman Islands, but he ended up taking a little detour to Kingston.  He needed to help with wedding preparations in the city, and his internship was pushed back two weeks.  He knew the Lord had brought him back to Kingston for this specific time, and he had come to the conference with high expectations. 

Matthew had been in a snowboarding accident five years prior while attending boarding school in the states. He had three herniated disks, which were extremely painful.  After the accident, Matthew had to throw away his dream of becoming a professional soccer player and dealt with depression as he couldn’t do the physical things he used to.  He had spent a long time rehabilitating his back and doing physiotherapy.  Doctors warned him that if he didn’t keep the muscles around his back strong, he would be at risk for paralysis later in life. But Matthew no longer has to fear such a thing, because during the conference, God completely healed and restored his back.  All pain left; all disks were restored. Matthew is now able to bend over and do things he couldn’t do since age sixteen.

But my favorite healing testimony belongs to the Jamaican woman who hosted Aleeza and me.  Betty had worn glasses for over a decade but wasn’t even thinking about her eyes at the conference.  In fact, when Betty stood up for prayer, she asked God to heal her back pain.  Yet, as people prayed for her back, she received a surprise she hadn’t asked for.  Her eyesight was unexpectedly restored.  She was so shocked she could see without glasses that she completely forgot about her back.  Realizing that her vision was the same whether her glasses were on or off, Betty started telling everyone around her what had just happened.  She shared the good news with Aleeza and me as we got into her car to drive home—the first time she’d driven without glasses in years.  “We’re your guinea pigs!” we joked. “Betty, you better really be healed if you’re going to drive right now!”

Betty, Aleeza, and I laughed the whole ride home.  Every time we stopped behind another car, Betty read the license plate numbers aloud and asked me to confirm the accuracy.  With every correct answer, we erupted into more giggles.  Betty was so surprised that her joy and laughter was contagious.  God is just cool like that.

After the conference, the Bethel team split into two ministry groups--one heading off to the countryside, the other stationed in Kingston.  After many changes of plans, we Iris five were asked to stay in Kingston with the city team.  One morning, Nick, the leader of the city team invited us to visit their host house to pray for us.  We gladly accepted the offer.

We were driven up to the beautiful mountain home where the Bethel team was staying.  The view was breathtaking, overlooking the city and the ocean.  Nick said his teammates wanted to wash our feet and pray for us.  As they prayed for God to bless us for the sacrifices we’d made, so much was going through my head.  Tears began to flow from my eyes remembering the past nineteen months of my life—remembering the pain of being separated from friends and family during crucial moments, the devastation of being robbed and watching my teammates get robbed, the discouragement of illness, the frustration of endless car breakdowns, the nights sleeping on the side of the road, the moments of paralyzing fear and the reality of just being plain exhausted.  People often ask to hear about the glory, the healing testimonies, the stories of adventure—but most don’t acknowledge the pain and sacrifice that come alongside those stories.  As the Bethel team prayed for us, I felt tears begin to trickle down my cheeks.  Our trip had been amazing, but it hadn’t been easy.  And someone noticed.  Someone cared.  Someone took the time to stop for us.

As the five of us—Alan, Roberta, Aleeza, Natalie and myself—sat there receiving the blessing of having our feet washed, I couldn’t help but to think about the many people who weren’t sitting there with us.  I couldn’t help but to remember the beautiful faces of my teammates—my family—who had gone home after the completion of South America and not returned for the Caribbean.  I couldn’t help but to mourn the loss of their presence for the final leg of the journey.

I remembered that Natalie had told me many months ago (long before we separated in South America) that the Holy Spirit gave her the number seventeen and told her seventeen people would finish the trip in the Caribbean.  While traveling with just five people, I figured that had simply been a mistake.  However, in Kingston, I felt the Holy Spirit prompting me to count the number of people on the Bethel team standing beside us.  I asked Nick how many people from his team were left in Kingston, and he said that after many rearrangements, they were a team of twelve.  The twelve Bethel members plus our Iris five formed a final team of seventeen.  We had become one unit; and just as Natalie had heard many months prior, we finished in Kingston with seventeen people.  So many hard changes had tried to come against the vision in our hearts, but when God says something will be done, it will be done.  When God says seventeen, it will be seventeen.  Though it was hard to lose such a big portion of our team, God has such a beautiful way of redeeming things and accomplishing His purposes. He is truly awesome.

I wanted God to give me a very exciting ending to our story.  He gave me a finish beyond my wildest dreams.  Not only did we see miracles in Jamaica—eyes healed, lungs healed, deaf ears opened, herniated disks restored, etc.—we saw God’s divine hand wrap up our entire journey into a beautiful time of redemption and restoration.  He gave us new stories, new testimonies, and new friends.  We saw God’s blessing, His honor, His grace, and His complete control of everything.

The phrase “one love” from Bob Marley’s famous reggae song has become an unofficial slogan of Jamaica, and I can’t think of any better way to sum up the story of Iris Latin America.  In Jamaica, the phrase “one love” refers to a universal love for all people.  No matter what your color, gender, beliefs or ethnicity, you shall remain under the covering of “one love” for every person.  After visiting God’s children in the largest cities of Latin America, in indigenous tribes in the jungle, on the streets of red-light districts, inside prisons, in orphanages, on farms in remote rural villages, and everywhere in between, we saw the true “One Love” moving and breathing upon all of them.  We saw God’s love for all His children—from the fairest ones to the darkest ones.  We saw God’s love for the jungle chief, the prostitute, the prisoner, the orphan, the mayor, the rich man and the poor man.  We saw no bounds on God’s love. 

I love to share cool stories and testimonies, but there is something that I feel is far greater to share—LOVE.  The greatest miracle we can ever experience is the raw, unconditional love of Jesus Christ.  Everything else is meaningless without it.  I have traveled the world and been privileged to see many things and many nations.  And my best testimony, my journey’s greatest conclusion, my favorite memory is love.

Thank you for reading and for following this journey.  May God bless you and fill you to the brim with His beautiful LOVE!

Monday, March 11, 2013

Haiti: Beauty for Ashes


“…[H]e will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair.”
-Isaiah 61:3

Before coming to Haiti, I had heard pretty much nothing but negative talk about this country.  People called it a hopeless nation, a black hole that sucks up resources, a revolving door of missionaries, a country given to Satan, and a barren land.  Rumor said Haiti was ugly, brown, and unfertile.  I’d been told I would see a shift from green to brown the moment I crossed the Dominican-Haitian border, a result of demonic curses.  “No one knows quite what to do with Haiti,” was the resounding opinion.  “Don’t waste your time.”

To be honest, whenever I hear negative press about a country, everything inside of me wants to prove people wrong.  When people declare a hopeless nation, I want to declare hope.  When people declare barrenness, I want to declare life.  When people declare a curse, I want to declare Isaiah 61—beauty for ashes, blessing instead of mourning, praise instead of despair. 

The Lord had given me a vivid dream about Haiti way back in August, and I held it in my heart.  Despite hearing how dreadfully ugly Haiti was, my dream revealed gorgeous palm trees, sparkling water, and natural beauty.  I believed God saw Haiti like this—but I wondered what I would actually see when I got there.

Upon arriving in Haiti, I quickly realized that people see what they want to see.  Yes, it is true that parts of Haiti are incredibly polluted, poor, and destitute.  But beyond the rubbish piles and the poverty, there is beauty so intense that it honestly can’t be put into words. 

In Haiti, I saw green.  I saw lush vegetation.  I saw majestic trees.  I saw children laughing and faces smiling.  I saw the same sparkling clear water and palm trees I’d seen in my dream.  And most of all, I saw a nation bursting with endless potential and relentless hope.

Haiti is undoubtedly on the brink of change.  The earthquake of 2010 was not the confirmation of God’s hatred for this “ungodly nation”.  God loves Haiti.  He loves His Haitian sons and daughters.  And He has a plan of hope and prosperity for them. 

After visiting twenty-four countries during this trip (many of which blur together), I can honestly say there is something very different and very special about Haiti.  Something significant is happening in Haiti’s history right now—you can simply feel it in the air.  It seems like the people have hit a turning point, and the nation is on an historic upswing.  There is still abundant need and appalling poverty, but Haiti is rapidly moving forward.

Because of the unique nature of Haiti, our team’s ministry time here unfolded quite differently than we’d imagined.  Instead of witnessing healing miracles, overwhelming financial favor, or other demonstrations of the more in-your-face glory, we experienced God’s glory through relationship.  Most of our time was spent getting to know people on a much more intimate level than we normally can.  We shared our hearts with our new brothers and sisters, listened to their visions, and ministered to many individuals who are in the process of transforming Haiti.
 
I felt like God let us in on one of His greatest secrets—that He is going to surprise the world by what He is doing in this little island nation.  He is gradually pouring more and more fuel into the country, and soon He will throw a match on it; and Haiti will explode with His glory.  In Haiti, I felt like an undercover agent for God, secretly being handed fuel by my Father and shown what people to throw it on--knowing the explosion is coming really soon.  God connected my team to pivotal leaders in Haiti’s transformation, and I can’t explain how humbled I am that He let my little team be a part of their lives and this upcoming burst of glory. 

Our divine connections actually began before we even arrived in Haiti.  A friend of my mother, June, had lived in Haiti years prior and connected me through Facebook to several of her friends living in Port-au-Prince.  I started writing so many emails to strangers in Haiti that I was getting mixed up with who was who.  But one man’s emails really stood out to me, and I knew I needed to meet him when we arrived. His name is Pastor Bobby.

Bobby is the head pastor of Quisqueya Chapel, one of the three English-speaking churches in all of Haiti.  We attended his church on our first Sunday, and the moment he began to speak from the pulpit, I knew this man would shake the nation.  He declared the very words that were on our hearts.  He boldly proclaimed that Haiti was positioned perfectly for revival.  God loves to use the underdogs to blow people away with His power and glory.   God uses the weak things of the world to shame the wise. Haiti has been declared the “poorest country in the western Hemisphere”; and Bobby declared that label of poverty is precisely why God would choose Haiti for a powerful movement of the Holy Spirit.  He said that because of the devastating earthquake in 2010, the whole world is watching Haiti.  This tiny country had attracted the hearts of people all over the globe, and people would see when God brought it from tragedy to victory.  This was the first time I’d heard someone fearlessly declaring that the negative words spoken over Haiti were lies and curses--and that we needed to believe in something greater. 

Immediately, our hearts connected with Bobby and we knew we needed to spend more time together.  He quickly adopted my team as his little “League of Nations” and invited us to stay at his home for a couple nights.  There we shared ideas, food, and laughs with him and his beautiful wife.  Bobby was hungering for more and more of God and was desperate to see Him move powerfully in his life, his family, his church, and his nation.  He saw the same ticking time bomb that we did and believed God was getting ready to blow Haiti up with His glory.

Bobby knew God was on the move here in a radical way and wanted to involve us in what was happening.  We spent hours praying with Bobby and for Bobby, anointing his whole church with oil, prophesying over his family, and breaking strongholds and curses over Haiti.  Bobby had person after person lined up for us to meet.  Through his connections, we met many of the key players in Haiti’s future and were able to speak with and pray for several.

One of the many fireballs in his congregation was South Korean Helen.  We met her on a Sunday morning when Bobby brought her over to our group for prayer.  Helen was facing many trials that had all piled up into one big mess.  She had mistakenly been assumed as a woman of great wealth, and greed led to an attempted kidnapping.  Fortunately, she’d been removed from her home and able to hide out for a while; but she felt unsafe and needed a new place to live.  Helen was in search of a new base for her ministry as well.  In addition, she had been suffering from a relentless cough for months.  Looking overwhelmed and broken, she approached us for prayer.  We prayed that God would protect and provide.

Just two weeks later, we reunited with Helen in her brand new home.  God had provided a new place to live—beautiful, affordable, and fully-furnished.  Though monthly rent is a concept virtually unheard of in Haiti, Helen needed this option, and the woman renting the house said that was no problem.  Helen was also provided with a new house for her ministry base at the exact price she’d prayed for.  And lastly, her cough was healed.  Helen looked radiant—healthy, happy, and in awe of God’s speedy answer to prayer.

During our visit, Helen invited a colleague over to her house and asked us to pray for her.  We’ll call her Jasmine to protect her privacy.  We asked Jasmine what she wanted prayer for.   Poised and self-assured, she very matter-of-factly said she was bi-polar and would like to live a more normal life.  We began to dig a little deeper.  Eventually, Jasmine admitted that she had been abandoned by her mother and mistreated by her sister as a child.
 
Jasmine also divulged that she heard a voice who gave her instructions.  The voice told her there was no God.  It told her that if she kept smoking, she would go to hell.  We asked her who she thought the voice was.  She seemed unsure at first, then said she thought it was the devil.  We asked Jasmine if she believed the voice when it spoke and if she really wanted to follow its instructions.  She said she had no choice.  She needed a guide for her life, and the voice was the only one guiding her.  Jasmine said she couldn’t hear the voice of God, so she was forced to follow this one.

Jasmine explained that she had begun to feel a “negative energy” in her childhood home in Jamaica.  Her sister hated and cursed her, and whenever she wore her sister’s clothes, she felt pain all over her body.  When Jasmine told her mother about the pain, she immediately brought her to a psychiatric ward.  Jasmine was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder and put on medication.  Her mother couldn’t handle the situation and quickly sent Jasmine off to live with her father in Haiti. 

Jasmine had been dismissed as mentally ill, but I told her that she was not crazy.  I explained that we are all in a very real battle, and there are very real angels and demons around us.  I told Jasmine that the negative energy and the voice speaking to her is called Satan.  The positive energy is called the Holy Spirit.  The negative energy, Satan, produces lies, death, condemnation, etc.  The positive energy, the Holy Spirit, produces life, truth, freedom, peace, joy, etc.

We asked her if she wanted to hear the Holy Spirit instead of the voice.  We asked her if she wanted to forgive her family and find freedom.  We asked her if she wanted to stand in authority over the voice that was controlling her life.  She said yes on every account.

Natalie began by leading her in a prayer to forgive her family and renounce all pacts she’d made with Satan.  Several of us prayed for her, and we asked her to repeat, “I am a daughter of God.  Satan has no power over me, etc.”

As Jasmine repeated, she suddenly burst into tears and began to yell words from her heart, “I belong to God!  Satan, I’m not your play-toy anymore!  I hate you!!!”

In that crucial moment, she shifted from being trapped to taking authority over what was happening in her life.  I saw the deep pain from her battle and the true desire to defeat the enemy.  We stopped fighting for her and began fighting with her as she spoke words of truth over her own life.  This was breakthrough. 

Finally, after much prayer, we all went outside, joined hands and screamed “FREEDOM!” at the top of our lungs three times.  Jasmine radiated with victory.  She was no longer a prisoner.  This woman was free. 

Helen looked elated at the deliverance that had just taken place.  As she continues to reach out to those around her and take the time to find the Jasmines in her community, many more will walk in freedom.

*                      *                      *                      *

Though we could have easily spent our entire month in Port-au-Prince, we decided to head outside the city for part of our journey.  We spent some time in the region of Carrefour, just an hour outside of downtown Port-au-Prince.  One of Natalie’s friends connected us with a Haitian fireball named Karly.  An architect by trade but missionary by practice, Karly exhibited what a true servant of Christ is supposed to be.  Karly spent his days visiting the tent cities and homes in Carrefour to visit families and pray for people.  He was involved at a neighborhood orphanage and active with the youth in his church.  Karly’s home not only belonged to him, his wife, and adorable son but also to the countless neighborhood children who flocked to his property.  Every time we came to his home, local kids were in the front of the house playing soccer, gathered in his living room watching a movie, or sitting on his porch waiting for a hug.
 
Karly often worked with visiting mission teams and led them throughout his village to be involved in his day-to-day ministry.  Normally the teams stayed at “The Villa”, a fancy establishment across the street from Karly’s home.  However, we were placed in a more modest house next door and invited to eat at Karly’s house each night instead of The Villa.  This turned out to be a huge blessing and an opportunity to transform from acquaintances into family.  Each night, we enjoyed the delicious local food Karly’s wife cooked for us, as well as the fellowship of new friends.  As we joked around with Karly, he became like a big brother, and his four-year-old son became our team’s new favorite person.  The people who saw us interacting thought we’d been friends for a long time and were shocked to find out we’d just met.  

Karly whipped us into shape by hiking us around his mountainous community and bringing us into homes to pray for people.  Many were sick and in pain.  The need was great.  At the top of Carrefour stood a tent city, a makeshift community formed of tarp tents after the earthquake.  As we passed through, we were invited into some homes to pray.  Whenever we prayed, the women put cloth on their heads—a sign of reverence for God while receiving prayer.  If they didn’t have a handkerchief handy, they all scrambled to find something before prayer started—even an old T-shirt—to place on their heads.  Despite rumors that everybody in Haiti believes in voodoo, my team was moved by the Haitian humility and reverence for the Lord. 

Karly also brought us to a local orphanage which immediately melted my heart.  Most of the children living there were very young—around five or six years old.  They eagerly surrounded us, ready to play.  We organized a few rounds of “duck, duck, goose” and then a game of musical chairs.  The kids went wild with excitement and roared with laughter. 

Aleeza spent her time holding a tiny baby, just a few months old, who was the most malnourished person I’d ever laid eyes on.  I’d seen starving babies from places like Somolia on TV and in magazines, but I’d never seen a child so emaciated right in front of my eyes.  Her legs were like fragile little twigs, with withered skin sagging off of them.  She looked so delicate that I felt like I’d break her if I touched her.  Aleeza bravely picked this baby girl up and held her on her lap.  She prayed for God to heal the little baby though she looked lifeless.  Her face was blank, and I knew if she hadn’t been taken in by the orphanage, she would have died.

A few days later, we asked Karly to take us back to the orphanage for another visit.  In just a few days, the tiny baby girl had transformed into a different person.  She smiled when we picked her up.  Her face had life in it.  She showed emotion.  I could scarcely believe my eyes.  God was really healing this baby.  Slowly but very surely, He was nursing her back to health.

The other children were happy to be reunited, and I spent most of my time chasing around a few of the little boys, tickling them as soon as I caught them, and swinging them in the air.  I got tired much quicker than the six-year-olds did and sat on the couch for a moment to rest.  A quiet little boy approached me and crawled into my lap.  He examined my ponytail and ran his fingers through my brown and blond hair, carefully rearranging where it fell on my shoulders.  After he was pleased with his work, he cuddled into my chest, his arms wrapped around me. 

I’d been having so much fun playing that I’d kind of forgotten these kids were orphans.  Suddenly, I remembered why they were craving such love and attention.  It’s not normal for a little boy to be so starved for affection that he doesn’t care where it comes from.  That’s never the way God intended the world to be.  Though we were providing very temporary affection, I knew these kids needed so much more than we could provide in a just a few hours. 

This feeling of hopelessness is what many people let define Haiti, but this isn’t the end of the story.  Though there are still many orphans, God is raising up a generation of fathers for the fatherless.  Karly is already serving as a spiritual father to many, and he is training up many young Haitians to follow his example.

Karly had been dreaming of organizing a youth conference for the young adults in his church for a while and asked us to make it happen.  He wanted to disciple the youth and begin a ripple effect of God’s love.  As these youth go deeper with God, they will become the revival Haiti needs.  Karly invited several young adults to our house for a three-day conference.  My teammates and I taught on the father heart of God, our identity in Christ, and the authority we carry as God’s children.  The youth were open, eager to learn, and excited to pass on what they learned to others.  I believe God will raise them up to be amazing leaders in Haiti, and I’m blessed to have met them.

Though Carrefour was great, we still wanted to explore further outside the city and began to pray for open doors.  Through a friend of a friend of a friend, we got connected to a German woman named Martina living in Gonaives, an area about three hours north of Port-au-Prince.  Martina invited us to stay at the children’s home where she lived, Mission de Vie.  We’d found that most non-profits in Haiti charged lots of money for visitors, some orphanages charging as much as $90 per night to volunteer.  When we asked Martina how much it cost to stay with her, she seemed confused as to why we would even offer money.  Her orphanage was the first we’d seen that didn’t seem to depend on foreign teams for income.  And though Martina was from Germany, she was married to a Haitian, and there were no other foreigners at Mission de Vie.  Martina was gracefully and joyfully immersed in the culture.   I liked that.

Martina organized several meetings for us—praying for sponsorship program parents, orphanage staff, kids, and youth.  At the staff meeting, we threw our original plan out the window and decided to simply wash the feet of all of the staff members and pray for them one by one.  One woman’s stoic countenance cracked, and she began crying.  As we prophesied over people, Connie was overwhelmed by a sense from God and told one of the women, “I feel like you are called to be a mother.”  This didn’t seem a wild notion for a woman working at an orphanage, but the woman sneered.  Connie was a bit taken aback by her reaction and wasn’t sure what to think. 

Natalie pried further to see why she’d reacted like that.  Natalie asked the woman if there was anything she needed prayer for.  Reluctantly, the woman offered, “I don’t know why, but my husband and I can’t have children.  Before this meeting, I was crying out to God about this.  I told God that if your mission team didn’t say anything about me being a mother, I wouldn’t listen to anything you told me.”  We were a bit stunned. 

Shortly after, her husband heard what Connie had heard from the Lord, and he asked us to pray for both of them.  We went to their home later on and prayed for God to give them children.  The woman’s countenance had completely shifted from harsh and skeptical to soft and welcoming.  She hugged us goodbye, blessing us and telling us to come back to Haiti soon.
 
At the end of our visit, Martina dropped us off at another mission in Gonaives called Much Ministries.  We were greeted by an American couple known to locals as Papa Beaver and Mama Kathy, the heart of Much Ministries. Beaver and Kathy started going back and forth between Haiti and North America for ten years before making a permanent move to Haiti in 2011.  They now work in an extremely impoverished community called Jubilee.  There’s a garbage dump, several shacks, muddy roads, sewage streams, and salt flats.  You can choose to see the brown ugliness of it all, or you can choose to see the beauty.  Papa Beaver and Mama Kathy choose to see the beauty. 

Kathy’s vision entails taking things that others consider trash and making them into something beautiful.  She started collecting trash from the rubbish dump in Jubilee and teaching the local women how to turn it into beautiful jewelry.  Years ago, she told the Haitian women of Jubilee that one day foreigners would be fighting over what they had.  The Haitians laughed at Kathy.  Not too long after, they began to sell the jewelry and stunning art they’d rescued from the dumps and transformed into masterpieces.  Foreigners began coming to visit the project, and some literally fought over who got what--all wanting to buy the stunning art.  The Haitian women who had once laughed at Kathy stopped in awe.  Mama Kathy smiled; she’d seen the beauty in Jubilee all along. 

Kathy named their line of jewelry and products “Second Story Goods.”  She said their materials have been rescued from the trash, but now they are being used for something beautiful.  They are on their second story.  And this story is a good one.

People like Kathy and Beaver will change the nation of Haiti.  They already are.  Martina and Karly and Bobby and Helen as well—they are vital agents for the kingdom of God and are calling forth great change in a small but mighty nation.

I suppose the line of Kathy’s products sum up the heart of Haiti best.  Truly, this nation is on its second story.  The first story I heard about Haiti was poverty and strife.  But its second story will be transformation, prosperity, and hope.  I am so honored that God brought me to Haiti at such a significant time and connected me to such amazing people.  I am so humbled that He let me and my teammates sprinkle fuel onto this country, and I can’t wait to hear news of an explosion really soon.