We turned around and walked back to the voodoo temple. Inside, Wadley and I took turns, asking the adults hanging around the temple where we could find the man who had brought Johanne to this place. A lady in her midforties rolled her eyes in disgust and refused to answer. We kept asking, and she finally barked out, “I’m not the one responsible for her. I can’t say anything.”
Next, we asked if she had a number so we could try to give him a call. “He has no phone. It’s lost,” she snapped. “He’s gone, and I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
“Can we wait here for him?”
She shrugged her shoulders and turned her back on us.
We decided to wait outside the gate, away from the voodoo paraphernalia, the watching eyes, and the dark and heavy atmosphere of the place. I asked Wadley what he thought. He responded firmly and with confidence, “This is serious. I think God wants us to take her.”
I leaned in. Are You sure, Lord? I asked. My chest tightened, wondering how we could make it happen. We were clearly outnumbered, and I didn’t want to break the law and be accused of taking Johanne from a place where she was living.
But Wadley continued. “We will leave with her today. God will make it happen.” I agreed, and we began to pray for the man to arrive soon.
Seconds later I heard a rustling, and someone shouted for us. We quickly returned to the wire gate, and up stepped the man who had been Johanne’s deceased mother’s ex-boyfriend. He motioned us in, and the feelings of oppression and evil were even stronger than before. The man looked up and welcomed us to his home. “Bonswa,” he said with a slight grin, waving me to a chair.
His grin slowly turned into a crooked smirk, and I felt sickened. When I introduced myself and everyone else, I immediately sensed his resistance to us. He is never going to let Johanne go, I thought. When I explained that we missed Johanne at school, his smirk grew deeper, and he seemed to think our caring about her was something funny. His face took on an arrogant, mocking expression, while Johanne stood behind him, waiting.
After a small prayer asking God to show me what to do, I opened my mouth with no real plan, and the Holy Spirit took over. I’d had this experience a few times before, with the Lord showing His power as my Creole becomes impeccable and I use words and Haitian proverbs I’ve never even heard before.
Words poured out of my mouth as I began explaining the importance of Johanne’s presence at school and how we were blessed to have a place for her to live. It seemed to take ages for me to explain why we wanted her to come with us, and I don’t remember much else, except praying through it all and hearing Jessi, Josh, and Wadley’s whispered prayers as they stood behind my chair.
When I finished, the man began saying nonsensical things, such as how he needed to “prepare her” and how she couldn’t leave until he’d made the “preparations.” This made me only angrier. A voodoo priest talking about preparations on a young girl? Not on my watch.
Wadley jumped in, a concerned look on his face, and said boldly, “We have everything she needs. No preparations are necessary.”
The man started to shake his head, a regretful sigh escaping his lips as if he were preparing us for a “no.”
“I cannot allow her to come with you without talking to her older stepbrother,” he said. This was the same person who’d been beating her in Gressier. At this point the chances of this man allowing Johanne to come with us were slim. But somehow I began to feel more confident. I turned around to look at my husband, my dear friend Jessi, and Wadley, and suddenly I felt as if God’s armies of angels were encamped around us. The atmosphere grew a little lighter and brighter, as Jessi winked and smiled, Josh’s face betrayed the righteous anger that the Lord had given him, and Wadley stood confidently waiting for God to win.
Just then, the man glared down at Johanne and said, “Well, what do you want to do?” His tone was threatening and dripped with sarcasm.
She looked at the ground and said quietly, “Go with them.”
“What do you think of that?” the man asked his girlfriend.
“I don’t care,” she answered in a nonchalant voice, not even bothering to look up.
He shrugged, looking at Wadley. “I’ll tell her older stepbrother where she went.” Then he growled at Johanne, “Get your bags.”
She disappeared somewhere inside and came out within seconds wearing a shirt three sizes too small and pants three sizes too big, and she was carrying a book sack she had received at Respire’s school that contained only her uniform. Johanne turned around and looked at the other children accumulated there, watching. No good-byes, no hugs, no anything from anybody, including the man. Then she turned around with a small smile and marched right out of the gate.
We followed as fast as we could and raced to the car, wanting to be out of there. Johanne held my hand as we walked, squeezing it as hard as she could. We were quiet, incredibly overwhelmed with emotion. Inside the car we sat silent for a moment, then laughed, cried, and talked about how God is all-powerful, and how He is a warrior for His children.
Saintil sat stone-faced as we began to drive. “Are you okay?” I asked.
He nodded yes.
“Are you happy?” I asked.
Another nod.
“Do you see what you did?” I asked him softly. “Do you see what God used you to do? You fought for your sister. You led us here!” My voice rose in excitement. I was so proud of him. “We couldn’t have done this without you. It’s okay to cry. They are tears of joy, and God wants us to be joyful. We are together now, and Jesus was with us the whole time.”
As Saintil listened to my words, his eyes began to fill with tears and he wiped them away with the back of his hands. Then the floodgates opened. I held him and said, “It’s okay. We know you missed Johanne and God has given you such great love for your sister.”
Saintil continued to bawl in Jessi’s lap and clung to his sister’s hand all the way home.
Johanne came home with us that night, and we were exhausted, still in shock from the confrontation with that evil, sarcastic, mocking man who had some sort of dark plan for her. But God had other plans, and trying to comprehend what God had just done blew my mind. God fights for the fatherless, because the battle is so real.
We had been listening to that song about plundering the pits of hell, and we had literally, ironically, divinely rescued Johanne from the devil’s house. We had walked into his house and snatched Johanne from his grasp in the name of Jesus. God is the most amazing warrior, and the most courageous, strong, and beautiful example of a father. Johanne and I are both fatherless, and I love that God is Johanne’s Father, and He is mine too. And because of Him, we won. We were victorious.
This is the gospel. One person at a time. One child at a time. Progress might seem small and slow at times, and it might seem impossible to ever really make a difference, but it is moments like this when we are reminded God is at work.
We settled back into life in Gressier, and Johanne stayed with us as she recovered. Not long after she was back, she came home from school one day in a panic. “My older stepbrother is in trouble, so he took Saintil!” she said. I asked where her older brother was, but she didn’t seem to know. I was worried and made a few phone calls that all led to nothing. Feeling as if there was nothing we could do, I began to pray and beg God to bring Saintil home. Days turned into weeks. Five weeks had passed when one evening, as we were eating dinner, a knock on the metal gate echoed across the front yard.
“Who is it?” Josh called out.
No answer.
“Who is it?” I repeated, in Creole.
A small voice, barely audible, responded on the other side. Someone downstairs opened the gate, and there stood Saintil. This little nine-year-old boy had been missing from Respire Haiti Christian School for more than a month. He limped in, exhausted, looking completely worn-out.
I flew down the stairs and bombarded him with big hugs, kisses, and smiles. The corners of his mouth lifted, just barely
. It was clear that something was different in this boy who was usually so joyful and full of life.
The first question out of his mouth, after he came in and sat down, was, “Where is Johanne?” We sent someone to go get her immediately. Saintil couldn’t seem to explain where he’d been or answer our questions in a straightforward manner. Things were not adding up, and we could tell he was hesitant to give us all the facts.
Saintil looked frail, as if he was starving, but he wouldn’t eat anything I offered him. As I looked with a hurting heart at his sunken eyes and exhausted body, some of his answers finally started to connect and make some sort of sense. He had arrived on foot from Jacmel, a town almost three hours away by car. He’d left early in the morning the day before and walked over numerous mountains and through valleys to Gressier, walking and walking and walking to return to his sister.
As we listened, tears filled our eyes. He had walked for two days on foot, with no food, to get here. That’s how badly he wanted to see his sister, Johanne. Besides his abusive older stepbrother, Saintil’s sister is his only family, and he knew if he came to our house, he would find Johanne. My mind spun with the beauty and sadness of his story.
When Johanne heard Saintil was at the house, she sprinted toward her brother and slammed into him, nearly knocking down his emaciated body as she embraced him with joy. She looked up at us wide-eyed, her eyes screaming out what her heart wanted to say: He can’t go back there.
“Saintil needs to go back to school,” she said in a firm voice. “Everyone misses him.”
She chattered to her brother, telling him how she had done well in school this last trimester and that if he had been there for testing, he would have passed too. (Both Johanne and Saintil were in a class specially designed for children who had never been to school before; the program took them through first and second grades in one year.)
Then Johanne slid a bracelet off her wrist and put it on Saintil. “Team Jesus,” the bracelet read. She hugged him and smiled again, bigger than before.
“No one wants us to go to school,” she said to us in a strong, clear voice. “Saintil can’t go back to Jacmel or they will never let him go to school.”
As Saintil’s head hit the pillow that night, I prayed over him. I thought about the miles his feet had walked, the sights his eyes had seen, and the hunger, fatigue, and fear he had suffered on his long journey.
It still wasn’t clear exactly where he had been or how he came to leave in the first place. But as he drifted down into peaceful sleep, knowing he was close by his sister and in the arms of people who loved him, I couldn’t help but pray that Saintil felt at home. Not only because he was in our home, with Josh, Micha, Jessica, Johanne, and me, but because he was sleeping in the sweet arms of Jesus.
TWENTY-TWO
The Woman at the Gate
Thank God for the battle verses in the Bible. We go into the unknown every day of our lives.
—Amy Carmichael
One beautiful, warm evening the night guard called out to me as soon as he arrived. “Megan? Megan!” There was a note of distress in his voice, so I crept down the stairs and met him on the front porch.
“There is someone sitting outside the gate,” he said, pointing into the dark. I followed him across the yard and waited as he rolled the heavy metal gate back a few inches so I could peek outside. It’s her! The woman Jessi and I saw.
Earlier that day Jessi and I had been walking back home from Bellevue Mountain, chattering and happy. When we turned the last corner before our home, I saw someone sitting outside near our house on some rocks by the side of the road. The figure looked odd—sort of slumped over—but we could tell it was a young woman.
I tugged on Jessi’s arm and pointed, trying not to make any noise until we knew if she was sleeping, or ill, or something else. But Jessi had a different plan. She yelled out to the woman, “Hey! Are you okay?”
The motionless figure began to move, slowly raising her head from her lap. She looked straight at us and smiled a creepy smile that gave you no choice but to look away. The woman said nothing, just stared as if she were looking right through us. I was chilled to the bone in the midst of the Caribbean heat, a feeling I had become all too familiar with.
She looked frail but otherwise okay, despite the faraway look in her eyes, so Jessi and I continued through the gate and into the front yard. I looked over at my friend and without saying a word, we both understood the darkness that was crouched outside on the rocks.
As I walked into the yard, my spirit felt unsettled and I began to pace around the house and pray and sing to the Lord. As I worshiped in every single room of the house, Micha joined in with me, following behind and singing in her young, soothing voice. As I looked down and smiled at her sweet, calm spirit, I felt relieved. I was upstairs by now and I glanced out the window and over the balcony railing toward the pile of rocks where the woman had been perched. No one was there. I could feel the relief wash over my body.
After that, I went on with my afternoon, spending time with the kids, making sure homework and chores were getting done, and sitting down to dinner with the whole family. After we ate dinner we played, took baths, had story time and prayers, and Josh and I put the kids to bed.
So when the night guard called, the routines of the day had pushed the strange woman on the rocks to the back of my mind. But now, as I craned my head around and saw her again, those dark feelings came back. She was wearing the same clothes and still sitting in that odd slumped position while staring off into the distance.
I exited the gate, and as I began walking toward her, I prayed fervently. God, tell me what to do. I approached, slow and cautious, and called out to her quietly. She sat up a little straighter, slowly turned her head toward me, and looked vacantly into my eyes.
Her gaze made me gasp, and I felt as though the wind had been knocked out of me. I wanted to turn around and run back inside to warmth, light, and safety, but instead I forced myself to step closer. “What is your name?” I heard her mumble something, but it was so soft I couldn’t make out what she said.
I stooped down to her level, keeping some distance between us just in case. Her eyes locked onto mine and my breath rushed out again. I wanted to talk to her but wasn’t sure what to say. Then she began to speak.
Nothing she said made sense. The only thing I could pick out was something about “looking for my seventeen children.” She continued rambling. Sensing that she was lost somewhere in her own world, I prayed out loud for a few minutes, then ran back inside to get Tachi.
I’d known Tachi since my first few months in Haiti. She was very wise and often watched my girls. She came outside hesitantly and stood with me. She asked the lady a few questions but got the same incoherent responses. Tachi looked back at me, shrugged, and stepped back as if she didn’t feel comfortable getting too close either.
As we stood and watched the young woman and tried to work out what to do, the woman opened a tiny bag and pulled out a crumpled bedsheet. She began opening up the sheet and spreading it out on the concrete driveway in front of the gate.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
The woman ignored us, babbling as she tangled with the sheet.
I stepped forward. “I am sorry but you cannot sleep outside here,” I said in a loud voice.
Her posture changed. She straightened up and looked at me with an unmistakable flash of evil in her eyes. A rancid croak came out of her mouth. “The head horseman sent me here. He said if I sleep outside of this gate, he will give me that house.” She turned and pointed toward the house across the street.
I turned and looked at the house. Now why in the world would she want that house? I thought. Then I took a deep breath and made the connection. Oh! That’s the house we are about to rent for Dan and Rita.
Rita was the curly-haired woman from Colorado whom I’d met at Son of God Orphanage when the medical team was visiting. She’d shared my concerns about Pastor Joe and what was going on at the
orphanage, and we’d become friends and stayed in close touch. One day I sent an e-mail to her, and we began talking about her coming to Gressier to help with the school more often.
I didn’t know when I sent the e-mail, her life had been turned upside down. Rita Noel was finishing up a successful career as a middle school teacher and looking forward to a full retirement in a few years when, on a whim, she attended a conference about the plight of the hundreds of millions of orphans around the world. She bought a book about orphans and took it home to show her husband, Dan, an electrician.
She started coming to help us in Haiti, spending more and more time in the country when her schedule allowed. Then, feeling that God was calling her to invest more in the community of Gressier, she had decided to quit her teaching job, right before I called her.
The Noels were getting everything organized to move to the Caribbean to work with us at Respire Haiti. Rita, to help the school, and Dan, to oversee construction. They’d experienced some significant roadblocks to the plans in Colorado, so in my heart of hearts, I half-expected some opposition with this as well.
I hadn’t expected it in the form of a poor, helpless woman sprawled out on the ground in front of my gate, however. I repeated again, firmly, “I am sorry, but you cannot sleep outside here.”
She laughed, almost a cackle, and repeated again clearly, “The head horseman sent me here, and I am going to sleep here. Then he will give me the house.”
There was nothing else to do, so I began praying over her again and walked inside, pulled the gate shut, and called our staff to come gather and pray with me. After a few minutes we sat together on the front steps, and facing the gate, we began lifting our voices in worship of our Lord and in prayer for this poor woman. It seemed to me that Satan was using her body, and she was helpless and defenseless against it all. It seemed such a low ploy of the enemy to use her to try to attack the Noels, even when they hadn’t yet arrived in Haiti.
Miracle on Voodoo Mountain Page 15
