You make beautiful things out of the dust

August 2009


I have just spent three weeks backpacking around Europe.  I have seen so many beautiful things; from the pristine lakes and Alps of Switzerland, to the overwhelming halls of the Louvre in Paris stuffed with art.   Italy, visited as a child and now revisited as an adult; I saw my favorites in museums and the Colosseum.  To Barcelona where one dip in the ocean and you are covered in mysterious gold flecks.
Switzerland pampered, Italy with its graffiti and smelly trains disappointed, Spain was wonderful with its tapas, and Gaudi buildings everywhere, and France was unwillingly left behind having spent too little time.  The taste of warm croissants, and flavorful gelato still linger on my tongue.

I am tired.  So tired.  Why did I agree to go to Haiti?  I have been back home for less than a week.  I miss Ryan, my cat, and my bed!  There have been so many times in the past few days where i have almost called Juliet to tell her I don't want to go.  I don't care, I just want to sleep.
But here I am climbing off a plane in the Caribbean.  In to a stuffy yellow hallway I shuffle, and somewhere below me a band is playing.  Julie claps and sways to the music and talks to anyone who will understand her "bonswa's" in Creole.  I am tired.  Now I am hot. As soon as we are through customs and baggage claim we are pushed out the door in to the blinding sunshine and as Juliet has warned- bombarded by French-ish speaking men in red and green plaid shirts, and khaki shorts trying to help me with my bags.  I tell them no as nice as possible and push my way towards the gates where tons of brown faces are staring back at me waiting for a familiar face to pop up out of the sea of bodies coming towards them.

The next thing I know i am being herded on to a bus and there are ten Haitians who all are very happy to see me.  They hug me, and laugh, and ask me in their best English what my name is, and how old I am.  A twenty-something boy sits next to me, his name is Williams and once again as Juliet predicted, he starts to lay on the Haitian charm.

I am tired.  I don't understand what any of them are saying- in English, French, or Creole!

Instead of being friendly I sit back, relax, and stare out the window.

It's dirty.  Filthy.  I mean I get mad when someone doesn't bother to throw away their pop bottle in the States!  Why can't you just put your trash in the trash can?  But this... this is beyond trash can fixable.  Piles of used plastic bottles line the streets.  Water ways are filled with all sorts of styrofoam and plastic products, clogged by waste.  Skinny pigs stand on top of mounds of filth.  King of the Castle, as they sift through trash, eating anything they think they can digest.  Meat vendors, fruit sellers, make-shift clothing stores all line the streets in any crevice not previously occupied.  Women carry heavy loads atop their heads, and men their backs turned to the streets, urinate on sides of buildings. Motorcycles weave in and out of traffic, and men walk along side our bus pushing plastic bags full of water in the windows yelling "Dlo!"  Car horns honk, and music bumps along to the rhythm of the city.

I look on, unresponsive, barely registering all that is going on around me.  I am partially spacing out because of exhaustion, but I am also just not prepared for what I am seeing.  I think nothing.  I just look at it all, as if it is on a television screen, and not my reality.  Williams must have noticed my intense stare because he soon begins to ask me if I don't like his country.  I immediately say that no, I of coarse like his country, but he persists, and continues to ask me what is wrong.

After what seemed like hours on the bus we arrive at the Orphanage, and are immediately greeted by tiny little faces with big white smiles, and fragile little hands that grab at mine, desperately groping my midsection just trying to find a hug.  The sun is going down and Mona ushers us back to the round houses, where we will be staying for the week so we can unpack.  After claiming a bed, Juliet, and the others who have been before climb the three floors to the roof so we can watch the sun go down.  From the top of that roof is where I really began to fall in love.  If I looked north I could see the beautiful blue green water floating a mere 50 feet from where I stood with mountains stretching out across the bay.  If I stood and looked East I could see Port Au prince, building after building packed close together stretching for miles.  If I stood facing the South I could see more buildings spotted across the hills and mountains that rose in  front of me.  Everywhere I looked amidst the filth and dust, I saw beauty sprawling out before me.

A few weeks ago, I was laying in bed at the O.M.S. and a song that I had heard on the radio before I left popped in to my head.  The lyrics bounced back and forth around my brain

"You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of the Dust.  You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of us."

And I could not sleep!!  I just kept singing it over, and over!  And it became my own personal theme for the week.  But the best part was I heard someone else singing it  the next day!

Amidst all of the pain, and suffering, and death, and dirt, and dust in Haiti, all who go there see beauty.  God saw beauty the day he saved all of my friends from the Earthquake that killed hundreds of thousands. Every haitian I have ever met sees beauty, and perseveres despite their pain, and grief, and despair.  They smile, and laugh, and move forward because that is the only way to survive.  They celebrate their lives, and thank the Lord for all the good things he has given them, and all of the beauty that surrounds them.