Buckle up with the Belt of Truth

I’m a horrible godmother.

I suck at Creole.

I’ll never get good at life in Haiti.

That’s what I wrote in my diary not long ago.

Below that I wrote a prayer begging God to help me fight these lies.  (How can you know something is a lie and believe it anyway?  Perhaps this paradox is one of Satan’s schemes to draw us away from God.)

As I prayed desperately for God to fight these lies for me, I was reminded of the armor of God.

Ephesians 6:10-14

Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes…Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist...

The belt of truth was what I needed to fight these lies, but I felt helpless to buckle it around my waist.  But I thought I’d better try.  After all, this is the armor of God.  It’s infinitely stronger than any scheme the devil can come up with.

I remembered what I used to tell my kindergartens every day when I was teaching in the states. “Repeat after me: My best is always good enough.  My best is ALWAYS good enough!”

My diary entry continued like this:

*I’m new at being a godmother.  Yes, I make mistakes and feel awkward sometimes, but I am the best godmother I can be, and my best is ALWAYS good enough.

*I’ve only been in Haiti for 10 months.  And for 10 months, I’m getting pretty good at Creole.  My Creole is the best I’ve got, and my best is ALWAYS good enough.

*Not only am I speaking a second language, I’m doing daily life in a completely different culture.  It’s hard, but it will get easier.  And in the meantime, I’m doing my best, and my best is ALWAYS good enough.

And most importantly, I AM ENOUGH.

There.  BAM.  Belt of Truth.

(Then I went on to write this on my mirror where it still reminds me every day to trust in God’s promise that I am enough.)

Rainy Day Reminders

     The last two days have been a pretty constant torrential downpour.  School was cancelled and most people aren’t even leaving the house.

     There have been a lot of problems because of the rain.  The internet has been down for over a day with no sign of being fixed anytime soon.  I’m out of propane with no way to get more.  No cooking, no baking, and no warm showers.

Last night as I was taking a freezing cold shower and longing for warm water, I thought of the students who live in Balan (the impoverished area around my school).  How many of them are showering in muddy water from the street right now?

This morning when I wanted to bake cookies for some friends but couldn’t because my house needs propane, I thought of my goddaughter’s house.  I remember watching Miverdine’s 12-year-old brother climbing to the roof to string up a tarp to keep the rain from leaking onto the family’s one bed.  And that was weeks ago, after only a small rain.  What kind of shape is their house in now, after 12 inches of pouring rain?

And now, as I sit in my safe, dry house writing this blog post, I think of the way my American neighbor had to use a kayak to get her Haitian friend out of a completely flooded house.

So what’s the conclusion of this blog post?  That I’m a selfish American for caring about things like propane?  Is it wrong to be frustrated because I can’t work due to lack of internet?

No.

The only point I want to make is this:

Don’t take things like power, internet, clean water to shower in, a safe house, or a dry bed for granted.  Not everybody is blessed with those things.

So as you read this post on the internet, and as you take a relaxing shower, and as you lock your front door and then slip into your warm, dry bed, say a prayer for the kids in Balan.  For my goddaughter and her family.  For so many others whose lives are turned upside down by a single rainstorm.

Patience, Truth, and Six Sweet Faces

I inherited my mother's patience - and that's saying something.  She's the most patient person I know.  So when I tell you that recently in my classroom I've been at the end of my patience, that's really saying something.  It takes a lot to get me to that point.

Last week, I started asking myself, What's the problem? and I came to one simple answer.  Maybe I'm just not good at classroom management.  Maybe I'm just not a good teacher.

Thankfully, God has a way of bringing the truth to light even (and maybe especially) in the midst of my doubt.

Just as these thoughts were forming in my mind, God sent two veteran preschool teachers on a team that was visiting from the States.  These teachers were incredible.  They gave me a few practical ideas to try in my classroom, helped me work on my upcoming social studies unit (cultures around the world), and most importantly gave me encouragement.

They told me that I'm doing everything right, insisted that I really am a good teacher, and reminded me that in my classroom we may not have it all together, but together we have it all.

A Year Later

Exactly a year ago, I visited The Little House for the first time.  (The Little House is  one of the houses in our Children's Village. Itt is home to 12 of our orphans.)  I came into that trip to Cap-Haitien feeling nervous and unsure about moving to a big city where I didn't know anyone and had no community waiting for me.  But when I left at the end of that trip, I felt confirmed and excited about the journey ahead.

How appropriate that today - exactly a year later - I visited The Little House and watched the movie Tangled with those same kids.

"Why is Tangled significant?" you ask.  Because Tangled is all about following your dreams.  You know the boat scene just before Rapunzel sees the floating lanterns?  Before coming to Haiti the first time in 2012, I watched that scene and felt exactly the way Rapunzel did.

What if my dream isn't everything I hoped it would be?  And what if it is?  What then?

Now, two and a half years after that first trip to Haiti and a year after my first visit to The Little House, I get to answer those questions.

It was everything I hoped it would be.  And then I got a new dream.  A dream to move to Haiti and teach orphans.

And now I'm living the dream.

Huddling around my laptop, watching Tangled while I translate.

"Go. Live your dream."

What teaching in Haiti is really like

Teaching in Haiti is...

...exhausting.
It's 8am.  We're having our flag raising ceremony and I'm listening from my classroom because I'm just too tired to stand outside for that long.
Am I dehydrated? Over-tired? Getting sick?
Probably.
All I know is I'm exhausted.

...hot.
It's 90 degrees with 85% humidity.  There are no windows in my classroom.
Enough said.

...dusty.
Not a day goes by when I don't leave work covered from head to toe in chalk dust.

...dirty.
I don't think our floor, table, or hands will ever be clean.

...hard work.
Not harder or easier than teaching in the States.  Just hard in different ways.

...exciting.
Teaching a successful lesson, "discovery learning" with my students, and watching their eyes light up when they finally understand something are just a few of the exciting parts of my day.

...FUN!
We play with play-doh.  We learn using legos.  We sing.  We finger paint (and sometimes the paint actually gets on the paper!)  We enjoy each other.

...rewarding.
My students once had nothing.  No home, no family, no hope.  Now, they have all of those things.  And I get the privilege of looking around my classroom and my school and knowing that through education these kids have opportunities that they never would have had otherwise.
There isn't much that's more rewarding than knowing that God is using you to impact His Kingdom through the lives of children.



(Plus I love hearing them call me Madame Erin.)

Life as a Princess

Today, I watched Frozen with some of my kids.

Later this afternoon while she was braiding my hair, 10-year-old Jhaskiline leaned over and whispered quietly in my ear, "you're a princess."

Then, I was sitting on the front porch with 4-year-old Naelle when she looked at me and said simply, "you're so beautiful."

It wasn't until hours later that I was touched by these two comments.
As I thought about it, I realized that I am beautiful because I am made in my Father's image.  And if my Father is the King of kings, that makes me a princess.

I am a beautiful princess.

I often need reminding of this.  Today, the reminder was in the honest voice of a 4-year-old and the gentle whisper of a 10-year-old.

What a wonderful way to be reminded.

The Beauty of Short-Term Missions Trips

Short-term mission trips (which I will here define as teams that come down for one or two weeks at a time) get a lot of ridicule.  They are accused of doing more harm than good, creating dependency, and being beneficial only for the visitors.

But before you judge mission trips, consider these reasons why we LOVE our short-term teams:

They help us get things done.
We have a LOT of construction work that needs to be done: 5 houses, a property wall, and a school building.  We constantly employ Haitian construction workers, but a team of 20 hard-working volunteers makes everything go a lot faster.  ((We STILL employ our Haitian construction workers while teams are here, and we CONTINUE to employ them after our teams leave.  Teams do NOT take jobs away from local workers.))  Plus, watching American teams work alongside our Haitian staff is a beautiful thing!

They open up a partnership.
We show you pictures of kids in need.  You send us money.  End of story.
That's what our organization would be if we didn't have a partnership with our supporters.  You would be sending money to a faceless organization.  No relationship would exist.  But when short-term teams come, they become part of our family.  This partnership allows people in the states to play an active role in what the Lord is doing here in Haiti.

They are a blessing to me.
Imagine spending all day living in a foreign country, navigating a different culture, and speaking a second - still difficult - language.  It's exhausting!  Having teams of Americans here is refreshing and encouraging.  Whether they bring small gifts, chocolate, or words of encouragement, I am always blessed when a team comes.  

They are a blessing to my kids.
From my seat on the front porch, I can see the entire school yard.  On the playground, two teenage girls who are visiting from the states are pushing 3-year-old Lovindia and 5-year-old Schneider on the swings.  Two 16-year-old boys are sitting on top of the monkey bars: one is American, one is Haitian.  A soccer game is in full swing - Haitian kids and American visitors are playing side-by-side.  The sounds of singing and laughter are coming from the side of the school where games of patty-cake, jump rope, and frisbee are taking place.
There are a million ways to say "I love you" without ever speaking a word.
I know this for a fact: when short-term teams come, my kids feel loved.

So don't be too quick to judge short-term mission trips.  They are a beautiful thing.
If you're interested in coming to Haiti to help get things done, become a partner, and be a blessing to both me and my kids, CONTACT ME at erinahiggins@gmail.com.  I would love to have you visit!