While I thought I understood the battle for Bellevue Mountain, the longer I am here, the more I know I don’t even know the half of it. But the fear that voodoo priests and others in the community tried to instill in me by urging me to get away from Bellevue Mountain only made my desire to be in God’s will that much stronger.
My prayer from the very beginning has always been this: Lord, if You would like us to have this land, make it easy and make it simple. Without fail God has made it simple. He has always provided the money, and the paperwork has been easy and smooth, which is a feat in Haiti. We prayed and prayed over the purchases of our second, third, fourth, and fifth pieces of land. God provided and the Respire Haiti Christian School campus grew by four more classrooms protected by our staff, by the community, and by God’s angels.
After we’d purchased five pieces of land, totaling about four acres, I sat on a sixth piece of land nearby. I began praying for the school, the staff, and the students. Then a thought crossed my mind. Pray for this land. I laughed out loud. I have no idea what to do with this piece of land. We have everything we need.
But I felt that nudge and I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer. Lord, if You want us to have this land, then make it simple and make it clear.
My eyes snapped open at the ring of my cell phone. I looked down at the screen and saw Pastor Charles’s name. I picked it up and punched the Talk button. “Hello?”
“Megan, you know the land that touches our soccer field and is close to the Caribbean?” Pastor said.
“Yes. I’m sitting on it now,” I said.
“Great.” Pastor chuckled. “The owner just asked if we want to buy it.”
God’s direction was crystal clear, so clear it shocked me. “I’ll think about it,” I responded hastily, and hung up.
I felt that the Lord wanted us to move forward, so I began telling the staff and interns about the call and everyone was excited. We decided to pray on this piece of land, but little did we know that we were about to step into battle.
Almost every evening for three months, we trekked up to Bellevue Mountain to pray. On one of the first nights, I felt a sense of evil as we approached. Near the area where we usually prayed and worshiped, I spotted a figure moving toward me quickly. Within a few moments we were facing off. It was a man, towering above me, wearing a gold robe that hung down from his long arms. He acted as though he had something to say, so I waited for him to speak first. My team waited a good distance behind.
The man stepped closer. When he moved, a flashlight from someone behind reflected off a large machete he held in his left hand, near his leg.
I felt an overwhelming sense of darkness and evil emanating from him. I looked up into his eyes, and they were deep pools of endless black. I gasped and took a small step back, feeling as though something was grabbing me tightly. I prayed under my breath for protection and courage.
He looked down at me. “You have interrupted, and you need to get off this land immediately.”
My blood began boiling, and I thought of all sorts of defensive and combative things to say, but I closed my mouth. I looked back up, avoided his eyes, and nodded. As I turned around and motioned for everyone to follow, my head spun. What should I have done? Maybe I should have told him to get off of this land. It’s our land. It’s God’s land!
But, instead, we walked back over to our soccer field, adjacent to this new piece of land, and began to pray, facing our new friend in the gold robe. One of our sweet, young interns asked, “What should we do?” As her voice echoed in my heart, I took a deep breath and remembered how many people I was responsible for. God, thank You for keeping me calm and levelheaded. Show us what to do and how to pray.
During this period of praying on the mountain, this type of confrontation became the norm. Many times we walked up on people performing voodoo rituals on the land, or voodoo priests approached us as we worshiped. Cars full of men would drive onto the property, waiting for us to finish worshiping so they could use the land. Almost every night was a battle of who would get there first or stay the longest.
Although our prayer team was always the same, the voodoo priests constantly changed. It seemed as if dozens upon dozens of people intentionally used this part of Bellevue Mountain to perform voodoo rituals. One evening after finally getting the courage to ask why the voodoo priests wanted to come to the mountain, one of them replied firmly, “Didn’t Jesus go to the mountain to pray?” His slithery voice made the hair stand on my arms. I thought about how dark and convoluted he had made the precious words of Jesus as He spoke of retreating to the mountains to pray.
Nearly every morning we’d see evidence of large ceremonies in the grass or on the rocks on Bellevue Mountain. We would see the residue of blood, glass, and powder. The battle for this piece of land was the hardest out of any of the six pieces we purchased, mainly because it was the last piece of land on top of Bellevue Mountain. It was also the largest piece, and it overlooked the beautiful, blue Caribbean water.
After two months of intense prayer, the money was provided, and we purchased this piece of land, but we didn’t stop praying. By God’s grace, we have been able to complete the construction of our medical and dental clinic, which is located on a part of this property. The clinic will serve our students, their families, and the community as well. The site is beautiful; visiting dentists and doctors have a 180-degree view of the Caribbean from the front door of their guest room at the back of the clinic.
The clinic covers about half of the land, which seemed so attractive to the voodoo priests for their ceremonies. And the other half? I’m dreaming about building a church there.
TWENTY
Josh Has Something to Say
When you give yourself, you receive more than you give.
—Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
I hiked quickly up Bellevue Mountain, knowing that I was supposed to lead morning prayer. I was running late, but still I wondered why everyone had gone up without me. I picked up the pace and met up with one of my best friends who had been serving with us at Respire Haiti.
Jessi White is one of the most joyful and hilarious people in my life. Her southern drawl is one of a kind, and her support and encouragement mean the world to me. As we walked together, my step got lighter, and I stopped wondering where everyone was.
When we arrived, Jessi laughed and said, “It isn’t good for you to be so late for prayer when you’re leading it. You better hurry!” I scurried through the gate in front of her and walked as fast as I could to the flagpole.
The kids were gathered as usual, standing in straight lines, dressed in their crisp navy and light-blue uniforms, big smiles on their faces, around the flagpole, where the bright-red and royal blue Haitian flag flew. In the center of the flag is the Haitian coat of arms, a palm tree on a green hill. Under the hill are flags, cannons, and other weapons, and the motto L’Union Fait La Force, or “Unity through strength.”
After they line up, the kids salute the flag, sing the Haitian national anthem, and then pray together as one of the administrators, usually Pastor Colin, leads through a megaphone. Today I would be praying, so I headed to the front.
Pastor Colin walked up before me, held the megaphone, and began praying. In Haiti it’s not unusual to have a prayer before the prayer. Then he led the children in singing “How Great Thou Art.” I love hearing them sing with all of their hearts, knowing the depth and truth of those words. As they came to the end of the song, I inched forward, knowing I was next. Pastor Colin looked my way and nodded. I stepped in front of the whole school, the children with their teachers, and reached for the megaphone.
But then Pastor Colin pulled the megaphone back toward himself and lifted it up to his mouth again. I was so confused that it didn’t quite register in my brain what he was saying—something like, “Josh has something he wants to say.”
In complete shock I heard a huge uproar from the kids and a tremendous shout. It was a chorus of hundreds of children’s voices
of all ages yelling, “Weel. You. Maywee. Mee?”
My eyes widened and filled with tears as I looked out at the faces of these precious children who were smiling with glee. In the front row was a group of first graders, holding up a big painted sign that said “Will you marry me?” I noticed the kids were smiling, laughing, and focusing on something behind me. I turned around, and there was Josh on one knee with a ring in his hand!
“Yes,” I squeaked out, barely. Micha and Jessica ran up and hugged me, and suddenly we were surrounded by friends and family who wanted to share in the moment.
For the rest of the week, I must have heard the proposal repeated hundreds of times. Every time I turned around, “Weel you mawry mee?” popped out of a child’s mouth in the cutest Haitian accent. On top of that, Micha and Jessica began asking if they could call Josh “Dad.”
When the excitement of the student-assisted proposal had died down a bit, we realized we needed to start actually planning a wedding. I talked things over with Jessi, so grateful that God had orchestrated her schedule so she could be in Haiti when I got engaged and could help me plan my wedding. She suggested Josh and I spend a day at the beach and make our plans while she watched the kids.
As Josh and I walked down the coast, our toes dipping in and out of the warm, turquoise waters, we decided we wanted to heed the advice of some of our best friends: “Short engagement, long honeymoon.” We chose January 22, 2013, to be our wedding date, which would give us about two months. Divinely, it was also the same date that Josh had become a Christian four years earlier. It was a quick timeline, but we thought if we invited people right away it just might work.
As soon as we got back to Gressier, we sent e-mails out to friends and family with the wedding date. After a few quick notes of congratulations, I received an e-mail from my mom. “You do realize January 22 is a Tuesday, right?” I grabbed a calendar. Argh. She’s right! How did that happen?
I panicked, made a quick call to Josh, and ended up laughing with him on the phone about how horrible we are with dates. Then we decided, “You know what? Tuesday, January 22, is going to be perfect.” So we kept the date.
As RSVPs began to arrive over the next few weeks, one stood out—from Curt and Nancy Richardson, the wonderful couple who had supported Respire from the very beginning with the “be bold” challenge. Nancy wrote that they could not come, as years ago they were married on January 22 and would be celebrating their anniversary the same day as our wedding in Haiti. I smiled at the irony of this.
Christmas and New Year’s kept us all busy and I didn’t get much wedding planning done, so Jessi stepped in and did most of the work in January in the three weeks leading up to the wedding. When my mom and uncle arrived, we picked them up at the airport. It was their first time to Haiti, so we carefully drove through the traffic and spectacle of Port-au-Prince explaining the oddities of this chaotic yet beautiful place. The moment became surreal. I had never in my wildest dreams imagined getting married on a mountaintop in Haiti.
January 22, 2013, was a beautiful day, and I married my best friend, Josh Anderson, on Bellevue Mountain under a bright blue sky. I looked out to see hundreds of children with their school uniforms on, smiling and giggling as we said our vows. I chuckled as a lady I had never seen before poked her head above the crowd to sell bread in a box to the more than six hundred people and a few chickens lining the grassy area on Bellevue Mountain. Smiles from our teachers and friends, Haitian and American, lit up the whole crowd.
I looked back at Josh, so handsome in his brown suit, and wondered, Who is this man, who would come to live in Haiti with me? And with Micha and Jessica?
As I held my uncle T-tone’s arm tightly before we headed down the aisle, I closed my eyes, drinking in the moment and thanking the Lord for Josh. God had brought us together, and now I had someone who would always be there to love me, help me, encourage me, and make me smile.
After celebrating with family and friends, Josh and I flew to another Caribbean island for a week’s honeymoon. When we returned to Haiti in early February, the first of many new issues greeted us, but this time as a couple.
A Respire student named Saintil was worried about his sister, Johanne, who hadn’t returned to school after the holidays. He was only nine years old, so his answers to my questions didn’t always make sense. But I could feel his deep concern for her and I took it seriously.
Not only were Saintil and his sister our students, but they were true orphans with no father or mother. After arriving in Gressier only six months earlier, we had enrolled them in school for the first time ever and had been monitoring them closely. Saintil said his sister was staying with someone in a distant city, but he didn’t have the address. He did say he had been there once and insisted he could find it again.
I saw the fear in his eyes and knew we had no choice. To ease his mind and ours, we would have to drive and try to find this place where she was staying to make sure she was okay. It was a needle-in-a-haystack mission, but as I looked down again at sweet Saintil, I could feel the worry radiating from him.
Within a few minutes Josh and I jumped in the car with Saintil. Jessi came with us, and so did Wadley, a trusted staff member from the school, whom I knew would help with anything that might come our way. We started off toward the part of Haiti where we thought she was located. Driving through the city, we listened to Will Reagan sing about taking back what the enemy had stolen.1 I looked over at Josh, on yet another adventure with me. Would this one be a wild goose-chase? We’d already been on a few of those together.
Josh had sensed my gaze, looked over at me, and smiled. “I feel like we’re literally driving into the pits of hell,” he joked. He could make me smile in almost any circumstance, and I loved that about him.
As we got closer to the town, we began asking Saintil questions about which roads to take. Josh followed the direction of Saintil’s tiny finger as it pointed right, then left, showing where to turn. We were all nervous, wondering if this child who had been to this location only once, would be able to successfully lead us there. Haiti is not an easy place to navigate when you get off the main highway and go back into the winding dirt roads without signposts, and no help from maps or GPS.
We began to drive up and down back roads, making wrong turns and having to backtrack through clusters of shacks and tent cities. A few times we were forced to stop and ask for directions, and after several stops it became clear that we were lost, and our quest seemed almost hopeless. Josh and I looked at each other in frustration, wanting to give up, but I felt the Holy Spirit tug at our hearts, saying, Continue on.
The road started to become smaller and smaller until it was just a path, and we had to stop the car and walk if we wanted to continue. I really couldn’t make out much of an opening and assumed we were at another dead end and would need to turn around, but then Saintil seemed to recognize the area. He swung open the back door of the car and got out. I prayed, then hopped out after him. He started walking fast, and we hurried to keep up.
There were dozens of tin shacks packed together, and we followed Saintil on the rough path through rusty gates. I kept asking the Lord to go before us and I felt certain He would lead us to the right place. “Divine guidance,” I whispered out loud as we followed Saintil, still marching ahead. I had no idea how he could remember the way.
After a few more minutes of walking up a mountain and weaving in and out of yards, Saintil slowed, grabbed at my hand, and tugged me forward. I looked where he was looking and saw a gate made of bent scrap metal held together by patchwork wire. Saintil pushed forward, looked back at me with burning eyes, and pulled the gate open.
I stepped inside, and before I could take a breath, I saw her. Johanne stepped forward out of the darkness. Our eyes met, and she stopped in her tracks, tilting her head as she gazed at me. The next second, she launched herself at me, full speed, and hugged me, squeezing with all of her strength. I hugged her frail body and kissed her forehead.
“Whe
re have you been?” I exclaimed. “Everyone is asking about you! Why haven’t you been at school?” She looked up and hugged me even tighter, a smile growing on her lips.
Then I looked around. Slowly the surroundings came into focus, and I stared in horror at the voodoo paraphernalia all around us. The burnt wooden crosses, oily animal skulls, and powdery altar seemed to move inward and close in on me, and I realized we had walked straight into a voodoo temple. The Haitians call it Kay Djab, the house of the devil.
Johanne was living inside. What in the world is she doing here? I wondered. I soon would find out.
TWENTY-ONE
The House of the Devil
When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.
—Psalm 56:3 ESV
Where are you staying? And with whom?” I asked Johanne. “My mother’s ex-boyfriend,” she said, her face becoming an expressionless mask. “He isn’t here right now.”
I knew her mother had died many years earlier, so I still wasn’t sure who had brought her to this place, or why. I heard a noise from behind Johanne and saw curious faces peering at us from windows and doorways.
“Let’s take a walk,” I said, and took Johanne by the hand. She grasped my hand tight, and we’d barely made it out the front gate when she pulled me close and whispered in my ear.
“Please take me with you.” Her voice was urgent.
“Are you okay?” I asked quietly, squeezing her hand with a gentle touch.
“I don’t want to stay here. But I don’t want to go back to the people in Gressier either. They beat me,” she said, her voice dropping off so I could barely hear. She looked down and away. She was twelve years old, about to become a young woman, but she was the size of my nine-year-old Micha. I felt my face get hot in anger as I thought about all the times I’d visited her home in Gressier, keeping an eye on her and Saintil and trying to work with her older brother with whom she was living. Then as the flush of anger faded away, my heart broke for her.
Miracle on Voodoo Mountain Page 14
