It's Sunday - we are in our good clothes as we board the van for church. I have been down this road many times during this JOC but my eyes are still assaulted by the buildings that have been stripped of all dignity with their skeletal remains reaching into heavens mimicking the cries of 1000's on the day of the earthquake, crying "Mercy Jesus".
Our guide tells us "We are here." We disembark and carefully make our way towards the church. It's still out of view when we hear the sounds of heaven - men and women worshipping Jesus. We pick our way through the rubble that once was the church building and enter the temporary building; the tarp supported by a dozen or so timber poles is a safe refuge for the 100 or so people meeting there.
We share, teach and preach and the service ends to the instruction "Shake hands with those around you before you go."
Then comes the moment - I suspect the way a miner feels when, after weeks of digging though rubble, they find a precious stone. Just like a football player reaches though a mass of bodies to claim a goal, this grandma forced her body through the crowd, wrapped her arms around my body and buried her head in my chest. There was no eye contact, no words exchanged - it was just a warm, delicious embrace that said "Thank you". And then that grandma in her blue hat and dress was gone.
Love Haiti
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