Haiti: The Sound of Lightening

Sprinkled mostly between rows 26-30 on a flight from Fort Lauderdale to Miami, eighteen people put their hands in the air, roller coaster style, as the plane accelerated down the runway.  Of the nearly 200 people in the 737, we certainly held the honor of being the loudest bunch.  Not in an annoying way, but in the manner of twelve college students and six adults full of life and energy at the prospect of a missions trip adventure in Haiti.

Staring out the window, Lorrie and I marveled at the ground below.  Big details, such as the panes of glass on the mall room or the white lines of a parking lot, shrank to tiny details, as the picture below us grew simultaneously smaller and larger.  Asphalt high ways receded and individual trees became a mass of green.  A string of lakes reflected in the sun, reminiscent of skid marks after a bouncing crash.

Already our second plan trip, my knees felt crunched as I tried to sleep on the cramped airplane.  A cranky attitude grew, then faded when Lorrie directed my thoughts to the beautiful out doors.

I desperately long to adequately describe the majesty of the view above the clouds, but Dr. Amorose (of my creative nonfiction class) would consider me horribly cliché for using the worn out words typically called upon to express the wonder of cloud.  Then again, journalism classes assure me: clichés unite the human experience because everyone can relate to them.  With these two warring factions in my head, primarily food related phrases came to mind.

From the window I could see pieces of angel food cake, the brown exterior irregularly ripped away, reflecting the glow of a fresh peeled orange the zesty pink of water melon slices.

Mashed potatoes carefully peeled, eradicating all dark marks, poured unevenly in a pan and set under the orange glow of the broiler to keep warm.

Unevenly piqued clouds, piled high in the distance and stretched too thin directly below, touched every so gently with the splendor of a guava pink and peach sunset.  Shining blue sky separated our miniscule aircraft from the muddy green spike of earth below.

Gazing out the eighteen-inch portal and across the frozen clusters of water around me, the plan shuddered and shook. Even the serenity before me had a hint of restlessness.

The hint soon broke into dramatic proclamation as a streak of lightening flashed through the clouds.  I heard no thunder over the drone of the airplane engines, but as the waves of light illuminated the clouds I imagined the sound of percussion instruments smashing in the background.

In my biology class last quarter, we learned how some people in the world have their senses cross-wired.  Instead of hearing music, they see the sounds as color.  A documentary called God Vibrations shared that a correlation exists between sound and color.  With my limited knowledge on the subject, I construe this to be a result of waves.  Sound travels in waves, light travels in waves, and wave lengths match up. 

So I wonder; what does the flash of white lightening sound like? White is the perfect mix of every color, so is lightening the perfect mix of every sound?  Or is it a moment of discord dancing across the sky like the path of a drunken superhero?

Once more, I digress.

Haiti: The Beginnings

Eight days of Spring Break 2012, I spent in Haiti.

The journey started back in February, when my Tacoma church, Puget Sound Christian Center, announced the missions trip to the congregation.  Ignite Campus Ministry at Pacific Lutheran University would be taking a group of Lutes to Haiti., led by Dan Donohoe.  They had a few spots open, if anyone else felt called to join them.

My Mom put my name on the list for an application.

It is true, I have felt called to go to Haiti for a year or two.  I had tried to go on several trips before, but God always closed those doors and pointed me in a different direction.  Torn between my Mom’s approval and God’s previous “no,” I sat down to discern if I ought to apply.  Immediately, God directed me to Isaiah 61:1-4.

“The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
A planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.”

Without a doubt, I knew God had called me to go to Haiti, a country of poor, despairing hearts, people who mourn, trapped in darkness.  I needed to go to Haiti and spread any gladness that I could muster.

“Gladness” hadn’t really been my strong suit.  Ever since my Grandma passed away last July, my default emotion has been anything but glad.  There have been laughs and smiles and pleasant memories, but mostly just sadness.  One of my most constant sources of love could only hug me if I wrapped myself tightly in the quilt she sewed, and that can never compare.  Even so, my Mom shared how this passage fit me too.  Perhaps God intended for me to fine a crown of beauty for my ashes while I worked in Haiti.  Confident in my call, I applied and prepared to leave.

The day before my first Haiti meeting I started to panic.  I would be missing two or three days of school, I had to get shots, I had to raise almost two thousand dollars in a little over a month, and I did not know any of the people I would be traveling with!  I asked God, “Are you sure about this?”  Then, one of the first things Dan said at the meeting, “Isaiah 61:1-4 is kind of our verse for the trip.”  My insides danced with glee. 

God most certainly called me to Haiti.

Two weeks later, at a team potluck, Lisa started singing Les Miserables.  I joined half the team in a rousing chorus of One Day More.

God most certainly called me to Haiti with these people.

I asked God how I should pay for the trip.  He told me I should contribute a specific amount out of pocket.  He has paid for nearly all of my school and still given me a job.  I could afford it. 

For two weeks I asked if he really meant it. Finally, I took the leap and paid the amount out of pocket.  By the end of the week, somebody offered to cover all of the rest of my costs.

God most certainly had everything under control.

March 22^nd rolled around and, despite feeling utterly convinced I would catch a tropical disease and die, be bitten by an eighteen foot long venomous snake, or loose my left leg in a politically motivated pipe bomb explosion, I went to bed ready to go to Haiti.