The Shoe That Changed My Life Part I

The Shoe that Changed My Life

 3/13/12

The mission field is an open book when it comes to the experiences to those that God calls into this ministry.  Each chapter of these trips or long term stays defines a new opportunity for the person to understand why people are in desperate need of God in their lives.  My first experience on a short mission trip was to a poor country which opened my eyes to how cruel the world can be and also to realize that God does truly bless those who take these trips in ways that are unimaginable.

The year was 1985 and a very slight fall chill was in the air in southeast Texas.  My dad had received a correspondence letter from a “missionary” that lived in Haiti.  Dad was compelled to answer this letter and acknowledge his interest in coming down to Haiti for an observation trip for the possibility of pursuing future projects.  Mom and dad discussed it amongst themselves and presented the idea of me travelling with dad to Haiti.  I agreed and dad made all of the necessary travel arrangements.  We would leave from Houston and go to Port-au-Prince, Haiti in October.

Well, everything was planned, trip mapped out, plane reservations made and even a small banana box of shoes was to be taken down to give out to the people in one of the neighborhoods.  As time approached to leave all of the rechecking of plans, tickets, etc were completed and everything was in order, with one exception….my head J  My head was fixated on a girl from Vidor named Greta and that was all that mattered to me at that moment.  So much so, on the night before we were to leave for Haiti I went to her church in Vidor and after dad calling the pastor of the church trying to locate Greta’s phone number, I showed up home over an hour late and handing my dad a speeding ticket I had just received trying to make it home before curfew.  So, the scene is set for my trip.

Dad and I left very early the next morning and arrived in Houston a couple of hours later.  We got all checked in at the airport, which that process was a whole lot simpler at that time, and sat down at the gate and waited for boarding.  We boarded our flight and took off for Miami International Airport.  I had never flown into Miami before and when I got off of the plane I quickly realized that I really did not want to ever fly into that airport again.  It was ugly and it was a mess.  We had to board our next flight in the International terminal and it looked like the entire international community had just left that portion of the airport.  Another realization that I had found out was that the flight from Miami to Port-au-Prince was actually shorter than the Houston to Miami leg, but that was a minor detail.

We boarded the American Airlines passenger plane and promptly lifted off to the country of Haiti.  The flight was pleasant and flying out of the country for the first time made me a tad nervous but I was with dad who had already been on several overseas trips before, so I was not too concerned.  We were to be met at the airport by the “missionary” that dad had been in contact with so things were looking even better.  We landed safely and began taxing to the building.  We pulled up close to a small white building that was about three hundred yards long.  I learned quickly that I was “not in Kansas anymore” when the little truck brought up the steps to the jet and our journey next took us on a hot tarmac about 50 yards from the terminal.

Now, being from Texas I had been auditoriums and stadiums that held a very large crowd, but I was not prepared for the mass of humanity that greeted us when we entered into the terminal building.  As I stated before, the terminal was not a very large building but there were people everywhere in that place.  This was my first taste of international travel and it was raising my eyebrows right from the start.  It took us quite awhile to get into the hallway of the terminal so that we could proceed to the baggage claim area. 

We saw our contact which he was not easy to miss, besides my dad and myself he was basically the only other white person in the building.  Both parties greeted each other and exchanged formalities at the same time.  We slowly proceeded over to the baggage claim area and retrieved our luggage and began to squeeze our way back through the mass of humanity to reach end of the building and breathe fresh air once again.

There are many ways that I could take this story but I have to concentrate on one area, but I will give a short account of the countryside before I proceed.  The majority of Haiti is mountainous with a few cities that dot that landscape.  Port-au-Prince and its surrounding communities basically make up the entire valley along the coast.  The roads are mediocre at best with cars flying around in all directions and no matter where we went there were a multitude of vehicles.  The entire country is not very clean and one can see a steady flow of sewage running down the street curbs at any point of the day.  In a nutshell, Haiti is considered to be the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere and we could tell that statement is true not one hundred yards away from the airport. 

My official job on the trip was to be the photographer.  Dad had some speaking engagements lined up for him and I was to roam around the room and take pictures of the scenes as they unfolded.  This went well for the first meeting and I believed that I could handle this status.  People always want their picture taken and placing them in a crowd with the white preacher was something that they seemed to like, so for the next hour or so, I began to burn up a roll of film.

The next day’s events changed my plans for the remaining trip, in fact those events still flash through my mind when I hear of some people in this country acting in a certain manner.  The event as it occurred was not a religious moment at the time but it was a slap in the face ego smashing moment that awakened my inner being to an entire new realm of humanity.  Many of you remember the major earthquake that struck this country a few years back.  The part of the city that was struck dad and I visited and from viewing the living conditions of that area I could not believe that people had the ability to live in a state like these people did.  It absolutely blew my mind.

As we pulled off the main highway and entered onto a dirt road, I began to notice that on both sides of the road were shacks that were just placed next to each other; literally next to each other since the wall of one shack served as a support to the neighbors wall, it was that close.  And was we slowly drove down the path I would glance at the smaller paths of dirt that separated the sides of the “street” so to speak and as far as my eye could see, I saw shacks.  The dirt path that we were on was approximately one mile long or so and it ended at a pier.  The driver turned the car around and faced the nose of the car back down the path; which I learned in  due time that this maneuver was strategic.

We got out of the car and opened the trunk and pulled out the single small banana box of shoes and stood around for a few minutes talking.  It did not take long for the news to filter through the “neighborhood” that some white folks were here and they had gifts to hand out.  Now, playing sports most of my life and noticing when the opponents are closing in around you, you realize that you have to make some quick adjustments so that you are not trapped hence the strategic parking of the car.  Within five minutes it looked like an entire city was descending upon us, and to be honest most of the population of that area was approaching.

As the people began to press against us they we finally were able to hear the language that they were speaking, it was Creole but we could not understand a word they said; however, dad and I understood from the looks on their faces and their bare feet that they wanted and needed shoes.  Our one box of shoes disappeared within seconds.  As more people began to come along the dirt path some men came along side us with wooden clubs.  Boy, the thoughts that now plagued our minds and the brief moment when we believed that these men actually were going to beat us with the clubs.  This was not the case, they began to beat the people to get them away from us, but the people continued to swarm; and then fun times ensued shortly afterwards J 

I stood there and watched these six or seven men drive an entire crowd of people away with their words and small pieces of wood.  The panic levels begin to recede within us and we finally got a grasp on what had just occurred.  I could give so many details of these few minutes but I once again must stay on my projected path.  I slowly eased my way over towards the car and looked at the pier that went out to the water.  I noticed a small boat that was tied up against one of the poles.  It was very old and run down but I knew that some people had to have called that place home.  I walked towards the boat along the pier and stopped about 2/3rds of the way down.  I heard some boys running and eventually realized that they were coming towards me.  I also noticed that all of these boys had no shoes on their feet yet they were trucking down that wooden pier like they were on a groomed track.

The boy that was leading the pack was the tallest of the group and most likely the oldest, but I dare not venture to guess his age.  As he approached me I noticed that he was carrying one shoe in his hand.  My first thought was that he wanted me to get another shoe for him, but clearly that was not his intention.  What this kid was about to do would bring my spirit, mind, body, soul, appetite, way of thinking, crumbling to the ground.  The kid walked up to me took my right hand, knelt down on one knee, kissed my hand, looked up at me and in Creole said “thank you for my shoe”  Haitian Creole is a mixture of English, French and Spanish, with a few other tribal dialects thrown into the mix.  The boy then got to his feet and ran off with the other boys, never for me to see again.  The one small detail that I noticed about that one shoe that he carried was that it was probably three sizes too big for his foot.  A kid who was grateful for one shoe was what brought me to my knees and what would change my way of thinking about everyday necessities forever.

Up until that point in my life I had never known hunger or lack of a necessity.  This experience also showed me what a necessity really was and how important the difference is between a want and a need.  What does this have to do with restoration or God?  Many aspects point to a loving God who supplies all needs of humans.  One shoe was supplied to a kid that day and he acted like he had just won

As humans, we need to make sure that our spiritual ears are open to what God is saying.  Dad had no idea of what one small fruit box of shoes could stir up and I had no idea of what just one shoe could mean to a child.  Be open to other people’s needs and allow God to show you what you can do to help out these people in their time of need.  I have no idea what that kid did with that shoe but God does and God also knew that he needed it for some reason.  It is very easy for us to forget that people live in these types of conditions and that they need to know that God loves them, and also we must not forget that God loves them just as much as He loves us.

DLB

P.S.  As I was writing this message, God placed many more ideas in my mind for future messages.  This short trip that dad and I took brought to light so many different aspects of life and how we perceive it.  I understand now why God allowed me to take this trip; it was my first divulgence into the spirit world.  Part 2 of this message is to follow….