I decided to break silence after two-weeks of the rock throwing in the middle of the night. I told my friend Wilber, and also my Haitian Momma, Tikilene. They had both came by the house in the morning and they knew I hadn't slept. I was also sick, so I opened up.
I got a tongue-lashing right off the bat from Tikilene, telling me that under no circumstance am I to venture out in the night again. Instead, I am to open my Bible to a Psalm and pray.
I told her I'd just as soon sneak out with my machete and scare the daylights out of whoever I find, but she just gave me a "don't you dare" look, followed by a "You hear me boy?" Yes, Momma. I hear you.
After that, I heard some shouting outside my window and looked out to see Wilber with his pick-axe, tilling his garden whilst having words with my neighbors.
Before the hour was out, we were the news of the whole village.
Just outside our front gate is where alot of the tap-taps pick-up and drop-off, and by noon I heard the key words come up in a few heated conversations.... "Whites....Rocks....3 am.....Hitting the House."
As the Sun began to set, my friend Pastor Lucner tapped on my gate. Wilber was with him, and told me that the whole village was upset, that there was persecution happening, and I was just caught in the middle. The path by my house was going to be fenced off, and a few of the men in the village of whom I've been trying to open up relationship with had offered to take up watches in the night.
Lucner walked into the back yard with me and said,
"If you're going through life and you're not being persecuted, you have to wonder if you are a Christian." He agreed right away with Tikilene and told me not to go outside. I started to argue my case with him, and he just pointed his finger at me and said, "Exodus 14:14. You just go read that and do what it says." After he left I looked up his conversation-stopper, "The Lord will fight for you. You need only to be still."
Ok...Ok...that guy always has the choicest, most tender and tasty pieces of Scripture for me.
But still, the night came along, and eventually, the rocks came sailing through the air, this time at 2:30 am.
The next morning I told Wilber that we weren't through it yet. He told me he'd be stepping up the security, and not to be afraid.
"Wilber, I'm not afraid, man...I just need to sleep." I said.
My sickness hadn't worn off, and I was now following strict Haitian Momma guidelines, to take a bucket shower with orange leaves while rubbing papaya on my head. Aren't you glad I've spared you those pictures? :)
Night came again. I was dog-tired, and at 1 a.m. Wilber sent me a message on my phone. "Don't worry Dan. I'm out here, and I'm in control."
I've been sleeping, been praying, been asleep with my eyes half-open, been awake with my eyes half-closed. Last night I crashed.
I could see by the light that someone was outside, but I didn't care. We're locked up tight, prayed up, and God's got the fight. Amen?
Earlier in the week my boy asked his Mom, "So, this is persecution? This is really happening. Good vs. Evil." The Bible, his faith, it's all becoming so alive to him this year.
Kari smiled, "Yeah, and just think, this is nothing."
We just happened to land in Romans 12 for our family devotions this morning.... "Bless those who persecute you. Bless and do not curse." I read slowly to the kids and set my Bible down. "I guess we can stop right there. You think we can accomplish even that today?"
"No." said my son. He's my Honest Abe.
I asked Tikilene if we should make up some sweet kettle corn and just go offer it in the general direction of where I think our opposition is coming from.
"Not yet. Leave it." she said.
"How is that following what the Bible says?" I asked her.
She waved her hand to dismiss the notion,
"It says to bless those who persecute you, to bless them and don't curse them...but you don't know who THEY are, because they throw the rocks at night.... No. You leave it."
There's always yet more rocks to throw.
But Daylight comes and the dark will go.
And we are called by our Lord's will
to let Him fight while we stand still.
The last measure of whether we've done well
will be the souls in Heaven, or the souls in Hell.