Losing My Haitian Viriginity: 110911

110911:  Losing my Haitian Virginity

I know it sounds like this post should have some type of parental guidance rating attached, but it’s the best way I can describe what I felt, driving around Cayes last night, and then out onto the peninsula to Ti Rivier at midnight. 

It was stretching.  It was fun.  It was exciting.  It was irrational.  It was living.

I’m all alone, trying to remember where I saw the 13 or 14 speedbumps between Cayes and Ti, in pitch black inky darkness, save the occasional high-beam motorcycle that comes at you nearly head-on.  The road curves, it jets to the right, back to the left over the bridges and potholes the size of a man that could swallow a tire for lunch.

There’s nothing but darkness and time to think.  My mind starts thinking like a kid.  ‘It’s a 90 left then a 90 right, then past Welsh straight to the squiggles, down around the curve and over the bridges, after the split and start looking for the turnoff to the gravel road.....’

I got home and all my senses were tapped from being on overload for the last few hours.

Earlier in the night I drove over to Shane’s and we went into Cayes to pickup the missionary I’d ran across on my last trip into the city.  It was obvious the Lord crossed our paths because she needed some fellowship, and so we brought her to the City of Lights.  Some of the missionaries were gathered for a special 9/11 Remembered Service, and the girls of the missionary family there had baked up some amazing cake, peanut butter cookies, and popcorn.  

Those Apostolic's sure know how to cook.  

I felt a little out of place.  These are seasoned veterans, 20 and 30 years experience in Haiti.  They are organized and uniform, i’s are dotted and t’s are crossed.  

And then there’s me...

my prayer is that God could give me a thimble full of their courage and experience and perseverance.

Getting ready for home, Shane loaded me up with Granola Bars and some Gatorade and sent me off with a smile.  

I told him I wasn’t looking forward to making the trip alone and in the middle of the night with a car I didn’t own, and he just kept smiling.   I get the feeling he knows he has to stretch me. I’m thinking maybe God showed him in a dream or something,   “Behold my misfit,  Daniel.  Stretch the boy, and if he falls apart, so be it.  I will re-throw the clay, and make the jar again.”