Downtown Port-Au-Prince

Sunday Afternoon
I thought I had seen the destruction of the earthquakes. I thought I had seen the sorrow of the tent camps. I thought I had seen the need. Then we went for a drive to downtown Port-au-Prince. How can I tell you what I saw?
The ground failed them. The earth gave way. Buildings that were a secure place tilted, crumbled, and fell. They are still that way.
I saw an eight story building that was now one story of compacted floors. I saw homes that were tilted so far to the side they looked like toys tossed aside. Our interpreter pointed out an area of rubble up a slope—it was the nurses’ school.
We stopped at the Palace—once the seat of government—now a cracked shell. Outside sits a UN tank and a few soldiers. One soldier stood on the tank while another soldier took his photo. Just down the road, graffiti artists spray painted “UN” on the wall and drew a line through it. The message was clear—the UN is not a source of comfort.
I took photo after photo out the bus window. I think at a certain point I got numb. I even stopped taking photos. I don’t even know what to say now.
The tent camps were so much worse than I had imagined—or had seen yet. So closely packed together there was no visible space around them. Many of the tents and tarps had logos from organizations like Red Cross, Samaritan’s Purse, USAID, and even foreign missions from France and Korea.
Trash was piled up in every gutter. The smell was rancid. People were bathing in the street with buckets. They lived and moved among the rubble and ruins in the heat with no steady source of food and water. People were trying to cook the food that they had, so the smell of smoke was everywhere. And black soot coated many of the streets and buildings.
But it was looking into their eyes that was the hardest to take in. The people sat by the side of the road and watched our bus pass by. Some looked at us with hope for help. Others looked angry. Others just stared into space and waited for the day to end.
Those who were here in February say it is better. I say it isn’t done.
The medical team here had a meeting to talk about what they saw. Many wrestled with how they felt now—and how they would feel when they go home. I joined in because I have many of those thoughts too.
Before bed I read My Utmost for His Highest for May 24. It was titled “The Delight of Despair.” Chambers write, “You experience this joy in hopelessness realizing that if you are ever to be raised up it must be by the hand of God.”
I cannot save Haiti. But God can. I must trust God to do it. I will trust Him to raise up the people of Haiti. I will do my part, but the work is His. Please pray that God will raise up Haiti by His own Hand.