“So you also, when you have done everything you were told to do, should say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done our duty.’” Luke 17:10

Thursday morning’s theme was exhaustion. I was physically tired as I dragged myself out of bed and got ready. Mentally tired as words blurred together in front of my eyes as I wrote in my journal and did my morning devotional more out of habit than out of desire. More than all that I was starting to be spiritually tired. Everyday the highs and the lows, the heartbreaking things we were seeing started to take its toll. Saying good-bye to all those kids the day before had made me physically ache not knowing if we would see them again. We ate breakfast as a team just like normal but this morning we were much more subdued than we had been. 

There wasn’t lively chatter like the days before. Don’t get me wrong we were excited to see what today would bring but it was going to take more than one cup of coffee to get me ready to go. Today we wouldn’t be returning to the Hope School, we would be going to what was referred to as the “Mountain School.” It’s actual title was the Kelly School (named after Mr. Kelly that taught and mentored an entire village of children until Schools for Haiti stepped in to help), but aptly nick-named it was outside the village limits, off the main drag, and located a good way up the mountain. 

We were told that the kids we would meet would be different from the kids we met in the village. Yes we understood that they were literally different children, but by being more secluded in the mountains then the kids in the village they could be a little more cautious with newcomers than the kids in Montrouis. We weren’t sure what to expect as the whole team would be together now that the kitchen project was completed. The guys who had worked in the kitchen would get a chance to be more hands on with the kids today, and I know that some of them were anxiously excited to get to interact more with the kids. 

After we got our breakfast down the team started to make sandwiches Christian and I went to go get the bags that were earmarked for the Kelly School. We were told that they had less than even those we had met earlier this week so we had three suitcases jam-packed with supplies for them. School supplies, toys, candies and treats for the kids, those bags were busting with goodies for us to give out, along with the VBS lesson for the day. As we got to the room we dragged the three bags out- me with one and Christian with the other two. After getting them down the steps I realized how incredibly heavy they were having been repacked after we got here. They were well over the 50 lb airline restriction. 

I don’t know how we even got them to the lobby. Dragging mine behind Christian he stopped and put his two in our normal post breakfast meeting spot. He turned and grabbed the one I was attempting to “carry” and put it with his. I started to protest that we should bring them into the dining hall with us but then I thought about how we’d have to bring them right back here so I agreed to leave them in the lobby tucked behind a lounge chair against the wall. Looking back I saw those ugly floral patterned carpet bags as we turned the corner to Marie and to another cup of coffee before heading back to the team. 

When all the sandwiches were packed and the team was waiting for the bus in the lobby I sat as Erin braided my hair and looked at Christian and asked- “Don’t forget we need the other bags for when Dago gets here.” A few minutes passed and Erin finished my hair and he hadn’t come back. I got up off the ground and looked around and saw him talking to someone at the front desk. I didn’t think anything of it so I sat and joked with Brent and Mel as the whole team’s energy started picking up. When he came over with no bags in tow I looked and saw that look. The “please don’t freak out” look which most people would agree is the LEAST helpful way to get someone to NOT FREAK OUT. 

“They’re gone,” he told me again in a voice that had perpetual calmness about it. I’m sorry what? What’s gone? I asked him. “The bags. They’re gone. Another mission group thought they were their’s and took them with them on their bus. They are trying to track them down but we’re going to need a backup plan.” There were so many mission groups at the Decameron always checking in and out of the hotel as they passed through Mountrouis but I hadn’t really stopped and thought about them other than to think that I was glad to see all the hands and feet working towards Haiti’s future. Now I looked around and that warm and fuzzy feeling of comradery was gone, replaced by an unhealthy combination of anger and resentment for complete strangers trying to do good.

Never their intention Soles for Souls had our gear and after a stop at another hotel they would be beginning the hour and a half journey to Port au Prince to make their way back home. I didn’t know what to do. I don’t even think I could see straight. I was in charge of the stuff, the gear, the tools. I didn’t have the skills or the confidence to teach but I had the ability to plan and had a responsibility to make sure that each day the right tools were in the right hands. My exhaustion had made me careless and my carelessness could cost us the entire day. Caillie went back to our room with some of our team to figure out a backup plan as I stood with Pastor Daniel and Christian as Daniel spoke in quick Creole making call after call trying to find a way to get our stuff back before it was too late.

The team reassembled with the only extra supplies we had left- the three stupid bags I hadn’t wanted to pack that were quickly thrown together in the final minutes before we left home. So we had legos, bubbles, and some extra little toys like bouncy balls. Nothing like all the supplies that we lovingly packed for these kids. We loaded the bus and tried to make it over to the next stop the Soles for Souls crew needed to make before heading to the airport. Standing there outside the bus I held my breath as Christian and Brent went into the building with Daniel. When they emerged with no bags and glum expressions my stomach fell. Not only were we going to show up late but we were going to be unprepared and without any offerings for them to have. I tried to push back tears as my eyes burned with either anger, exhaustion, or defeat. 

We reloaded the bus and I crawled over bags, bodies, and coolers to get back to my spot by Erin and Mel. They had the three bags sprawled open and were trying to reinvent what our day would look like once we arrived at the Kelly School now way behind schedule. Everyone pulled their heads together and came up with a plan knowing full well that we might not even have time to get through it all by the time we arrived. After about twenty minutes on what seemed to be the one and only highway in Haiti (one lane each direction) the bus slowed down and made a tight right turn onto a rough dirt path. I wouldn’t go so far to say it was even a road as rocks and ditches littered the way in front of us. At some point I realized that this path was taking us straight up a mountain and I wasn’t sure if Dago and his faithful bus was going to make it. 

Branches wiped the windows of the bus as the way had more tree coverage and less houses as we ventured further from the main road. A crumbling building in a revine we passed had graffiti that Daniel explained had voodoo symbols painted on the side. Apparently the voodoo culture and religion while we hadn’t seen much of it at the compound was still deeply ingrained in the tradition and culture of Haiti. As we made our way up the road got narrower and harder to navigate in our bulky bus. The bus slowed to a stop and for a second I thought we were there. Others did as well and people started grabbings their things until Christian told everyone to sit back down and we saw why we stopped. We were at the top of a little hill that bottomed out into a ditch filled with water and rocks before making a drastic change to a steep climb back up the slope of the mountain. 

Dago gunned it and the bus went down the hill making a loud and uncomfortable banging over the large rocks that filled the ditch and we made it to the other side. As the team cheered Erin laughed yelling- “I can’t believe your suspension survived!” Must be some sort of car person lingo because it went over my head but people laughed and we kept climbing a steep hill for a few more minutes until leveling out where some houses seemed to be constructed. Dago pulled the bus over and this time when it stopped we knew we were there.

As we got off and bags began unloading I walked over to what looked like drainage coming from farther up the mountain. Daniel explained that some Chinese industries that used Haitian factories before the earthquake had built aqueducts throughout Haiti so that rainwater could flow downstream from the tops of the mountains. This was the water source for the people who lived here; the runoff that would continue all the way down to the base of the mountain. Next to the aqueduct was a rectangular building that was emitting a loud amount of clapping. Daniel led us around to where there was a slight hallway separating two “sides” of the building. 

As the team walked in I looked around at the houses nearby. Rather than when we were at the Hope School with men and women leaning out of houses waving at our crew there were faces staring back expectant but cautious. As if almost daring us to live up to their expectation of being let down, forgotten, abandoned. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being criticized as I followed Brent and Mel into the schoolhouse. Inside there was a large room filled with benches filled with students. The smallest in the front that must have ranged from three all the way to the oldest in their teens in the back. 

 Hundreds of eyes stared back at us almost deafeningly silent compared to the large cheers and songs that greeted us at the Hope School. I found a spot in the front with the rest of the team that were gathered there with Daniel and Charles the school principal near the corner with a bench of little ones in front of me. Charles and Daniel started to speak to the children in a quick and clipped Creole. I leaned down and tried to hand out high fives to the little girls in front of me who hesitantly offered their hands back. Christian offered his guitar to a boy named James at Daniel’s prompting and the children were led in worship songs as Brian and Rod started unloading sandwiches for us to start passing out. Mark walked around and was captivated by the faces staring back at him and his camera. Smiles started sneaking out as he called, “Belle! Belle!” as he pointed the camera to each face and captured the looks of wonder. 

The sandwiches were harder to pass out as the kids were cramped and packed into their benches. Erin and Gammy started joking with the kids and tossing sandwiches for them to catch. This seemed to be easier to pass them out and the kids loved watching peanut butter and jelly sandwiches fly over their heads into the hands of their neighbors. By the time the food was passed out and songs were sung we realized just how late we were. We lost almost two hours with these kids trying to hunt down and find these bags of supplies. With no way to make up that time Erin and Christian decided to keep the kids all together. We had about thirty minutes before lunch would be served and with little time they wanted to use the time as wisely as possible. They decided to do one lesson with all the kids in the room together. 

As they started the lesson about faith, hope, and love-the greatest of these being love- I went with Brent, McKenzie, Brian, Jan, and Sandee to pass out the extra sandwiches. Exiting the building I was struck by just how different it was here compared to the village. It was quiet as there weren’t shops, markets, or the main road nearby. Houses were more secluded and there weren’t people coming out to meet us or greet us as we walked up the path. Brent led the way as we walked up and knocked on makeshift doors and homes often letting ourselves into the homes to find people to give sandwiches to. One of the translators that was called “Big James” (unlike “Little James” that was undoubtedly still playing Christian’s guitar) came with us and explained in Creole who we were and what we were offering. 

Some smiled and thanked us, others nodded back hesitant but accepting what we gave them. Jan was the only one unfazed by the change in attitude. Smiling from ear to ear she scurried up to anyone she could find (even just walking into yards and knocking on front “doors”) giving them a sandwich and if she could a hug. It broke my heart to see the looks of suspicion and hesitation as some grabbed sandwiches from us. Self conscious with the little we had to offer I hung back watching my teammates pour out love and hope until every last sandwich was passed out. 

When we got back to the school Erin and Christian were finishing up the lesson and the food was about ready for lunch. I didn’t go back in the schoolhouse but rather went over to the small cement block room that had a large cut out window. This “room” was the kitchen where two propane stoves and a sink was housed with minimal counter space. Two women were already plating food that we would be bringing in to the kids. The food was the same as we had passed out the days prior but my heart sank as I realized that the kitchen we had just helped install at the Hope School was grand and luxurious whereas here it was cramped and only held bare necessities. The women were nice and let me help by putting spoons or forks on the plates of spaghetti. One of the older women I learned was Mr. Kelly’s wife as they still poured into the local school.

Our team started shuffling out of the classroom meaning that the lesson must have ended. As the familiar line started forming for the plates to be distributed we began the rhythm of picking up, passing, and turning back and forth as plate after plate got transported from that little makeshift kitchen to every last child. The women didn’t have as much space to prepare and stack plates ready to go out so at times we stalled chatting back and forth about this or that waiting for more spaghetti to be piled onto metal plates and make their way through our line. While the Hope School might have a kitchen and running water for the women to work these women had metal plates and metal spoons and forks. So we knew that we wouldn’t be running out for kids to go home hungry, however, that meant these women with no sink and no counter space would be hand washing each returned plate in buckets that were sitting outside of their kitchen with water from the aqueduct. 

As the last plate got passed along we all shuffled back in for Daniel to pray over the food. I was amazed that each child sat there with untouched plates waiting for the prayer to be said and the last plate to be served. With a rousing chorus of “Amen” kids dug into their lunches. I drifted back over to the front corner with the smallest children. There was a little girl there who was sweating (this shouldn’t have been unusual as it was much more humid up the mountain and I was drenched in sweat and Brian and Mark were comparing impressive sweat stains), however, I hadn’t seen any of the kids we’ve worked with sweat like this. I picked her up and called Caillie over. She came over and checked her out, having experience working in the Pediatric ER. The little girl was malnourished and was running a fever but we didn’t have much to offer in terms of help. We grabbed a bottle of water and I sat on the floor with the little girl, water bottle in one hand and a plate of spaghetti in the other. 

I spent the next half hour or so feeding her small bites of spaghetti and getting her to take sips of water. Every bite and every sip seemed to take more effort for her as my shirt was now covered in sweat- both my own and hers. Kids filed out of the room as they finished their lunch, dropping off the empty dishes to the women who had now moved from cooking to cleaning. My team with the bags of Legos and the single soccer ball we had left went with those kids out to the small rocky patch of land behind the schoolhouse. We sat there on the floor of the schoolhouse as one of the last kids worked through their meal. Finally as she took the last bites and finished off that precious bottle of “dlo” (Water in Creole) we went to go see what everyone was doing. 

As we walked into the back field I felt a strange sense. I still don’t know how to explain what I felt as we walked out back, and the soccer ball sat unattended on the ground, my teammates sitting in the dirt with kids as a reverent hush fell and awed expressions filled their faces. Erin was unashamedly in tears. Others looked to be on the brink of following her lead and struggling to deal with the emotions. I walked over and sat next to a sobbing Erin and saw what everyone was doing, they were passing out handfuls of Legos. 

I wouldn’t know until we were back on the bus why this would make such an impact but for now I just sat and watched. I watched as kids huddled and guarded the colorful blocks that had been handed to them as if they were as precious to them as gems. I watched as faces lit up as Rod showed a group of kids how to stack and create towers with the blocks. I watched as the very things I casted off as worthless proved priceless.  

Later Daniel explained that mission teams often brought things for the kids when they came down and served and worked with them but they brought a designated craft. Hundreds of the exact same thing that the kids would walk away with the same finished product whether necklaces, bracelets, crowns, etc. That each child was used to having the exact same, nothing unique, nothing special, nothing particular to them. Legos, however, as random handfuls were doled out would look nothing alike. There were no matching walls or cars or whatever else was being built that would look like everyone else’s. We had Legos of different sizes, shapes, and colors all tossed together in large Ziplock bags.

As I looked and watched I gave the little girl in my lap her own handful to which she clutched to her chest not wanting to do anything other than sit and stare at what I handed her. Erin still tear stroked handing Lego after Lego out and patiently showing groups of students how to stack and attach the pieces together looked at me and said, “Do you think they all realize that they are each just as unique as these Legos? That they each have a part to fit into God’s master plan.” I didn’t know how to answer her. I didn’t know if I could speak. I had agonized and fought over what to bring and what everything would be used for down to the last pencil that was packed. I had discarded the Legos with barely a thought because I thought they were worthless as they didn’t make a complete set. I thought they would be pointless because they didn’t fall into what I had planned for this trip.

I realized how these Legos symbolized the blocks that were needed to rebuild Haiti. That while we can bring the Legos or the tools for Haiti to rebuild it would be up to these kids, up to the people of Haiti to do the work to rebuild their nation. Americans will not rebuild Haiti; they can only help provide the Haitians with the tools and skills necessary to do it themselves. Because, like these different colored and shaped blocks each child sitting in that field ignoring the soccer ball had a purpose. They had a purpose and place to fit into God’s plan to restore His beloved Haiti through their families, their villages, and ultimately their country. No child sitting there had the same story or path, each was as uniquely designed by God as the eclectic Lego configurations we were seeing being built around us. 

I realized that God wanted those Legos on this mountain on this day, and if He wanted it, it was going to happen. He made a way for those three bags to be stuffed full of pounds of Legos despite my assumption that I knew what Haiti and these kids needed. He made a way for those bags to be misplaced where the Legos would be grabbed out of the bottom of the pile and placed in the forefront of our minds. He made a way to meet these kids on this mountain with this particular lesson at this specific time in the exact way He wanted.

Because, as much as I think I have things figured out and know what’s best, God’s plans and provision will always supersede my schedule. His knowledge for what His children need will far surpass my understanding for what we can provide. Not only did He reach out and touch each child with a profound statement from the Legos He also reached each one of our team as well. He placed in my path a little girl who needed some special attention which forced me to slow down with the interruption just as He did the day before. Forced me to take a step back and watch, and in watching I saw the lesson that was meant just for me. That each Lego had a specific purpose and value. That our team was just as random as each Lego in those bags but we each had a specific purpose and reason for being there. That I had a purpose for being there no matter how many times I thought I failed God and the mission. I don’t have the power to fail or ruin what God has already ordained. 

Even if I try and leave them in the back of a supply closet they will be packed. Even when I try and dump them in the back of the donations left in a corner of Caillie’s and my room they will become our only option. Even when I would have fought about bringing the bags out and instead simply played with the soccer ball I was otherwise occupied. I could not stop what God had planned because He is God and I am not. It’s hard to even type that but I feel like that needs to be plainly stated. Sometimes we need to remind ourselves that we are not the creator or the master planner. We are simply the building blocks that He chooses to use. 

The rest of the time spent at the Kelly School is pretty much a blur but eventually we packed up our stuff and got back on the bus. We settled into stories of sitting with kids and building walls and towers of Legos. We listened to different perspectives for what we did and I didn’t even watch as we made our way back down the mountain. That was until we got back to that ditch in the middle of the road. This time we would be going downhill versus uphill so when Dago hit the gas to go over the ditch there was a dragging and scratching noise as the bus was wedged between the two banks. 

We all climbed out of the bus hoping that without the weight of all of us the bus would be able to come free but with no luck. Sandee and Gammy took the girls and crossed the bank to a grouping of trees to safely watch from the shade in the distance. I went to follow when Christian grabbed my backpack and handed me his and said, “Oh no. You’re staying right where I can see you.” Well there went my thought to explore this section of the mountain as the area of shade was blocked by the bus and I could go off and venture to the surrounding area. I didn’t argue because he was right, I wouldn’t have stayed put and he knew it. So I sat on a rock next to the ditch with Mel who stayed with me on this side of the mess. Christian, Brent, and Brian climbed under the bus to try and find a solution to our problem as I highly doubted AAA would be able to come to our rescue. Water started filling the ditch since we had made our way up the mountain so there they were getting covered in mud and whatever else might be in water down in Haiti pulling rocks out from under the bus trying to free the wheels. 

It was slow moving as the guys took turns pulled rock after rock out and relocating them in hopes that with one good hit of the gas Dago would be able to free our faithful bus. Taking a break for some water, an old man walked up behind Mark barefoot, holding a pickaxe. He didn’t say anything but he stared at us and then looked at the bus. Climbing in the ditch he hit the remaining rocks with his pickaxe and after a few good whacks the remaining rocks fell away. Dago throwing off the emergency brake as the man climbed out to stand next to us gunned the bus in gear and made it back over the ditch. Cheering we all looked to thank the man with the pickaxe but he was already making his way up the path leading back up the mountain barefoot. This was merely a blip in his day, just stopping to help when he saw a need but not sticking around long enough to get the praise.

As we made the rest of the way down the mountain and back to the DeCameron I sat back and thought- wouldn’t that be nice if that’s how we all acted, willing to step in and serve but without expectations of praise and repayment. If we all just worked together and played our parts knowing that we were working to serve a greater purpose. I closed my eyes in thoughts once again washed over with exhaustion as I nestled into my corner of the bus but this time with a renewed sense of peace as my teammates continued their tales about what was surely going to be some legendary Legos.