One of my favorite students is named Alain. He is a good kid. He is very poor, by Haitian and certainly developed world standards. But, he is humble still, and has never asked me for anything. This is rare. Most students I know usually ask for something. And, why not? A white American is the closest thing they have to help, to anything extra. There are plenty of NGOs here, but it's difficult even for them to figure out how to help (a whole issue unto itself). It's hard to know where and when the money is showing up. The only reason I knew he needed help is because I began talking to him, and enjoyed his humility.
Alain is 22 years old. He lives with his aunt. His mom passed away when he was 13 years old, and he doesn't know his father. He has no other family. His aunt has her own kids though. Usually when someone like Alain is taken in by family, it's more of an obligatory gesture than a charitable one. Their own children come first before the relative. As such, Alain is the last to receive anything in the house. He gets little food, money, clothes, school supplies, or anything else. Quite often he'll show up weak and fatigued; he is either hungry, thirsty, or understandably mentally distant from the barrage of anxieties he has to deal with every day.
Last week I sat and talked with him for about an hour. He seemed conflicted that day, and needed to vent. There were times in the conversation I thought he was choking up. He is losing his job working at an internet cafe--his only source of money, meager though it is. He is trying to work on his education, but payment and school supplies continually thwart the effort. He is interested in being an emergency response worker and hopes to enroll later in the fall. But, there is no guarantee. Like so many, he wants badly to come to the US. If he could he would join the military. But, for a Haitian to actually be allowed out of Haiti is a daunting task at best. He has a cousin in the US, but she cannot help him move because she has children of her own and couldn't afford to take him in.
As he sat there thinking out loud to me, he began to speak more freely about his situation. He is alone for the most part; a few friends, but no family, hardly a sense of belonging. He wants to go to church but he can't afford the clothes, and would be ashamed to go otherwise. Most Haitians dress nicely for church. He only has a few sets of clothes and can't wash them that often. So, he'll wear the same thing for several days. He says he would do anything for work--aside from "bad things", but can't find it. "I'd sweep the streets if I could get paid, I am not too good for anything," he says with complete humility. And, as he continues on, "How can I have a family like this? How can I live? This so hard for me, I don't know what to do. I wish I could live in good country like the US, I could have started family by now. I will be older soon." Now I am nearly choking up. I couldn't imagine it: a slum, a slim to nil future, no family, no one to help, no job, hardly enough to keep a few sets of clothes, let alone afford things like food and school. And, yet like any human he still desires life. But, how can he have it?
What do I tell him? What words of comfort do I give him? The standard 'keep trying', 'don't give up kid' sayings somehow seem entirely inadequate. When reality seems to be saying 'sorry, you should dig deep Alain, can't say it will get better. In fact, it will likely get worse', or 'sorry, wish there was something someone could do, but there isn't'. I'd like to steal him from here, but I can't. He doesn't deserve this, but its forced on him. He didn't do anything for it, but he's punished. This world isn't fair, in fact its completely the opposite. He drew the shortest straw, like so many others. What can I do? Hand him a couple hundred bucks and hope he uses it wisely? I can't give him a job. I can't give him a home. I can't bring his mom back. I can't find his father. I can't guarantee his future. I'd like to give him everything. Especially when he says he is so happy to talk to me, and will miss me when I'm gone, and he is thankful to have me in his life now. Could I possibly feel any smaller?
I have tried hard to explain to myself why such inequity exists. Why do some have and some have not? Why has the world shaped itself this way? And, why do good people have to suffer so much? I know there is hope, if not in this life than the next. But Alain is still left with the everyday trial of getting and going about his day. He is not alone and there are millions of others (literally) who have to do the same.
These are not new questions. They are asked time and time again. The only explanation that has helped me I gave in my previous post. But, that was end of the road stuff, the Hope. But as Alain sits and tells me his story, what do I tell him? What do I offer him as words of comfort for the now?
Friday, October 28, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
Thoughts on hope, etc.
I have been here over a month now. You see a lot. Maybe, I have trouble with it because it is new and fresh to me—this poverty and suffering. This probably has something to do with my confusion. At first, you observe, and then you let the images sink in. You think, wow, this place is actually real. But, the continual repetition of this process is difficult for me, time and again. At times I feel I am becoming jaded to it. Then, at other times I am not. And then, it can be plain overwhelming.
It is easy to become discouraged. The violence, the poverty, the illness, and instability—it’s extensive and it doesn't let up. It's an eye opener, and then you walk away from it and reflect. But the next day, the eye opener repeats. It stays and repeats everyday. You see it again, and then again, and again after that. You hear another heart wrenching story, more pain, more struggle. It wears on you after a while. And, I’ve only been here for a month. And, I have only been exposed to a small piece of a much larger problem. Welcome to Haiti I guess!
So, I’m left with the question of what to do? What will help with the continual breaking of my morale? How can I find comfort in the midst of it all? I stumbled across a reference to hope in a book I was reading. The book is primarily based on skepticism and the unpredictability of life—very secular in nature. So, I was surprised when I found this reference to hope. The ideas of skepticism, hope, and the philosophies of knowledge…this was a very interesting combination to me. The book was presenting hope as a last resort to your efforts. With the toils and trials of life, there are no guarantees, no clear explanations, and no glaring clarities in front you; but we should remain in hope nevertheless. He was basically implying that we have no idea where life leads, but we need to hope that we find what we seek. I will extrapolate on this idea of hope, but knowingly so, and with a bit different perspective.
I have visited the hospital several times since my last post. The last time I was there a few days ago, was particularly trying for me. We met with several men, including the one I talked about in my previous post. He said he had been thinking and praying about us (yes, he was praying for us, needless to say I felt like an ant). When asked what he would do if he were healed and could regain life, he said he would go to school and figure out how to help the other people on the streets who had no one to help them. One of the men we met couldn’t even talk. He only began to cry as we sat and prayed with him. He was middle-aged, clearly distraught, in pain, and my heart broke with compassion as I sat with him. The others were just as sick it seemed, but in better spirits. All talked of prayer and the hope for healing. Of course there is no guarantee of this healing. In fact, the odds are probably stacked heavily against it. So what hope is there for them? After all, they may not get the chance for a lifetime for seeking, a lifetime of hope…they may lose this.
It’s tough to seek clarity in this question without spiritual consideration, at least for me. Some things are just too difficult to understand without the consideration of Faith; the consideration of a God. Philosophy seems to treat this question on a spectrum: between no God and everything is God. Probably a testament to how inept we are to answer this question of God vs. no God. I have to imagine this is for reason. What would faith be if humans readily knew the answer? For me I have to believe there is a God. I’ll side with the philosophical pursuits of the non-atheist crowd. Though, the assumptions of an atheist are nearly as extraordinary as the assumptions of a theist. To me, it seems both sides of the discussion are opposites of the same value—the value being the nature of the belief (yes, I make the claim that atheism is a belief). And, the similarities and differences resemble that of the similarities and differences between [1] & [-1]—the same in value, yet polar opposites.
I guess you have to believe in God to go any further in this with me. Otherwise, you have to inform these sickly men that there is no hope. Their fervent prayers, and dying wishes were dead before they muttered them. Their suffering is in vain, and they grabbed the short end of the stick—the really short end. And, too bad for them because there’s no gold at the end of the rainbow either; there never has been, and Faith is just as silly. And, by the way this would have to go for every person in the world, you included; we would all lack as much purpose. It’s too much for me to fathom.
So, back to the question of hope (God’s existence assumed from here on out). I guess the hope is our eventuality—what remains after death. If you truly believe in it, then what we do with life means everything. Life becomes the deterministic time for our eventuality. It’s incredibly easy to forget. I have spent a decent portion of my life forgetting it (a safe estimate would be 97-98%). But, the hope (I reason) for folks who are especially lacking in life’s temporary joys is the secondary portion of our nature—that portion being our eternity. I know, I know, I just made a leap from belief in God to belief in the afterlife. Sue me. It would be too difficult to accept God, and deny belief in an afterlife.
Assuming eternal afterlife, the hope remains then, at least for me, that there is safely secured a place in eternity for these men. Although this life brought nothing but pain for these men, they have answered with nothing but Faith and Love. I don’t know how many times I have complacently listened to Corinthians 13:13, without learning anything, especially about Hope. I have an innate ability to listen without hearing or thinking. By definition, Hope is the desire for something with the expectation of its fulfillment. I think these men even as they suffer, master the art of Hope: maintaining over time their Faith and Love, fully remaining hopeful, in the most difficult of circumstances. I think there is more in the nature of Hope than I ever cared to imagine. I think it’s a more difficult and special virtue because it deals with time—with the waiting. It deserves our attention. Even for a philosophical skeptic, hope offered comfort through the unending questions that come with such a philosophy. Sure the idea of Faith and Love seem to take front and center, but it is this Hope that seems to translate them onto a timeline, onto the every day, and beat the timeline when it runs out.
I remember having a discussion with someone once, about how difficult life is. Very plainly it was told to me that life is like a continuous wave up and down, and eventually we meet our end. No matter how far down or up you go, you meet the same end. Though it can be difficult it is necessary to remember the end and the nature of the end. It is less important all the details in riding the wave and more important in knowing what end you are prepared for. I didn’t like the thought at the time. It was being explained to me as method for attaining happiness. And to be honest I think it can be misleading in that it negates the importance of our decisions during the details of life. But, in thinking more and more about it, I have found a lot of truth in it too. As difficult as it is in seeing the pain and suffering every day, it brings comfort to know that we all have the same end, no matter what our position. And, though some get a bad ride, they still have the same end, and the same benefits of that end. This is the Hope.
The same author I referenced earlier later in his book refers to human happiness, and our inability to perceive for ourselves what makes us happy. We more often overestimate the positive effects of both good and bad events. We often see happy events for more than they are, and bad events for less than they are. There are many examples of this. How many have been on a vacation long “needed” only to feel none of the “relief” that was anticipated in the vacation? Or, how many have turned their minds over and over again, asking why following a bad event, only to later discover the invaluable lessons blessings you couldn’t see at the time. The connection here being, the Hope for these men runs the danger of being underestimated, overshadowed by the sorrow and intense difficulty contained in it. It’s difficult to see, but if you truly believe in God, what He is, and eternity; logically, I think this holds.
I talk about this as if it’s obvious or easy. It’s not. It has taken me a solid week to put these few thoughts to paper. These thoughts have not come to me by my own cognition, rather they have been prompted by the small amount of suffering I have seen. And, even then this is easy to forget in the grinding minutia of life. I myself typically spend 97-98% of my time forgetting it still, even here. The reality is that we have to live every day in confusion, with the day-to-day, from now until our end. We have to decide what to do with every day because a lot of us aren’t dying. We have to mind the details, and mind the details* in a way that will hopefully serve our own end. I can only hope to achieve half the grace that some of these people have.
It pulls another question to my mind. I can try to be OK in seeing the suffering and the dying; knowing it is temporary, knowing there is Hope, because of what I believe. But, the opposite question of what to do with life when you have it, not when you’re losing it, seems to me, to have significant challenge in it as well…This seems like a selfish and terrible thought to compare the difficulty of losing life, which I can’t begin to understand, with the challenge of having life. Please don't shoot me for this. Rather, bear with me here and if possible, empathize. I am almost done.
Maybe the question isn’t so bad, and maybe it could be a decent pursuit? Maybe there is something tangible to learn in comparing loss of life and possession of life? Maybe there is something to learn about how I treat and understand my own life, my own trials, and my own details? In realizing and coming to terms with the temporary nature of life, the fragility of it, the ending of it…maybe there is more to learn, and it isn’t so terrible a thought after all? What does my lack of understanding make my having of life so trying for me? Maybe the thought of death can help with thoughts on life? Is it possible I too easily forget my eventual Hope, and in-turn my life is made more difficult by my misunderstandings? Or maybe I have taken this train of thought way, way too far?
OK I’m done. It's exhausting to think about, and my philosophical abilities are slim to none. Obviously this is a huge topic, and I have only touched it briefly, but I think I will stop before I either put my foot in my mouth or get a headache.....
*Details is a very general term, but I meant it to cover decisions in life from the very simple coffee or tea type questions to the larger should I change careers type questions. These are the questions that matter to us in the interim, between birth and death.
It is easy to become discouraged. The violence, the poverty, the illness, and instability—it’s extensive and it doesn't let up. It's an eye opener, and then you walk away from it and reflect. But the next day, the eye opener repeats. It stays and repeats everyday. You see it again, and then again, and again after that. You hear another heart wrenching story, more pain, more struggle. It wears on you after a while. And, I’ve only been here for a month. And, I have only been exposed to a small piece of a much larger problem. Welcome to Haiti I guess!
So, I’m left with the question of what to do? What will help with the continual breaking of my morale? How can I find comfort in the midst of it all? I stumbled across a reference to hope in a book I was reading. The book is primarily based on skepticism and the unpredictability of life—very secular in nature. So, I was surprised when I found this reference to hope. The ideas of skepticism, hope, and the philosophies of knowledge…this was a very interesting combination to me. The book was presenting hope as a last resort to your efforts. With the toils and trials of life, there are no guarantees, no clear explanations, and no glaring clarities in front you; but we should remain in hope nevertheless. He was basically implying that we have no idea where life leads, but we need to hope that we find what we seek. I will extrapolate on this idea of hope, but knowingly so, and with a bit different perspective.
I have visited the hospital several times since my last post. The last time I was there a few days ago, was particularly trying for me. We met with several men, including the one I talked about in my previous post. He said he had been thinking and praying about us (yes, he was praying for us, needless to say I felt like an ant). When asked what he would do if he were healed and could regain life, he said he would go to school and figure out how to help the other people on the streets who had no one to help them. One of the men we met couldn’t even talk. He only began to cry as we sat and prayed with him. He was middle-aged, clearly distraught, in pain, and my heart broke with compassion as I sat with him. The others were just as sick it seemed, but in better spirits. All talked of prayer and the hope for healing. Of course there is no guarantee of this healing. In fact, the odds are probably stacked heavily against it. So what hope is there for them? After all, they may not get the chance for a lifetime for seeking, a lifetime of hope…they may lose this.
It’s tough to seek clarity in this question without spiritual consideration, at least for me. Some things are just too difficult to understand without the consideration of Faith; the consideration of a God. Philosophy seems to treat this question on a spectrum: between no God and everything is God. Probably a testament to how inept we are to answer this question of God vs. no God. I have to imagine this is for reason. What would faith be if humans readily knew the answer? For me I have to believe there is a God. I’ll side with the philosophical pursuits of the non-atheist crowd. Though, the assumptions of an atheist are nearly as extraordinary as the assumptions of a theist. To me, it seems both sides of the discussion are opposites of the same value—the value being the nature of the belief (yes, I make the claim that atheism is a belief). And, the similarities and differences resemble that of the similarities and differences between [1] & [-1]—the same in value, yet polar opposites.
I guess you have to believe in God to go any further in this with me. Otherwise, you have to inform these sickly men that there is no hope. Their fervent prayers, and dying wishes were dead before they muttered them. Their suffering is in vain, and they grabbed the short end of the stick—the really short end. And, too bad for them because there’s no gold at the end of the rainbow either; there never has been, and Faith is just as silly. And, by the way this would have to go for every person in the world, you included; we would all lack as much purpose. It’s too much for me to fathom.
So, back to the question of hope (God’s existence assumed from here on out). I guess the hope is our eventuality—what remains after death. If you truly believe in it, then what we do with life means everything. Life becomes the deterministic time for our eventuality. It’s incredibly easy to forget. I have spent a decent portion of my life forgetting it (a safe estimate would be 97-98%). But, the hope (I reason) for folks who are especially lacking in life’s temporary joys is the secondary portion of our nature—that portion being our eternity. I know, I know, I just made a leap from belief in God to belief in the afterlife. Sue me. It would be too difficult to accept God, and deny belief in an afterlife.
Assuming eternal afterlife, the hope remains then, at least for me, that there is safely secured a place in eternity for these men. Although this life brought nothing but pain for these men, they have answered with nothing but Faith and Love. I don’t know how many times I have complacently listened to Corinthians 13:13, without learning anything, especially about Hope. I have an innate ability to listen without hearing or thinking. By definition, Hope is the desire for something with the expectation of its fulfillment. I think these men even as they suffer, master the art of Hope: maintaining over time their Faith and Love, fully remaining hopeful, in the most difficult of circumstances. I think there is more in the nature of Hope than I ever cared to imagine. I think it’s a more difficult and special virtue because it deals with time—with the waiting. It deserves our attention. Even for a philosophical skeptic, hope offered comfort through the unending questions that come with such a philosophy. Sure the idea of Faith and Love seem to take front and center, but it is this Hope that seems to translate them onto a timeline, onto the every day, and beat the timeline when it runs out.
I remember having a discussion with someone once, about how difficult life is. Very plainly it was told to me that life is like a continuous wave up and down, and eventually we meet our end. No matter how far down or up you go, you meet the same end. Though it can be difficult it is necessary to remember the end and the nature of the end. It is less important all the details in riding the wave and more important in knowing what end you are prepared for. I didn’t like the thought at the time. It was being explained to me as method for attaining happiness. And to be honest I think it can be misleading in that it negates the importance of our decisions during the details of life. But, in thinking more and more about it, I have found a lot of truth in it too. As difficult as it is in seeing the pain and suffering every day, it brings comfort to know that we all have the same end, no matter what our position. And, though some get a bad ride, they still have the same end, and the same benefits of that end. This is the Hope.
The same author I referenced earlier later in his book refers to human happiness, and our inability to perceive for ourselves what makes us happy. We more often overestimate the positive effects of both good and bad events. We often see happy events for more than they are, and bad events for less than they are. There are many examples of this. How many have been on a vacation long “needed” only to feel none of the “relief” that was anticipated in the vacation? Or, how many have turned their minds over and over again, asking why following a bad event, only to later discover the invaluable lessons blessings you couldn’t see at the time. The connection here being, the Hope for these men runs the danger of being underestimated, overshadowed by the sorrow and intense difficulty contained in it. It’s difficult to see, but if you truly believe in God, what He is, and eternity; logically, I think this holds.
I talk about this as if it’s obvious or easy. It’s not. It has taken me a solid week to put these few thoughts to paper. These thoughts have not come to me by my own cognition, rather they have been prompted by the small amount of suffering I have seen. And, even then this is easy to forget in the grinding minutia of life. I myself typically spend 97-98% of my time forgetting it still, even here. The reality is that we have to live every day in confusion, with the day-to-day, from now until our end. We have to decide what to do with every day because a lot of us aren’t dying. We have to mind the details, and mind the details* in a way that will hopefully serve our own end. I can only hope to achieve half the grace that some of these people have.
It pulls another question to my mind. I can try to be OK in seeing the suffering and the dying; knowing it is temporary, knowing there is Hope, because of what I believe. But, the opposite question of what to do with life when you have it, not when you’re losing it, seems to me, to have significant challenge in it as well…This seems like a selfish and terrible thought to compare the difficulty of losing life, which I can’t begin to understand, with the challenge of having life. Please don't shoot me for this. Rather, bear with me here and if possible, empathize. I am almost done.
Maybe the question isn’t so bad, and maybe it could be a decent pursuit? Maybe there is something tangible to learn in comparing loss of life and possession of life? Maybe there is something to learn about how I treat and understand my own life, my own trials, and my own details? In realizing and coming to terms with the temporary nature of life, the fragility of it, the ending of it…maybe there is more to learn, and it isn’t so terrible a thought after all? What does my lack of understanding make my having of life so trying for me? Maybe the thought of death can help with thoughts on life? Is it possible I too easily forget my eventual Hope, and in-turn my life is made more difficult by my misunderstandings? Or maybe I have taken this train of thought way, way too far?
OK I’m done. It's exhausting to think about, and my philosophical abilities are slim to none. Obviously this is a huge topic, and I have only touched it briefly, but I think I will stop before I either put my foot in my mouth or get a headache.....
*Details is a very general term, but I meant it to cover decisions in life from the very simple coffee or tea type questions to the larger should I change careers type questions. These are the questions that matter to us in the interim, between birth and death.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
One patient of many
It's hard to write about this topic. But, I thought I would try. Though difficult, I think it is important. Sometimes, I think the things we can't explain, are often the most important. Difficult as they are, I think it's important you at least try.
We make pastoral visits to the hospital every week. There is quite a lot of suffering there. It's difficult to see and hard to believe, but real nonetheless. There was one man we (myself & another missionary) met. He is 20. He has been there for quite some time. He has a skin disease they have not been able to diagnose, and a stomach condition that has caused diarrhea since last December. He weighed about 70 lbs, quite possibly nearing the end of his life. Yet, he was pleasant, had a calm, sort of passive attitude, with an air of contentment and positivity. As we talked to him, I was moved with complete compassion. Sure, who wouldn't be. This is the natural human reaction.
But, sitting there, talking to this young man, younger than me, it's difficult to figure where your thoughts should lie. Or, should they lie in any particular way or order at all? How can they? The bed sheets barely raise up where the legs and rest of his body should fill in. It's a struggle for him to raise a limb, let alone stand. I continue to shock myself, "He is 20? Why him?" We talk to him more. I learn he has lost both of his parents. He lost his mother before the earthquake, and his father shortly after, no doubt as a result of it. He is from a town near the epicenter. In fact, most of his family lived there, and as such, he lost many other family members. I became overwhelmed with sympathy and compassion for him. How terrible his pain must be? Chronic disease, mourning the loss of his parents and family, and possibly facing death, losing out in the prime of his life.
Compassion - from the latin word compati, meaning, "to suffer with, to feel pity." I probably felt more compassion for this man, than I have ever felt in my entire life. I could not imagine spending a day in this man's shoes. But, to "suffer with", how is this possible? We could not experience his pain, only bear witness. We could not feel the extreme sense of loss from the death of his parents or family members. We could only tell him, "they are in a better place." Small words of comfort for such huge affliction. How do I share this man's suffering? How do you suffer with someone? I don't know.
I have tried many outlets for my questions about this topic of suffering. All humans die, right? We cannot choose how we are born, what does it have to do with me? This is just the way things go, right? Some people are poor, some are not, some are born with problems, some are not, some get disease, some do not. What does it matter that this man has had a terrible run at life? It's just the way things go. Right? It's difficult to see, it makes you appreciate life, but there is not much you can do, aside from being there for someone. Is that it? Maybe it is. Maybe this is the extent of it. Maybe this is as far as the question goes. Maybe there is no answer to this inequity, and it just has and always will be a part of this world. And, we do our best with it. But, for me, I sense something more in it. I feel there is more to be learned and gained from suffering, within ourselves and from those around us.
I think the possibility exists that there is something real and tangible revealed through suffering and compassion. Something very deep, true and great, that it's almost understandable why suffering is so difficult. For what reward would it be, if the nature and answers to such great suffering came easily? What true and perfect greatness has ever come easily in life? And, since the challenge is so great, what greatness could there be in suffering? Sure, that's a simple set of leading questions. But at a minimum, it's at least worth entertaining the thought, even as terribly inexperienced I am with it. There is something in the heart that speaks here. I don't think, "it's just the way things go" or "it will always be here, you can't explain it". Sure, we can't control where we end up, just like anything. But, I don't think such a generalization negates what is possibility contained in the suffering itself.
To use the analogy, I almost think of it as a possible stored energy, a tank of fuel, a raised object waiting to fall, a stretched rubber band. It almost unlocks what we really are; non-permanent, headed for the end, questions numerous and certain answers few. Yet, in us we still burn for the truth all the time, to know these answers. Whether we believe in God or not. We all love to feel. We are not zombies. What is this reason for feeling? Why do we enjoy friendship, and feel compassion, cry for sadness and happiness, and desire to love and be loved? Why do we feel such compassion, and long to share in it? It's as if the suffering, brings all these questions from miles away, writes them down on a chalk board, and positions the chalk board 2 feet from your face. You're backed into a corner, forced to see the humanness, the reality. It strikes a chord very deep.
What's worse, as I ponder my deep questions and feel uncomfortable as to how to suffer with him, this young man, younger than me, answers our concerns and compassionate comments with, "I think about all the people on the streets who do not have a bed like I do, and I pray for them, because they need help, and I pray to God that he helps them." A completely selfless comment from a suffering, dying man. He is thankful for a bed? Why? It's not even a good bed. What is his reasoning or motivation for his concerns? Why does he think about others, when he has lost and continues to lose everything, even his own life? Why does he say these things, and act so graciously? Why does he have this gracious attitude? What does he know that I don't, other than possibly everything, and quite possibly the secret to life? Because in dying and having lost everything, he still seems ok. Like a perfect Buddha figure, content and peaceful. He says he prays, is thankful, and thinks about others. What do I do other than worry about my own, mostly self-perpetuated problems? How great must his faith & trust must be? How greatly do I lack what he has? It's clear, with nothing, and still losing everything, he has found more than I have.
So, what is suffering then, and what can we know from it? And, how do I feel compassion and suffer with him, and share in his suffering? Is my responsibility only to feel pity and offer comfort? Sure, absolutely. And I do. But, does it end there? Does my responsibility of the "sharing" component end there? Or, do I owe something more to this dying man? Do I owe him a true look at what he has found? Is he sharing something with me too? Do I accept what he shares with me? Do I owe this man's dying life an honest attempt at seeing or trying to understand what he has found, what he sees? Do I owe him an attempt at trying to understand what he sees as most important in the final moments of his life? Is there something to learn here, about his suffering, and how I should handle my own trials? Is he inadvertently, unintentionally, but by some grace, teaching me something? It wouldn't be so far fetched, right? How often do we learn from someone without that person even knowing they were teaching us? I am betting I do owe this man something, and that he is showing me something, intended or not, by some grace, I think it's owed the proper attention as I attempt to share in his suffering.
I apologize, though more of a deep internal monologue than a story, I thought it was at least worth the examination. There are others like him, with similar reactions to their own suffering. It's actually incredibly common. The fact that his response is not isolated is what prompted me to think seriously about what this suffering is. And, what it does to, and possibly for, people; both the sufferer and those suffering with.
We make pastoral visits to the hospital every week. There is quite a lot of suffering there. It's difficult to see and hard to believe, but real nonetheless. There was one man we (myself & another missionary) met. He is 20. He has been there for quite some time. He has a skin disease they have not been able to diagnose, and a stomach condition that has caused diarrhea since last December. He weighed about 70 lbs, quite possibly nearing the end of his life. Yet, he was pleasant, had a calm, sort of passive attitude, with an air of contentment and positivity. As we talked to him, I was moved with complete compassion. Sure, who wouldn't be. This is the natural human reaction.
But, sitting there, talking to this young man, younger than me, it's difficult to figure where your thoughts should lie. Or, should they lie in any particular way or order at all? How can they? The bed sheets barely raise up where the legs and rest of his body should fill in. It's a struggle for him to raise a limb, let alone stand. I continue to shock myself, "He is 20? Why him?" We talk to him more. I learn he has lost both of his parents. He lost his mother before the earthquake, and his father shortly after, no doubt as a result of it. He is from a town near the epicenter. In fact, most of his family lived there, and as such, he lost many other family members. I became overwhelmed with sympathy and compassion for him. How terrible his pain must be? Chronic disease, mourning the loss of his parents and family, and possibly facing death, losing out in the prime of his life.
Compassion - from the latin word compati, meaning, "to suffer with, to feel pity." I probably felt more compassion for this man, than I have ever felt in my entire life. I could not imagine spending a day in this man's shoes. But, to "suffer with", how is this possible? We could not experience his pain, only bear witness. We could not feel the extreme sense of loss from the death of his parents or family members. We could only tell him, "they are in a better place." Small words of comfort for such huge affliction. How do I share this man's suffering? How do you suffer with someone? I don't know.
I have tried many outlets for my questions about this topic of suffering. All humans die, right? We cannot choose how we are born, what does it have to do with me? This is just the way things go, right? Some people are poor, some are not, some are born with problems, some are not, some get disease, some do not. What does it matter that this man has had a terrible run at life? It's just the way things go. Right? It's difficult to see, it makes you appreciate life, but there is not much you can do, aside from being there for someone. Is that it? Maybe it is. Maybe this is the extent of it. Maybe this is as far as the question goes. Maybe there is no answer to this inequity, and it just has and always will be a part of this world. And, we do our best with it. But, for me, I sense something more in it. I feel there is more to be learned and gained from suffering, within ourselves and from those around us.
I think the possibility exists that there is something real and tangible revealed through suffering and compassion. Something very deep, true and great, that it's almost understandable why suffering is so difficult. For what reward would it be, if the nature and answers to such great suffering came easily? What true and perfect greatness has ever come easily in life? And, since the challenge is so great, what greatness could there be in suffering? Sure, that's a simple set of leading questions. But at a minimum, it's at least worth entertaining the thought, even as terribly inexperienced I am with it. There is something in the heart that speaks here. I don't think, "it's just the way things go" or "it will always be here, you can't explain it". Sure, we can't control where we end up, just like anything. But, I don't think such a generalization negates what is possibility contained in the suffering itself.
To use the analogy, I almost think of it as a possible stored energy, a tank of fuel, a raised object waiting to fall, a stretched rubber band. It almost unlocks what we really are; non-permanent, headed for the end, questions numerous and certain answers few. Yet, in us we still burn for the truth all the time, to know these answers. Whether we believe in God or not. We all love to feel. We are not zombies. What is this reason for feeling? Why do we enjoy friendship, and feel compassion, cry for sadness and happiness, and desire to love and be loved? Why do we feel such compassion, and long to share in it? It's as if the suffering, brings all these questions from miles away, writes them down on a chalk board, and positions the chalk board 2 feet from your face. You're backed into a corner, forced to see the humanness, the reality. It strikes a chord very deep.
What's worse, as I ponder my deep questions and feel uncomfortable as to how to suffer with him, this young man, younger than me, answers our concerns and compassionate comments with, "I think about all the people on the streets who do not have a bed like I do, and I pray for them, because they need help, and I pray to God that he helps them." A completely selfless comment from a suffering, dying man. He is thankful for a bed? Why? It's not even a good bed. What is his reasoning or motivation for his concerns? Why does he think about others, when he has lost and continues to lose everything, even his own life? Why does he say these things, and act so graciously? Why does he have this gracious attitude? What does he know that I don't, other than possibly everything, and quite possibly the secret to life? Because in dying and having lost everything, he still seems ok. Like a perfect Buddha figure, content and peaceful. He says he prays, is thankful, and thinks about others. What do I do other than worry about my own, mostly self-perpetuated problems? How great must his faith & trust must be? How greatly do I lack what he has? It's clear, with nothing, and still losing everything, he has found more than I have.
So, what is suffering then, and what can we know from it? And, how do I feel compassion and suffer with him, and share in his suffering? Is my responsibility only to feel pity and offer comfort? Sure, absolutely. And I do. But, does it end there? Does my responsibility of the "sharing" component end there? Or, do I owe something more to this dying man? Do I owe him a true look at what he has found? Is he sharing something with me too? Do I accept what he shares with me? Do I owe this man's dying life an honest attempt at seeing or trying to understand what he has found, what he sees? Do I owe him an attempt at trying to understand what he sees as most important in the final moments of his life? Is there something to learn here, about his suffering, and how I should handle my own trials? Is he inadvertently, unintentionally, but by some grace, teaching me something? It wouldn't be so far fetched, right? How often do we learn from someone without that person even knowing they were teaching us? I am betting I do owe this man something, and that he is showing me something, intended or not, by some grace, I think it's owed the proper attention as I attempt to share in his suffering.
I apologize, though more of a deep internal monologue than a story, I thought it was at least worth the examination. There are others like him, with similar reactions to their own suffering. It's actually incredibly common. The fact that his response is not isolated is what prompted me to think seriously about what this suffering is. And, what it does to, and possibly for, people; both the sufferer and those suffering with.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
The 1st Couple Classes
I've had my first couple of classes by now. I have no previous training in teaching. My limited knowledge of the profession comes from the examples I saw during my K-5 years of college education (it's hard to believe I have 20 years of knowledge, I feel like I should know more for 20 years worth of learning, no?). Impressively, I forgot 95% of the grammar rules I was supposed to be teaching. Like a large chunk of my 20 year education, I forgot such things as modals, non-count/count nouns, antecedents, and the proper uses of articles as they relate to proper nouns. Shame on me. So, I spent the first week relearning the rules of grammar that I unknowingly use everyday, and figuring out how to explain one of the most complicated languages to people who speak one of the most simple languages, Kreyol. I have found it to be very challenging, not only to explain English, but to teach. In my new found appreciation for teaching, I almost feel compelled to write apology letters to the teachers I surely tortured over the years. But, it is fun and very rewarding to see the look on someone's face as they finally understand such crucial concepts as when to use "the" or "a". Sounds crazy, but it is.
I have a class of 25, ranging in age from 13 to 35. I have never seen people so interested in English. I spent 15 mins in my class yesterday explaining what the difference between "may" and "might" is. What American cares about this question? Certainly I did not. But, if you examine it, there are differences, and they did care. Amazing! The students are amazing. They are fairly well behaved, and want to learn English because they need it. They see it not as a class but as a better future. A possible link to something else. A job, a paycheck, a future education at a university, money for their family, a better place to live in other than a tent or a one to two room shack.
One of my best students was forced into English by her mother. After being in previous classes she now loves English. She is so proper and so nice and sweet. I didn't even know she lived in the camp until someone told me. Even with nothing, though, she keeps her self pride, her dignity and perseverance. She dresses well, behaves perfectly and studies hard. She is a top student in the class, and speaks great English. She is very shy though and almost too respectful.
All of them have a story to tell. They lost a parent or a brother or a sister, a family member is sick, they have never seen their father or mother, they need to work to eat, they are stuck in the camp, etc. etc. You can only imagine what they endure. And still, they walk to class, through one of the roughest neighborhoods in Port-au-Prince, with their notebooks, caring about their future, and usually with a smile on their face. They are inspiring to me.
The younger ones are still kids though, and not without their quirks. The other day, I caught one of them cheating, and fairly obviously. He and his buddy were laughing at his inability to take the test. The students are notoriously late, and their attendance is spotty. A lot of their attendance issues, though, have to do with whatever is going on in their life, ie. one girl can't attend for the week because she needed to help her brother in the countryside with family issues. I didn't ask, but likely someone was sick or something. This is pretty common. But, their tardiness on the other hand, I think is cultural. They definitely do not have the same concept of time as Americans do. Whether it's a meeting, class, or even church, nothing is on time. I actually took my watch off because I found it to be a frustratingly useless reference point.
I've also heard one of the funniest questions I think I will ever hear in my entire life. One of the best students in the class is a thirteen year old girl. She is sweet, but very precocious and smart. She is bored half the time, far ahead of the others. I'll preface it by saying, I'm a pretty good gauge on sarcasm, and I don't think she was being sarcastic or trying to make a joke. Even if she was, it would be a hugely bold move for any 13 year old, especially a young Haitian girl. They are typically pretty respectful of authority, at least the kind they like, ie. teachers & priests. Anyways, she stopped me mid-class raising her hand as if she had a question. I asked her what it was and she responded with what sounded like, "I have to make shee". I said, "What? What's your question?" She was talking very quietly so I couldn't tell what she was saying. She replied again, "I have to make shee." I said, "sh, shee? What is it you're asking?" She replied, "I need to make shee." And, as she held up two fingers like a peace sign, she finally clarified, "like feces." It was immediately obvious what she meant by "shee". I almost fell over. I could hardly control my laughter. Only a few students heard her and they were laughing a little too. I dismissed her and tried to control my laughter as I continued with the lesson. What was worse, is that she returned to class about a minute later. Possibly the fastest "shee" ever.
I have a class of 25, ranging in age from 13 to 35. I have never seen people so interested in English. I spent 15 mins in my class yesterday explaining what the difference between "may" and "might" is. What American cares about this question? Certainly I did not. But, if you examine it, there are differences, and they did care. Amazing! The students are amazing. They are fairly well behaved, and want to learn English because they need it. They see it not as a class but as a better future. A possible link to something else. A job, a paycheck, a future education at a university, money for their family, a better place to live in other than a tent or a one to two room shack.
One of my best students was forced into English by her mother. After being in previous classes she now loves English. She is so proper and so nice and sweet. I didn't even know she lived in the camp until someone told me. Even with nothing, though, she keeps her self pride, her dignity and perseverance. She dresses well, behaves perfectly and studies hard. She is a top student in the class, and speaks great English. She is very shy though and almost too respectful.
All of them have a story to tell. They lost a parent or a brother or a sister, a family member is sick, they have never seen their father or mother, they need to work to eat, they are stuck in the camp, etc. etc. You can only imagine what they endure. And still, they walk to class, through one of the roughest neighborhoods in Port-au-Prince, with their notebooks, caring about their future, and usually with a smile on their face. They are inspiring to me.
The younger ones are still kids though, and not without their quirks. The other day, I caught one of them cheating, and fairly obviously. He and his buddy were laughing at his inability to take the test. The students are notoriously late, and their attendance is spotty. A lot of their attendance issues, though, have to do with whatever is going on in their life, ie. one girl can't attend for the week because she needed to help her brother in the countryside with family issues. I didn't ask, but likely someone was sick or something. This is pretty common. But, their tardiness on the other hand, I think is cultural. They definitely do not have the same concept of time as Americans do. Whether it's a meeting, class, or even church, nothing is on time. I actually took my watch off because I found it to be a frustratingly useless reference point.
I've also heard one of the funniest questions I think I will ever hear in my entire life. One of the best students in the class is a thirteen year old girl. She is sweet, but very precocious and smart. She is bored half the time, far ahead of the others. I'll preface it by saying, I'm a pretty good gauge on sarcasm, and I don't think she was being sarcastic or trying to make a joke. Even if she was, it would be a hugely bold move for any 13 year old, especially a young Haitian girl. They are typically pretty respectful of authority, at least the kind they like, ie. teachers & priests. Anyways, she stopped me mid-class raising her hand as if she had a question. I asked her what it was and she responded with what sounded like, "I have to make shee". I said, "What? What's your question?" She was talking very quietly so I couldn't tell what she was saying. She replied again, "I have to make shee." I said, "sh, shee? What is it you're asking?" She replied, "I need to make shee." And, as she held up two fingers like a peace sign, she finally clarified, "like feces." It was immediately obvious what she meant by "shee". I almost fell over. I could hardly control my laughter. Only a few students heard her and they were laughing a little too. I dismissed her and tried to control my laughter as I continued with the lesson. What was worse, is that she returned to class about a minute later. Possibly the fastest "shee" ever.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
The 1st Week
So, I have had my first week here in Haiti. I arrived last Monday. There is a lot to process, and as such, I am somewhat careful with my words for fear of portraying inaccurately a situation I am still so unfamiliar and uneducated with. As such, I really can't write much about the political or historical sense of the situation. It's too much to cover and I am not one to speak on it. I think there is enough in my small experiences that will tell the story. Out of respect for my organization and the people I talk about, I will keep them anonymous.
I am located in a slum of Port-au-Prince, next to a camp that was set up after the earthquake. There are several thousand people that live in the tents here. The tents house anywhere from several to a dozen people. They are made out of tarps provided by the aid process after the earthquake and sticks sold on the streets. Typically they contain one to two beds and whatever other belongings they can fit into the tent. You may think, like I did, why have they not moved? Over a year-and-a-half ago now, it seems like the earthquake could have been less than a few months ago. There are so many reasons.
Regardless, they live in extreme poverty and not because they want to. I met some of the mothers and their children over the last few days. One in particular, has the most precious 3 year old boy and a couple daughters, all young in age too. She knows she needs to get out of the camp. There are violence, health, sexual abuse, education, and other issues that she knows hurt her ability to raise her children. If you watch her explain and see her children it's hard to judge the situation, in fact nearly impossible. Especially when most of the time, rather than sulk, they carry a smile. Sure, they have lived in extreme poverty for a long time, they're used to it, and perspective means a lot in life, but still...She has nothing, and she has little skill. The earthquake destroyed her home. And, now she can't even get a home to try to raise her kids. But, she continues to watch her children closely and do her best. For most of these mothers, their whole life is their children. Their own lives they seem to accept, but for their children they hold out hope.
The focus on the children raises a parallel in my mind I can't help but think of. Tent, house, or nothing at all, the mothers want everything for their children. If they do nothing else with their lives, even if it is on the dirt floor of a tent, they will raise their children every day the best they can, success or failure, they try. I have been told of cases where mothers will live in the tents in lieu of purchasing a house or land, to afford school. Some even live in a tent to rent their house or land, in order to receive an income they would otherwise have no way of earning. They would rather their family live in the dirt and be educated with food, than live in a house and risk their children's future. All their hope and sacrifice is in their children. Everything is spent on securing something better than what they had. It's quite something to see, and causes you to pause and reflect...
Can I say the same for my life? Would I be willing to sacrifice as much for the most important things in my life, the irreplaceable things like Faith, Family, and Friends? Would I show the same courage as these mothers do, on the dirt floor of a tent, never losing hope, exhausting all options? How far is my faith capable of taking me? Could I hold out hope and a smile, everyday, against odds seemingly stacked against me like they do?
I am located in a slum of Port-au-Prince, next to a camp that was set up after the earthquake. There are several thousand people that live in the tents here. The tents house anywhere from several to a dozen people. They are made out of tarps provided by the aid process after the earthquake and sticks sold on the streets. Typically they contain one to two beds and whatever other belongings they can fit into the tent. You may think, like I did, why have they not moved? Over a year-and-a-half ago now, it seems like the earthquake could have been less than a few months ago. There are so many reasons.
Regardless, they live in extreme poverty and not because they want to. I met some of the mothers and their children over the last few days. One in particular, has the most precious 3 year old boy and a couple daughters, all young in age too. She knows she needs to get out of the camp. There are violence, health, sexual abuse, education, and other issues that she knows hurt her ability to raise her children. If you watch her explain and see her children it's hard to judge the situation, in fact nearly impossible. Especially when most of the time, rather than sulk, they carry a smile. Sure, they have lived in extreme poverty for a long time, they're used to it, and perspective means a lot in life, but still...She has nothing, and she has little skill. The earthquake destroyed her home. And, now she can't even get a home to try to raise her kids. But, she continues to watch her children closely and do her best. For most of these mothers, their whole life is their children. Their own lives they seem to accept, but for their children they hold out hope.
The focus on the children raises a parallel in my mind I can't help but think of. Tent, house, or nothing at all, the mothers want everything for their children. If they do nothing else with their lives, even if it is on the dirt floor of a tent, they will raise their children every day the best they can, success or failure, they try. I have been told of cases where mothers will live in the tents in lieu of purchasing a house or land, to afford school. Some even live in a tent to rent their house or land, in order to receive an income they would otherwise have no way of earning. They would rather their family live in the dirt and be educated with food, than live in a house and risk their children's future. All their hope and sacrifice is in their children. Everything is spent on securing something better than what they had. It's quite something to see, and causes you to pause and reflect...
Can I say the same for my life? Would I be willing to sacrifice as much for the most important things in my life, the irreplaceable things like Faith, Family, and Friends? Would I show the same courage as these mothers do, on the dirt floor of a tent, never losing hope, exhausting all options? How far is my faith capable of taking me? Could I hold out hope and a smile, everyday, against odds seemingly stacked against me like they do?
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Sending off...
Hello all. I have had several requests to receive updates during my stay in Haiti. So, I set up this blog. Feel free to share it with anyone. I am looking forward to this new opportunity, and will be thinking of and praying for all my family and friends.
Take care and God bless.
Take care and God bless.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)