Last week as Jonathan, Dan, Vitol, and I returned to Port-au-Prince after time visiting HOPE’s work in Miragoane, Haiti, we were stopped at a Haitian roadblock. The community had been promised electricity, but it never came. So in protest, the community blocked the road. My flight out was later that evening, and as we waited at the roadblock, it became obvious that we were going to miss the flight unless we found a creative solution.
Our driver, eager to help, stepped out of the car and returned moments later with a local community member who promised he knew the people behind the protest and could navigate the blockade. Seemed like a bargain for the few bucks he required for his service.
Sitting in the driver’s seat and laying on the horn, he wound around the first buses blocking the road. A hundred yards later, we faced a more difficult obstacle. A truck was completely blocking the road and had its tires slashed making it impossible to move. A previous car attempted to squeeze by the truck but became stranded in a ditch, further extending the blockade. There was no possible way around.
Our driver turned on a side road that seemed to parallel the main road in an attempt to bypass the blockade. After passing an empty police station, we heard agitated shouting and realized some of the organizers of the protest were less than thrilled at our attempt to breech their blockade.
Up ahead we saw a man pull a pistol from his pocket, cock it, and point it at us as he walked to our car.
“Oh dear …” was all that I could say as we put our heads down and prayed. After too many minutes of heated discussion between the driver and the gun waving community member, we settled on the right price and were able to continue on our way. Shaken up, but not harmed.
When I returned home and told a G-rated version of this story to my 8 year old, he listened intently. Then he ran to his room and returned with a handful of quarters and gave them to me.
“If those men took some of your money, I want you to have some of mine.”
Tears welled up in my eyes as I was overwhelmed by his act of graciousness. He gave me a gift much more valuable than just $1.75.
In the wake of tragedy and in the midst of pain we have an opportunity to respond with forceful love and compassion. I want people in pain to know that we grieve for their loss and are broken by pain.
I don’t know why suffering happens and trite answers are offensive to those suffering. But I keep wishing and hoping that followers of Jesus would be a much brighter light in the darkness and in this world of so much pain, we would passionately show the love of Christ.
Whether it’s $1.75 given or cards written or meals cooked or children cared for, we have work to do until every tear is one day wiped away.
