Haiti 2015. a year of harvest

It’s hard to imagine harvest right now, with the soil just darkening for the seed,  the earth green and green and green. When everything is ripe and ready. After toil and sweat and hopes are poured out,

then harvest.
And there is no better word to describe what happened this February in Haiti.Our team experienced the joy of harvesting, of reaping where many of us did not sow.

sunset from the orphanage guest house
sunset from the orphanage guest house outside of Port au Prince Haiti

We held the hands of orphans, taught them how to fly kites and learned that love really can have no conditions.

We watched as a  group of old and young gathered, held hands and prayed over the hand-built building that would tomorrow would be their first-ever clinic.

We watched as neighbors, long-hardened by a hard lives, kneeled and said they wanted a Jesus life.

Sometimes, you are invited into a vineyard that you did not plant, an orchard that you did not nurture. You are invited to come, smell the thick sweetness in the air, feel the heavy fruit in your hand. Then you realize suddenly, that you are holding the final product of heavy work and many hours, the product of mysterious growth.

And the work and the hours and the tears and the laughter that had gone into this fruit you are now holding. This is all from those that have gone before you. Those who raised and loved children. Children who became doctors and entrepreneurs,  missionaries and managers. Missionaries, managers, doctors and entrepreneurs who dreamt wild and selfless dreams. They all were the ones who planted. Who got dirty, got real, who worked hard in Jesus name. They tended their fields, gave their whole lives. Watered and weeded and waited.  Watching  for a harvest. Sometimes one they would never get to see.


After this year’s trip, I’ve been wondering  if I will leave a harvest for those coming after me. I wonder will they find a field flourishing, a garden watered and weeded? Will I and my generation get low, get dirty and begin to sow even where we know we may never reap?

I hope so.
Because there is nothing like walking into a vineyard–one that has been tended and nurtured for a lifetime–and being invited to pick, to taste, to harvest.