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It is Valentine’s Day, 1980.

I am so happy to have my own little apt in Petionville, Haiti.  There is no A/C and it is hot, but I can open the windows.  Sometimes I have running water, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I have electricity, sometimes I don’t. The chameleons get inside, so do the cockroaches.  That’s life in Haiti.

CWO now has a beautiful office.  It took 6 months to get this office.  Things move slowly in Haiti.

LeRoy Dick arrived to start CWOs literacy program.  Five young, Haitian adults were trained in teaching literacy, now that Leroy has returned to the states, I will follow up.

How do I describe what it is like to watch a 14 young old girl with a baby, no home, no education, no job – learn to read and write?  She starts to put the sounds together, then those sounds become words, and then she associates those words with the things of life.  Wow! One of our literacy students passed a piece of paper to me, on it was written Mathude Usma.  It was the first time she had written her name.  I will never forget that name, nor the pride on her face. This will abundantly improve their lives.  She can get a job. Her children will learn to read and write. She will be able to read her Bible. I love this!

In Phys Ed class, one of my students, Kathleen, told me the following story:  Her father died a year ago and they attribute his death to a voodoo curse. He was visiting in the states and someone from Haiti mailed him a voodoo symbol.  A week later he died.  I was able to share with her that through Christ there is power over Satan.  She wanted to know what it meant to be a Christian and I had the opportunity to share with her.

Haiti is saturated with the evil and power of voodoo, it permeates the culture.  There is Mardi Gras, a voodoo emblem hanging from a tree to scare away evil from a garden, the fear of death, the sounds of the voodoo drums… But the power of the Gospel breaks those chains of evil.

I have been here for six months (May 1980). It hasn’t been easy. There have been several times when God and I have had a conversation where I have said, “it is a good thing I know You sent me here or I would leave.”  Of course, God didn’t say it would be easy, but He promised He would be with me as I go through my daily life here.

I wonder if friends and family know how encouraging it is when I receive mail. Do my financial and prayer supporters know how much I appreciate them? I travel back to the US for Christmas. I am so excited to visit family and friends. The last 6 months have changed me. How do I explain what it is like?

The precious faces of the children, I will miss seeing them.

It is Jan 6 and tomorrow I fly back to Haiti. It has been wonderful to be home in PA.  When my sister, Sharon visited me in Haiti, she wrote a poem, I would like to share it with you.

Love is a Bridge
by Sharon Pasquariello

Staring black faces
That question our presence.
Where did we come from?
Why are we here?
They stop in their footsteps
And intensely look on
Hoping to find out
Just what’s going on.
Their sparkling eyes
That continuously ask why
See an answer forthcoming
In a person’s soft smile.
Their faces start forming
A hesitant smile
That’s pleading for love
And a heart that will care.
Language is a barrier
That’s hard to cross over
But love is a bridge
That can overcome all.

Staring black faces
Lining the streets
With heavy loads mounted
On top of their heads.
Their bodies move gracefully
Flowing along
Over mountains of feelings
Through rivers of needs
Across deserts of heartaches
And valleys of fears.
And over the barrier of language
That’s hard to cross over.
Yes, love is a bridge
That can overcome all,
The questions, the heartaches,
The staring black faces
Will understand love
God’s language of all.

Karen Pasquariello was CWO’s first missionary living in Haiti from 1979 to 1981 and then again for a time in 1982. She recently shared her words and photos of that special time learning about Haiti and sharing about Jesus. We’re grateful to be able to share this multi-part blog post from Karen.

It was August 1979, I was sitting on a mountainside in Haiti. I could see the capital, Port-au-Prince, the azure blue Caribbean in the distance and miles of mountains.  Someone once said of Haiti, “behind mountains are more mountains.”  I went to the mountains to escape the hustle and bustle and blistering heat of the city. I took with me my Creole book so I could study the language.  Then they came. At first, they peeked around the bushes, one child after another, curious about this blonde, female blanc (white person).  Their clothes were torn, one little girl had a man’s shirt on, hanging in shreds.  One had the reddish hair of malnutrition. A little girl was scared, but she cautiously stepped closer and before long crawled onto my lap.  They laughed as I practiced my Creole with them.  It was a tender memory. I remember the wise words of Dean Yoder. He once told me when you look at the children and no longer feel compassion, it is time to leave.  I am thankful that compassion continues to dwell in me to this day.

“Killer hurricane with 50 foot waves sweeps the island of Haiti … Worst hurricane in a century!” This was the news forecast in the U.S. My family and friends didn’t know if I was dead or alive.

Raised in PA, we didn’t have hurricanes. The Haitian house I lived in was very open so I stayed with friends. We listened to the radio, tracking the storm, huddled in one room surrounded by supplies of food, water, blankets, and mattresses for protection in case the roof was torn off.

In the midst of a raging storm, what thoughts go through one’s head? Will we be hit? What about the Haitians who live in thatched roof huts and houses on stilts? How will they survive?  I was surprised by the peace I felt.  My parents were back in PA praying for the survival of their daughter.  They couldn’t reach me by phone and feared the worse.  But then my mother, as she prayed, had the same peace I was feeling.  She said to my dad, “God sent her to Haiti, there is no safer place for her to be than in the center of Gods will.” Hurricane David steered away from our little island, we escaped the devastation of a direct hit.  Thank you Lord!

God, the giver of peace, even in the eye of the storm.