Life Lessons

Season by Season

~ theharwerths ~ 2 Comments

The words aren’t there. I’ve watched the pale morning skies turn their bright blue, deep golden sunshine on the cacao and labape trees outside. I pour a second cup of coffee, my body, heart, and soul feeling the way we have been here nearly 3 months. At least the coffee wakes me up physically. 

My Bible has a literal layer of dust on it. How can you claim anything, write anything, live anything, do anything.. when you don’t even open this Book once a day? Shame runs deep, and I know its voice well. There are tears in the coffee, because I am running on empty. My prayers hit the ceiling and bounce off the cement floors and go everywhere except where I need them to. Verses are highlighted, written on flash cards to be memorized, read again and again from the page.. but I can’t make them make sense in my heart, no matter what I do.

Disappointment weighs heavy in my heart because where are You when I need You most, and I know I need You, and I’m begging for You.. and You don’t come?

The kids finish their last week of school. Wildaneise has passed onto her 6 times tables. We stand in the doorway, looking at our class of 7 working away at their Subtraction with Regrouping worksheets, no one needing help anymore. As I check the papers, I hear Mayline’s voice reading a short story reader. She’s so lost in the words of the book that she does not notice the class empty out at 12:00. I smile for the way she sounds out words, the incredible progress she has made since the fall. 

Mikey has become almost too heavy for me to lift. He’s in his bed, laughing and then screaming, and then laughing again. The kids are all outside for singing group, so we steal precious moments on the living room floor. He pinches my cheeks, and it actually hurts now. His arms are strong, pushing my hands away when he’s mad with me. He can put up a fight, this stubborn child who does things in his own time. But I think he has learned that I am stubborn too 🙂 He has my heart forever entangled, and I think Stephen’s twice as much so. We have watched his tiny person emerge. And while his screaming can drive me absolutely mad, I hear him shriek and inside I whisper, “Yes.. find your voice..”

Sadrack knocks on the door. “Can you sell me two lollipops?” Somewhere along the way, we became the shop for lollipops, Cheeko’s and Twizzlers. The chalkboard sign on the door means nothing, as knocks come whether we are “Open” or “Closed”.

Bello can do his 6, 7, 8, and 9 times tables now. He tells me of the way he can do the math faster in school because it. Sadrack reads smoothly through the short story readers now, and has read every book on the shelf. Every afternoon at 1:30 they come, and every afternoon when they leave at 3 or 3:30, there is always a thank you, a smile, and a little more self-confidence behind their eyes.

I walked to Digicel twice yesterday, Stephen out with the team and us needing to buy another phone. Past the tin shacks selling crackers and candy, past the women calling for the “blanc to vin achtey” their bread loaves and fried street food, past the men who catcall and want to know if I am married (Abel has no shame, translating for me), through the mud puddles of streets, stepping in things I don’t want to know, walking along the side of the road where whizzing motorcycles and enormous trucks aren’t even an arm’s length away. We stop to hold baby Waldo along the way. I wonder who he will grow up to be, touching his tiny toes and silky soft hair.

My despair grows, because where in the world is the hope in all this? I remind myself (my emotional, feel-deep-or-don’t-feel-at-all self) that things are not always how they feel. 

We have watched God provide for our needs in the most unexpected ways. The check comes once a month, and sometimes it is more and sometimes it is less, but it is always what we need. When we find out Alaska will cost more than we anticipated, a message ‘just so happens’ to come later in the morning, asking for information on how to support us. When taxes looked overwhelming, one phone call later found us a place in Florida to help answer every complicated question we had. Nate even comes with coffee creamer the day my powdered kind has run out.

This is not a plea for support.

This is God, reminding me He has never once failed to meet our physical, financial needs. He provides in ways different than we might’ve imagined, but He’s never failed to provide.

And if I can do that for you physically, do you not think I am doing that in every sense of the way? Spiritually, emotionally, mentally? He whispers to my heart, reminding me He has not left us.

We learn to trust; things are not always as they appear, even when you feel empty inside. God provides different than we might sometimes hope, but He always provides.

So I let myself feel the sadness. I don’t deny the despair. I let the Bible sit open somedays, unopened other days. The words on the flash cards hold little meaning right now. This country does look hopeless. But these things, I’m learning, are okay. Because God is still providing somehow, in ways I cannot see right now, for whatever the reason.

And it is somehow okay. 

-Anna

(We leave for Florida on Tuesday. Partly because of the visa situation, partly to get a little week-long break before being in for the month of April. So if you don’t hear from us for a while, we are enjoying paved roads, real coffee creamer, salads and red meat, and sleep 😉 

The Monotonous and the Mundane

~ theharwerths ~ 1 Comment

I’ve been watching the spinning wheel load for 10 minutes now. Circling round and round, but going nowhere. What I’d give for a decent internet connection these days.. its spinning circle reminds me of a hamster on a wheel. And a lot of days I feel the same way- stuck in a hamster cage, running a wheel that goes nowhere.

Life is life; it’s hard to find new words for the same experiences. I told Stephen this morning.. “bored is the wrong word. It’s more like monotonous.” But I suppose, anywhere you go, anywhere you live.. life becomes monotonous, scheduled, ordinary. Ask the man who commutes to the office 5 days a week, week after week. Or the mom doing after school pick up, again; cooking supper, again. The college student studying from the same book in the same coffee shop for the same class.

My favorite routine lately has been little Sadrack coming up to read with me. Bello is coming up now too in the afternoons with him. Both boys are in the same class at the orphanage, and have a motivation and desire to learn. We’ve settled into a routine, the three of us. Bello made me laugh the other day when I sat down on the couch to read with them and said, “Hey, where’s your coffee man?” Haha! 2 o’clock reading time is also my 2 o’clock pick-me-up, and even the boys know that now. In addition to reading, we’ve been studying multiplication facts. And then, when all is said and done, we play a round of Memory (I’ve yet to win a single game. Hah).

In school we’ve started learning about the continents. The kids are so funny when we point out Haiti on the map. “What?! But it’s so small!” is almost always their first remark. They have a fascination with China and Antarctica, not totally sure why.. They really love the geography though, so we are running with that in school. We started learning the continents and oceans, and now have moved onto studying North America.

Shaggy is teaching some of the boys how to ride the dirt bike in the afternoons. The process is slightly terrifying to watch, so I don’t usually stick around for long. But the boys are having fun with it, and no one has died yet, so I’d call it a success. Even a few of the girls are learning to drive it too. Female drivers are a bit more uncommon here, so it’s been neat to see some of the girls give it a go. Keeping the oldest kid’s classroom going also has been keeping him pretty busy. He has the kids come help grade papers now. Not only has it been a huge help, but the time spent together has been encouraging for Stephen, and the kids.
It’s hard to know how to write about it all. One minute our hearts are full, excited about little steps of progress we are seeing or hopeful for the ways God is working here. And the next minute, the taste of discouragement is bitter and strong. But we continue on (admitedly, sometimes not with the greatest of attitudes) and remember that labor for the Lord is never in vain. God works His own ways in His own times. It’s a truth we cling to, especially on days where we feel like our efforts are going nowhere.

God gives the little moments, not always when we think we need it, but faithful nonetheless.. the teenagers coming up for a study group, Mikey’s laughter ringing loud as he plays on our living room floor, looking back over the kids’ work and their progress, the random questions a child will come ask you that make you realize they’ve been thinking about things.. It’s a continual process of laying down our own expectations, and letting God do what He wants with it all.

We are always grateful for your continual support- for your encouragement and your prayers. Without a doubt, it is your prayers that keep us going. And we are grateful.  

-Anna

Raindrops and Grace

~ theharwerths ~ 1 Comment

Haiti’s gray skies promise nothing but more rain. For four days the rain has been constant. A rushing downpour like we’ve never experienced before. The yard is flooded. The ground is a slick mud pile. Our ears have been deafened by the sound of rain on tin. The kids are wrapped in sweaters to stay warm and garbage bags to stay dry. Jacquelyn’s plantain garden out back is flooded.

How do you put to words what a torrential downpour does to a country that lives most of its days outside?

The streets are dirt when it’s dry, and mud when it rains. The outside market -with its vegetables and fruits that lay on tarps spread across the ground, all cramped together with barely enough space to walk between the vendors- is a swamp. Homes are constructed of tin and scrap metal. Every roof leaks. Garbage clogs the sewers and drainage system. 

Life has been a mucky, sticky, soaking wet mess. Yesterday the sun came out for a bit, the water dried up some, and we ran around the front yard playing tag and hide-and-go-seek. It was a much needed day of sunlight and fresh air, and we were so thankful (and so ready) for it. 

Now the sun has disappeared, and the rain continues to fall.

The kids have been sick with a fever since the weekend. Every morning there’s a new face Bonnie is giving medicine to, or a different body sleeping on their couch. Ray caught it on Monday. Lou followed close behind, catching sick on Tuesday. It’s a nasty bug- complete with a fever and a cough and an ache-y body. Stephen and I are just praying that, if we are going to catch it, it happens before we have to travel back to the States. Plane rides and head colds are a miserable combination. 

We find it hard to believe the days are winding down here. In some ways, we feel as though we are just finding ‘our way’. We’ve begun to feel like we’ve established somewhat of a routine and a schedule. We’ve got a better handle on school, and the kids have been getting used to the way we do things. We’re moved into the new apartment and have drawers and cabinets organized. It seems a shame to be leaving. Yet on the other hand, we are ready for normalcy. We are looking forward to the 14 hour roadtrip to Colorado, with smooth roads and coffee breaks. A hot shower sounds incredible. The chance to be a normal newlywed couple out for a date night will be a breath of fresh air. 

We are excited to see family and friends, to tell our stories and hear other’s stories. We are also excited to take a break from being “Hannah and Shaggy”, and to find time to be us for a while.. without 1/2 a dozen children tagging along behind us. Haha. But then Mikey giggles on his mats in the kitchen, and Carl tries so hard in school, and the girls have finished their first knitting projects. And we wish we had just a little bit more time..

On Tuesday afternoon, I sat in the bedroom working on some of the bits of this blogpost. On the other side of the door in the kitchen were Shaggy and Carl. Earlier they had been thumping around in the eaves mopping up puddles of water, now they were finished, and eating cake at the kitchen table. I listened to Carl’s question after question, changing from bicycles to life to spiritual questions. Every Tuesday afternoon is another boy at our kitchen table, another set of questions, and another testimony of what God has done. (Stephen has been doing a bible study with the boys once a week, and part of that study has been getting them to share their testimony with the group). There are always questions that come up at the most unexpected times.. “Hannah, does Shaggy have another girlfriend?” is one we hear often. “Did you make Hannah take a blood test before you got married?” was one that blindsided Stephen a bit more, in the bike depot surrounded by tires and bike parts. “Are you gonna take another boy besides Shaggy oneday?” The questions go on and on.

The questions remind us we don’t know why we are here or how God is using us. Because you can think you’ve come so they can read better and solve math problems. You think you’ve come to do a bible study and teach boys to fix bicycles and maybe ride the dirt bike. You think you’ve come to make the boy in the pac’n’play giggle and engage this beautiful world around him. But the unexpected questions in the unexpected moments remind us God has us here for His purposes, being mere tools and instruments in His hands, for whatever ways He deems fit. And we may never fully know what those ways are. We only are faithful to Him. 

Those words are easier to type than they are to live out.

Downstairs below us in the senior home, Mondezi shouts. 6:30 shower time, right on schedule. Today promises another day of multiplication bingo, spelling tests, and 1/2 a dozen energetic children climbing all over us. It’s funny the things that begin to seem normal. I’m exhausted already.. to think of the battle over pencils, the relentless teasing among the kids, and the arguing that seems to take place in the classroom. God really does give only enough grace for the moment you need it, and not a second before. 

-Anna

The Beauty and Why it Matters

~ theharwerths ~ 4 Comments

The alarm goes off all too soon. It’s another morning where the coffee isn’t strong enough. Seems like there are a lot of those kinds of mornings here. I choose to ignore the ants in the sugar, stirring a spoonful into my coffee. Added protein. We play our regular morning game of “so what did the rat get into last night?” Milk powder, flour, potatoes, crackers.. We add coffee filters to the ever-growing list, following the papery traces to the hole in the cabinet where they scurry to and from.

So starts another morning in Haiti.

Many times I’ve said “No more.. I’m done.” I look at the sheer need- the faces hiding behind crumbling cement homes, the disabled boy in the park, the fragile frame of the elderly woman, the men who catcall, the 34 children in the orphanage downstairs, a country plagued with deceit and darkness, the 7 little lives just in our classroom. And my usual hope-determined soul has spent the last month broken at the feet of the Lord, crying for the way it’s all futile.  

But God continues to whisper, “Not yet.. I am not done just yet.” 

So we stand up, again. For another day of school. For another round of smashed avocados and peanut butter oatmeal. For another afternoon of fixing and refixing bicycles. For another cold shower and slice of peanut butter toast. Each night I fall to sleep saying “No more, God.” And each sunrise comes sweet with His mercy and grace, beckoning. “Stand again, for I am not done yet.” 

Here is the part where the story should change, where Light breaks through and Love proves stronger; the people change, the corruption and deceit are no more, and fruit for the labor is plentiful. But the boy still stands in the park, fatherless homes still crumble, and now southern Haiti is devastated by a hurricane. I sit, asking Him to tell me once again, of the power and the love and the beauty. I ask, waiting to see a love that never fails, a compassion that does not end, and a mercy everlasting. I sit and I ask, until I remember why it matters.

How does one paint an adequate picture of life here? We struggle, unable to relay all the life brings here- both the hope and the despair, the discouragement and the joy. And the way it all walks hand in hand. So many writings have been left unfinished, for the fear of sounding falsely optimistic or overly discouraged. 

There’s Carl’s proud smile over his freshly painted bicycle. Mayline pouring over math papers, bound and determined to push through until she finishes every problem. There’s David running the compound bare-bummed with mischief in his eyes and spunk in his soul. Uno games that echo loud in the orphanage. Mikey’s giggles that show up in unexpected moments. Everything, laced with the frustration and the joy and the discouragement and the hope. A mess that can never be straightened, but the way He makes it beautiful. And, whether we get to see it or not, the way He makes it matter.

Each morning we stand, again and again. And each morning we give Him our day, again and again. Knowing the greatest and only thing we can do here is done when we are on our knees. Knowing on our knees is where He makes it all beautiful. And on our knees is where He makes it all matter.

-Anna

Inadequacy and Bicycles

~ theharwerths ~ 6 Comments

There were a lot of things I meant to do this morning. And here I find myself at 10:30, drinking yet another cup of coffee, still in my pajamas. 
It is hard to believe a week has come and gone. School started on Monday, and I suppose all we could say as we locked the classroom door on Friday was, “Well, we survived.” 

The most trying three-and-a-half hours of our day happen between 8:30 and noon, when 7 high-energy and strong-willed kiddos are ours to teach. I’m pretty sure we tried all the bribes in the book, every reverse-psychology method known to man, and any kind of consequence-and-reward system we could think of. And they all backfired. 

To be totally and completely honest, on more than one occasion this week we were ready to say we were the wrong people for the job, pack our bags, and pray until our knees blistered that God would send us back to the States. But we are still here. Our bags are still unpacked. And we are still inadequate. 

We take each day as it comes. Somedays, this means staring blankly at the wall while we eat our lunch and try not to think about the summer of normalcy we left behind. Other days we revel in the rain that thunders on the tin roof, we chase children around the yard until we are out of breath, and our joy overflows as laughter rings loud from the boy who lays in the hammock every afternoon. Each day holds its own. And we are along for the wild ride.

In the afternoon, Stephen has spent a lot of time helping some of the boys fix their bicycles. The depot is a mess of tools and parts and little boys here, there, and everywhere. Carl and Stephen spent a good 3 days fixing up Carl’s bike, and no sooner did they have everything working when Carl broke his bike, yet again. In the same day, 3 hours after Stephen helped Abel fix the chain on his bike, I found Abel walking his bike back to the depot. After asking him what happened, he showed me the massive rip in his tire where he ran over something in the soccer field.

As people, we long to see progress and evidence of the fruit of our labors. But if you do that here, you will quickly find yourself in a place of deep discouragement. We talk about it as the night grows dark and the mosquitos bite at our ankles. How can we make a difference here? The spelling words, the broken bicycles, the math lessons… Everything you do feels like emptying the ocean with an eye dropper. And that’s on a good day. 

It takes a morning of coffee, classic hymns, and 3 hours of sitting on the dirty cement floor at my Savior’s feet before I can realize… If this labor is in and of myself, it is in vain. But this labor is for the Lord. And though we know not His purposes for it all, there is a peace that comes when you surrender it to Him. We can rest in knowing that this labor is not ours. It is His. And whether we see the fruits of it or not, He will use it.

Anna

These Lessons We Learn

~ theharwerths ~ Leave a comment

It was the one plant I thought wouldn’t become much of anything when I picked it out. I didn’t plant it in a real pot with a good drainage system, or care about the amount of sunlight it would get. I put it in the barrel beneath the overhang in our backyard, giving it the leftovers of the potting soil and compost we had bought for the other plants. In my eyes, it was dead the day we planted it.

I watched it with half a heart, unfazed by its lack of growth. As the other plants grew big and began to flower, the little pepper plant stayed the same for a good portion of the summer. Unchanging. Until one day, we found buds. And for the first time, I started to think that maybe this little plant could become something after all.

Now the pepper plant is the last plant standing in our garden. Several weeks ago, the garden bed failed to keep up with the downpour of rain we had, and the bottom broke out, killing our vegetables with it. Then the tomatoes wilted for reasons I still can’t figure out. All within the same week. But the pepper I planted, the one I thought was futile, now has half a dozen peppers growing on it and continues to burst with more buds.

The Lord continues to teach us using some of the most ordinary of moments.

It seems a fitting lesson to learn right before we head to Haiti. He reminds our hearts again and again.. You do not know what I am doing or the purposes I have.

As we enter into this new season, it is easy to form our own ideas of how life will look, who we will help, and the way we will impact. Right now we are struggling to surrender all of our expectations. Because He has taught us it’s not always about the garden bed. Sometimes He is about the little pepper plant tucked away in the corner of the yard.

We are so thankful for those who have supported us on this journey so far. Many have offered their prayers, their encouraging words, and their finances. Words cannot express how humbled we are by your generous hearts. Seeing God’s people pray and commit and come along beside us has made a powerful impact on us. We are overwhelmed by all the next few weeks hold, but we are greatly encouraged by your love and support.

Thank you for making this possible!

-Anna