Finishing Well

Our final (full) day in Haiti was a Sunday. Into the two trucks for a service at the church where we had held our second VBS. Communion, once again, with real wine. Singing a medley of songs for the main service and the children's Sunday school class. Good, solid sermon from a Haitian pastor. Team introductions, where the church members laughingly confided in each other afterwards that the only name they remembered was "Jessica." (Whoot for a name that translates easily to so many languages!) The dance that is high school relationship drama.

And, when two of our guys stood up to give testimony, God showed up.


"'and I will cause you to ride in triumph on the heights of the land
    and to feast on the inheritance of your father Jacob.'
For the mouth of the Lord has spoken" Isaiah 58:14b

These high schoolers communicated effectively and efficiently. They communicated non-offensively and wisely. In less than five minutes each, the light that was in them burst forth and captured the hearts of a church full of listening adults with whom they ought to have had very little in common. But, sometimes, an overwhelming love for Christ is common factor enough.

I went to school for a degree in cross cultural communications, and I had classmates who could not have picked up so well on the nuances of Haitian "church culture," let alone confidently delivered them in front of a church. They both did amazing, and both of them managed to feed directly into the sermon that the pastor later preached.

One of the boys, in particular, had every detail, from the greeting to the delivery of his points, down perfectly. This sixteen-year-old is the master of high context communication. (I have my own ideas of where in the world he ought to put those skills to use, but I'll leave that between him and God, and let you know in ten years or so if I turned out to be right.)

The soccer game that afternoon, after several of the kids made a last visit to the Whole Hearted Home, lacked the triumphant sense of winning against all odds. (We lost.) But, it held onto the triumphant sense that we, at least a little bit, knew these kids who were sitting with us and watching. Names were known. Faces were familiar. For one last evening, the light that was in us all could be shared.

Together with new friends, we could finish well.