The mamas were giving their testimonies.
One by one, they came to the front with their babies, sharing how much of a difference Compassion’s Child Survival Program made in their lives.
One special mama had two babies, not her own. People didn’t understand why she’d taken them in. She couldn’t afford to care for the babies. She was shunned and found herself all alone crying near the street one day. A Compassion Child Survival Program staff happened to pass by and told her about the program, that she’d be able to get support as she raised those babies. She agreed and the children were enrolled in the program. The translator prayed over her, “even though family might not understand you, God does,” he said.
There was another woman with a baby of her own. But she’d also taken in her deceased cousin’s baby. Mid-way through her story, she broke into song. I had no idea what she was saying because there hadn’t been translation yet, but there was something beautiful and tremendously sad about this song long before I knew the words. She sang with courage, she looked up, towards the back of the church as she poured this heart-song out from her soul. There was hope and promise in her words, but in her eyes, I saw the sadness, the depth of pain. She said the Compassion Child Survival Program staff taught her to sing this song when she was feeling tremendous sadness and despair. They encouraged her, “You need to sing this song whenever you feel sad, and you will feel better.” The song, my heart be happy.
And then there was Archille.
She came to the front, holding her son close, tight in her arms. She spoke quietly and tears came to her eyes the second she started talking. She appeared to be hiding a bit behind her son, as if protecting him from her own pain. He was near and dear to her, you could tell. She felt alone, very alone, and I sensed that the moment she started talking, even before I knew why.
Archille shared with us, her son was born with one leg.
She’d been shunned and teased, disowned and laughed at for having a son with one leg. It was and has been immeasurably painful. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know where to turn. Her tears, the depth of her pain, visible. If there was a way I could’ve reached out to her in that moment, I would’ve.
Archille then proceeded to do one of the most brave things I’ve ever witnessed. She started taking off her son’s pants.
In that moment, we saw his one leg.
It was holy, intimate. We knew the reality she’d been telling was truth.
Archille was advised, Compassion’s Child Survival Program was the best way to care for her boy. Through her involvement in the Child Survival Program, Archille has developed “good friendships and relationships in [the] center.” Home visitors encourage her. And Compassion’s staff have compassion for Archille. They’ve worked with her and she’s “thankful for all they’ve done to help with [her] boy.”
The translator prayed over Archille and her boy, “If God accepts the boy as he is, as we do, we must love him.”
I recognized Archille’s pain the second I saw her hide behind her son, the second I saw the tears in her eyes and they couldn’t be held back anymore. I’d known that pain myself. When tears are so close to the surface that you cry if you speak even one word, you just need someone to listen to you, care for you, act on your behalf.
Perhaps there’s a purpose for our pain, that we might be able to more readily recognize it in others. And help.
We had an opportunity to ask the questions anyone would ask at that point. How does he get around? How would Compassion help this boy with his leg? Mama answered, indicating her boy is able to stand on one leg, gets around by crawling, and is often carried. Compassion has already sent mama Archille’s and baby to Port-Au-Prince where they’ve seen doctors about baby’s leg. He will get a prosthetic when he’s older, but for now he’s too young, so they have to wait.
Yvonne, our trip co-leader and Compassion representative, held the sweet baby boy as we sang songs and prayed with all the mamas and babies. Safe in Yvonne’s arms, Archille’s boy led our way to the Child Development Center.
We spent the next hour or two meeting children and engaging with teachers in the Child Development Center. (I’ll share more about that later!) But Before we knew it, it was time to visit the Child Survival Program building where mamas and babies meet with Compassion staff. It was a lovely space with boards tracking immunizations and child growth, as well as toys and cribs for the babies. This felt like a safe haven, and it was.
I was one of the first to enter the building. The seat next to Yvonne and this beautiful boy with one leg was open. So I took it. There was a part of me that thought the seat would better be taken by someone else, all the others who cared about this boy and wanted to be close, too. But there was me. Perhaps it was God who brought me in among the first. Perhaps it was He who left the seat open.
I had an opportunity to talk with Yvonne about this boy as others entered the space, the hope I had to share his story. We talked about the possibility of getting crutches for this sweet boy, as usually, he’d be walking around this age. Yvonne commented how heavy it must be for mama to carry her boy around all day since he’s getting so big. And I asked, did mama have a sling in which she could carry her son?
Before long, we noticed mama standing right behind us, outside. We invited her in to join us in conversation.
Yvonne told mama Archille that she’d like to work with the project director to try to facilitate getting her boy some crutches so he can start moving around and develop muscle tone in his leg. She couldn’t promise it would be done, but she was going to talk to the director and do her best to help. And Yvonne asked mama, “Do you have a sling you carry him in?” Mama Archille said “no.” I asked mama, “Would you feel more comfortable carrying him on your back or on your front?” “I’d prefer to carry him on my back,” mama said, “but he likes me to carry him in the front.” Yvonne reminded mama once again that she couldn’t promise, but that we’d try to get something to help.
An opportunity came for me to ask mama Archille questions that had nothing to do with sweet baby boy’s leg. “How old is he?” I asked. “Two,” mama said. “When will he be three?” asked Yvonne. Mama replied, “December.”
“Same as my baby” I exclaimed! “Three in December!” Mama Archille and I smiled big smiles, huge, like divine appointment huge. We discovered, our babies’ birthdays? Only NINE days apart!
Everyone was elated. It was a moment out of time for the folks that had gathered. Well, a moment out of time, at least for me. I’d barely even noticed the rest of the group had arrived until I looked up and realized, they were there.
Yvonne, still right next to me, stepped in at just the right moment, with just the right words I would’ve never imagined possible – “You know you can sign up to sponsor him even before he’s officially enrolled in the Child Sponsorship Development Program? I don’t want to put you on the spot, though.” Um, ya. There was no putting me on the spot. It was a no brainer, taking the opportunity to sponsor this little guy. Of course, I’d say yes.
After some brief conversation with the translator, Yvonne, and another Compassion staff, it was determined that I’d need to take with me the baby’s name, baby’s date of birth, mama’s name, and the Compassion Child Survival Program in which which he was enrolled. Then, when I get home, I’ll need to contact Compassion and indicate I’d like to sponsor him when he becomes old enough to enroll in the Child Sponsorship Development Program.
We all decided, this was meant to be. I’ll be the boy’s sponsor when he comes of age.
The translator spoke with Archille and wrote down all the information I’ll need when I contact Compassion back home.
Before mama placed her boy on my lap for a picture, I’d noted, her beautiful baby boy’s name was Charles.
Pain, it’s true and real for all of us. Pain, it pulls us down, makes us want to run and hide or grab ahold tight of anything that’s near.
Hope, it comes in any package. Hope, a promise of better days to come.
Would you like to give hope to a child in desperate need of it? Check out the Compassion website to take a closer look at all the children waiting for a sponsor. These are real. live. children. Not just pictures on your computer screen. They’re real children with real families with real lives, and they could use your help. If you’d be here, you’d see. You’d choose to say yes, I guarantee. We have so much, it’s time to give. And hope’s where it’s at.
Amy
*This is part of a month-long series about my journey to Haiti. Click here to read all the posts in the series.
Our family was cruising on one of 
My husband and I decided this was not working, so we planned to bring the kids back to the ship so they could partake in the day’s childrens’ activities. First, though, we were going back to the market. I thought the market trip might be rewarding bad behavior, but quickly learned it was just what the kids needed.
This time, we went up on the right, past the colorful display of canvas. When we came to the first row of vendors, Max came out to greet, introduced himself, invited us in, “No obligation,” he said. “Come see. We are family.” We barely got in, plaques were on the right at eye level carved with God Bless This Family and Jesus is My Boss. “You like these? Which one do you want?,” said Max. Sure, we’ll get one of these, I thought. Why not? Although I hadn’t a second to look at anything else. We bought the plaque and met the woman with Max, who I assumed was his mother and whose name I couldn’t understand. But she was warm and inviting, so after buying a small square pot, I gave her a hug.
Next there was Margaret. She showed us dolls she sewed herself, oddly similar to ones we noted at Downtown Disney two days prior, only these black and red and white and so much more authentic, ALL 
It took me a while to realize that a man had taken our bag with plaque, doll, and pot, and was guiding us to his booth down the row. He offered to carve our name on the plaque we’d purchased at Max’s booth. He carved PEDERSON on the back and showed us his wares, asking if we wanted anything else. The kids, likely completely overwhelmed, had not a want for anything. “Sword?” said Derby. Already got one when we first arrived. “Bracelet?” Max had given us one. “Nothing? You don’t want anything?” Derby said. My heart broke. All I could keep thinking was my kids want for nothing, and it’s possible this man might need for everything. To want for nothing, to need for everything, both unimaginable in that moment. I found myself embarrassed for my children, our culture of excess, of everything all around. The look on his face when the kids wanted nothing was seared on my heart forever. My kids wanting nothing might mean him not eating today, tomorrow. He wasn’t just sad, he was disappointed, a devastated kind of disappointment. I could see it in his eyes. A reason for payment came to my mind – I paid him for carving our name on the plaque, thanked him generously, and left. Many others were calling for us. Looking back, I realize this moment was in a complete frenzy, another state. I was barely processing what was happening. We should’ve stayed longer at Derby’s place. The look in his eyes haunts me to this day. And you can see in my daughter’s face, she felt his need too.
Jocelun led us to his place. He said in reference to my son, all wrapped up in his cruise ship towel, “He is my friend. I like him.” Jocelun touched my son gently on the shoulder. Before I knew it, Jocelun had a blue and white necklace on my son. Yes, we would buy. I asked for his name, I couldn’t understand so he wrote. He scratched JOCELUN on my tablet. He said again to my son “I like you. You are my friend.” Tears streamed, I was overwhelmed. Jocelun wanted me to take another look. I told him I’d promised a man down the row we’d come back to visit. Only $2 left, I wanted it to go to this man and keep my promise. Jocelun realized I was serious, so as he led me to the other man’s booth, he said “He’s a nice man. 
Wilfred was his name. Friendly man. Pots 2 for $5, he said. He accepted $2 for one when I told him that’s all we had left. I took his name and shook his hand. He smiled big and was clearly a warm and gentle heart.
Then the floodgates opened. A crowd of Haitian vendors were behind us, all around us. One had somehow gotten my daughter’s small pot and carved her name on it with hearts. “I want you to remember me too. You come back and you see me.” Josias was the name he wrote on my tablet. I snapped a photo.
Another man approached, wanted to write his name on this tablet of mine. Leiys, I believe it was, barely intelligible. At this point, I realized I’d stumbled upon something. These people were not only willing to share their names, they were eager. It meant something to them, more than I could grasp. They saw me writing their names on the little tablet of paper I brought in my bag and they wanted a place on that space. To be recognized, to be known, to be called by name. Isn’t that what we all want?
Venturing back to the market by myself, I entered by Max. Max and Margaret and Almagor approached, others literally swarmed around. I explained I’d forgotten this bag of clothes and was bringing it for Derby, four booths down. A man spoke definitively “I have a baby ma’am.” I had brought two receiving blankets and gave them to him. Margaret and Almagor were hovering, nearly reaching in my bag. One of them said “I need something.” My hands could do nothing but take out each item and give to those who were asking. A dress for one woman, a dress for another, a shirt and skirt for Margaret, two bananas for a man. Margaret gladly took the bag, “I need this.” If I’d only known, I would’ve brought another bag full, or two or three.
I returned to the beach. My husband and the kids were still gone. I looked up, looked around. There was still no time to sit. I walked the beach a bit. A mom was rushing on the shore, so mad at her kids. A man’s fat belly protruded as he sunbathed. A buffet was being set. Did they know the need just beyond the arches in the market, beyond the fence that bound us in and them out?
As I thought and moved about, I was especially concerned about this man, Antonio, who needed clothes for his 2-year-old son. I knew I had none. I’d have to leave him empty handed, hopes dashed, or search and make a plea to some random mom. We were at the beach, a distance from the ship. A mom would have to give the clothes off of her son’s back or go all the way back to the ship to suitcases. This was my journey that day, not some other mom’s journey. Or was it? I was confused, torn. Search for a mom with a 2-year-old boy (there weren’t that many) and ask them to surrender part of their day vacationing with family to meet the needs of a man I had met at the market? I couldn’t bring myself to ask even one, but kept thinking of the moms at home and how they’d all give the shirts off their sons’ backs for this toddler in need. I kept thinking of the boxes of clothes I had sitting in our basement. I didn’t even ask one mom. Two worlds collided. The reality I saw on one side, the reality I saw on the other. Could the two connect today? Was I telling myself truth that people wouldn’t want to know or didn’t care or just wanted to enjoy the beach? I think, and believe now, that my beliefs and behaviors in regards to those 2-year-old clothes were flawed that day.
I gathered a pile of clothes for Alfred, a men’s outfit for Jackson, and a pile of fruit for Antonio, the very least we could do in lieu of clothes for his son. (I have notable regrets about not getting more from the ship. We should’ve come back all hands loaded, bags and bags overflowing. Again, some of this was mere lack of time to process everything that was happening.) Security noticed all the fruit at the bottom of the bag and made us drop it in a plastic bin before we deboarded. Almost in tears, knowing I would now return empty handed to Antonio, no clothes, no fruit, nothing, I obeyed. A woman standing by said “you never know if you’re doing the right thing, do you?” Little did she know. Even my daughter knew this was bad.
None of this makes perfect sense to me, but as I watched the sun rise on the ship days later, still overwhelmed and tearful about the unmet needs, I realized God is in control, God has a design in mind, a bigger plan. And I want to be part of it. This? This solidified in me the desire to return to Haiti, to do God’s work. I have unfinished business there. I did notice. And I will always remember.
For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ Matthew 25:35-40
Amy, I am so thankful you republished this post. I devoured every word. And my heart is aching and my mind is reeling and I wonder what God is trying to show me through your beautiful example, your giving, love-poured out heart. So, for right now, I can only say I am so grateful for how you show, through your words here, what is looks like to say ‘yes’ and trust the love and blessings He has given you are, without hesitation, to give away. Thank you.
Jennifer, thank you. You have no idea how much of a blessing it was to wake to your comment in my inbox yesterday morning. This post is near and dear to my heart, so it’s a true honor to have anyone read it in full and understand the heart I have attached to it. I can’t find the quote now, but what’s the saying? Once you’ve seen need, you can no longer act as if it doesn’t exist? Ya. That’s what happened to me that day. I saw the need. I experienced it for myself. No longer am I ignorant, so I must act, do something, anything. Love what you saw in this story…it’s the giving away of the love and blessings He’s given us, without hesitation. As always, I am blessed by your heart.
Reading your blog … event just looking at the pictures sometimes. Then, reading bits and pieces at a time … usually makes me cry. Happy to see happy!