Progress and Tragedy

Last Thursday, I spent the morning in Mata Gorda.  Yvenor, my Haitian translator, and I were unloading my Jeep when in strolled two Haitian women.

I took their blood pressures.

One read 180/110...the other 160/100.  And I had tears in my eyes.

If I were in the states, I would be horrified.  I would have sent these women to the hospital concerned that any minute they would stroke out.

But, not here.  Why?  Because they could never pay for a hospital visit.  Because they wouldn't be treated right if they did go to the hospital.  And because they could never afford the medicine they would be given.  Because, they are Haitian, they are poor and they are oppressed.

But, in this moment, in this place, I rejoiced and hugged them.  Just two weeks ago their blood pressures read 220/120 and 180/110.  They have been taking their medicine. 

You see, with blood pressure you can never decrease it suddenly.  It's a gradual and tenuous process, one that is difficult for patients to understand as a health care provider is constantly tweaking a dosage or adding additional medication.  This requires close monitoring even in a controlled environment such as found in the states.

So my patient's blood pressure actually decreasing is a big deal.  They are understanding the process.  They are taking their medicine even when it's confusing with dosage changes every week.  Progress is a beautiful thing.

On our way back into town Yvenor and I received a phone call from Pastor NoJean, a well respected Haitian pastor in one of the communities we visit (Buenos Aires).  The night before, a scrap wood building that housed 10 families with 10 infants and children, 7 single men and 4 single female burned to the ground.  And many of these are our patients.

How devastating.  How difficult to understand.

And so we went.  And we shared in their grief and sadness.  Each of them had rented a small 5x8 ft room and now what little they had was gone.

When we were there, God reminded me of the deep relationships we've formed over the past 4 months.  We collected supplies and toiletries and food.  We prayed and we comforted.

But the dichotomy of that day, with progress and rejoicing in the morning followed by sadness in the afternoon wasn't lost on me.  Even with advancements we are reminded of how fallen this world is.  That regardless of how much we move forward there are still uncontrollable circumstances that continue to render things hopeless.

As Yvenor and Pastor NoJean and I prayed with this community Christ filled me with words that were not my own.  With reassurance of His sadness and tears that fall with ours.  That regardless of materialistic circumstances we are not to bury our treasures on Earth.

And so I was reminded of how important our work truly is.  It's not just about health care and community development.  It's about love and discipleship and holding a hand when the un-thinkable happens.  And so we will continue sharing the gospel, so when un-foreseen tragic circumstances occur in this broken world we can all be reassured of where our home truly lies.

Please join me in praying for the community of Saboneta as they are dealing with lossed possessions, post-traumatic stress and tragedy.