April 8th

I met Jasminder's grandparents today, they live in a hoop home camp about 30 minutes from the base. We were there to lay concrete for a permanent building and I, being of no real capabilities in this area, was free to explore the tent community. It was there that I found Audrey, the foster Mom and future adoptive parent of little Jas. She was there to take his grandparents to the hospital that she assumed Jasminder was born at in order to retrieve his birth certificate, if it even existed that is. We prayed before she left, it would be a true miracle if she succeeded in finding the birth certificate at all, and past that getting the authorities to hand it over was going to take an act of God. I had one faithful companion while we were in that camp, a little boy named Jeutesse who saw the soccer ball I had brought and relentlessly asked, “Babon? Babon?” Terry Snow was also in the camp that morning and I got to witness first-hand why he’s known as the ‘Moses’ over the Haitians. In a matter of minutes he mobilized at least a hundred people to various tasks to help us with the concrete and to continue to develop the camp. Getting Haitians to work for a wage is not an easy task, but he yields so much respect from all he’s brought the people through that when he speaks, they listen. It turns out that it was inappropriate to bring out the ball on a ‘work day’ so instead I helped flatten a small field with Jasminder’s grandmother and even got invited inside a family’s tent to take a picture of their newborn baby. All the while my little friend was flashing his white teeth and insisting, “Balon, balon?” Cameras are extremely popular items and with each picture I took I had to show not only the individual how it looked, but all their friends as well. We left that camp about noon and I was told that we were going deep into the fifth section to paint something.

(This is my persistant little friend Jeutesse)

The fifth section was something I had a dream about before I even knew what it was. In this dream someone was saying, “Oh, the fifth section…” and I was asking, “What is the fifth section?” But I woke up before I got the answer, a dream I was instantly reminded of when the announcement came that we were headed there. The fifth section sounds like an inner-city block of Saint Marc, but is actually the rural farming communities on the very outskirts of the city. I was extremely intrigued to see this ‘fifth section’ since apparently God wanted to tell me something about it. On the way I rode in the front seat of the truck with Kevin, our work leader for the day. We talked about the future of the nation and I had some questions for him since he has lived here for a few months, that he was able to answer. I learned that we were headed to a small village where a clinic was being built, that he himself had helped to build and that it was almost finished being painted. A doctor from Miami was funding it and planning on staffing it personally when it was completed. Our small talk had ended for about 20 minutes when he said, “The place where we are going, there’s a girl tied to a tree…”

I was shocked. “Tied to a tree?!” I said. Then there was a pause.

“Yah,” He said. “She is very well cared for, they feed her and stuff but I didn’t want you to be shocked.”

“WHY?” Was my immediate response.

He began to explain that this child has some mental handicaps that prevent her from living a normal life, and that the village keeps her tied up for her own protection, not to victimize her.

He told me that this girl will walk into the river, and into cactus bushes, however he didn’t think she was possessed, though her eyes did seem “weird”. He was very sensitive in the way he talked about her and her village, I could tell he had come to love these people and didn’t want me to get the wrong idea of them.

“It’s like she’s a one year old” He finished.

I was shocked. My eyes were wide and my breathing had slowed. “Thank you for warning me.” I somehow calmly got out.



The ride was about 10 minutes more. When we parked in the village we immediately went inside the clinic (which looked painted to me) and ate our MRE’s for lunch, while being stared at at close range by 20 plus villagers. The MRE’s were the best food I had had in a long time and were fun to make. I calmly ignored the faces staring at me while I ate. The girl who supposedly lives in this village had not left my mind, but I knew that I wasn’t afraid. After lunch we inspected the back of the clinic building to see what needed to be done. A small patch the size of a poster was still bare concrete and I hear someone say, “This will take only two of us 20 minutes.” With my services clearly not needed by my team of 5 able-bodied grown men, I took a few steps into the village. I looked around, but didn’t see much. I took a few more steps. I said good afternoon to an old man sitting in a chair out side the cinderblock hut where the paint was locked up. I took a few more steps and looked around for a tree…not seeing anything I casually looked down and to my right, reaching for my bag, and there she was. We were alone and it was quiet. She lay on the ground belly down, face in the dirt, looking at me, her arms spread out wide, as were her legs. She was naked but for a pair of underwear and her ankle was loosely tied with a worn piece of something that had about 4 feet of slack from the base of a very small pole-like tree, painted green. Her cheeks were white from the dust but her dark eyes looked up at me contently, the only body language that reacted to my approaching her. She had an empty green plastic bottle in her hands that she wiggled around here and there. She was the size of a skinny 7 year old, and very beautiful. I smiled at her, but no reaction was reciprocated. It was about this time the mother walked up, a woman about the age of 45, holding a smaller baby girl about two years old. She was able to communicate to me that she was the mother of both children. I desperately wanted to pray for this girl so I asked the mother and pointed, “Preye?” She nodded her head and handed the now crying toddler to another woman. Then she untied her daughter and picked her up, making her stand. Her legs were skinny and void of the muscle even the most undernourished Haitian children have. She was able to stand, but stared blankly at the ground, plastic bottle still in hand. I felt embarrassed that she had felt she had to move her for me so I took off my shoes and sat in the dirt next to her to pray.



The possibility of demonic possession had been on my mind since the car ride. A demon would want to destroy her life, hence her nearly drowning herself and being unable to avoid hazards. I felt that someone with even a very severe mental illness would avoid pain, and posses the instinct for self-preservation. Not knowing much about the subject, nor having much experience with identifying either, I prayed for it all. Her eyes did not look at all different to me, though under her eyes looked a bit puffy. I started by inviting the holy spirit to increase and release and then commanding her body to come into alignment with the kingdom of God. I laid my hands on her, I walked around the tree, anointing the ground. I spoke to her chains and bound them in the name if Jesus. I interceded on behalf of her family and village, I rebuked every spiritual stronghold I could think of. I cried out for heaven to invade. Meanwhile I was rebuking the curses a woman was yelling at me from behind a curtain in the hut in front of me. I’ve never longed for a miracle like this before. At one point I turned my back to them to hide my heart broken tears, but I pressed on. By then all the children in the village appeared, I had a crowd of about 30. I kept praying, commanding alignment, declaring authority, prophesying life, etc. Next I had all the kids lay their hands on her and repeat , “Jezu, Jezu, Jezu…”



I did everything I knew how to do. I knew God wanted to heal this girl. I knew He wanted to do it in front of her whole village! I laid my hands on her chest again and spoke to her spirit. This was the first time she raised her head and looked up at me. I said, “I speak to your spirit right now, I say be healed in Jesus’ name and come into alignment with the God of heaven.” I said it twice and both times she looked right at me. She started opening her mouth and making a barking sound, I could see that she was much older than she looked from her teeth. I could tell from her sound that she could not speak, and possibly not even hear. I rebuked the spirit of deafness and muteness. This was the end of my prayer.

I had done everything I knew how to do, I said “Amen” and sat down. I knew my God had not forsaken me, even though I had observed no noticeable change in the girl’s body. Throughout my prayer I knew it was God’s will to heal her, and somehow I knew she would be healed. But when? I had been praying for 20 minutes and who knew how long we would be in this village. The phrase ‘God is good’ was ringing through my spirit even though I had just made my self look quite foolish in front of an entire Haitian village. I was inexplicitly overcome by the desire to praise God at that moment.



It wasn’t until later on in the day in the prayer room that God really took me deeper into his heart for the situation. I felt him tell me I had been laying the ‘prayer foundation’ for the miracles in that village, that someone else would pick up where I left off. I had prayed into the destiny, or the destination for that girl, and God was fully planning on arriving with her at that destination of miraculous healing and freedom. Sometimes we are tempted to ask, ‘why’ when things are not fixed when we pray, or when prayers seem “unanswered”. But what I’ve learned is that God is good and we can live our lives as if He is good. I have also learned that we cannot make theology based on what God appears to ’not’ do. His desire for his kingdom to invade the earth is clear, that is the destination. The journey getting to that destination, will always be the one that brings Him the most glory. I was honored to partner with God in what He’s doing in that village today, and to agree with His heart the ways He wants to reveal himself to them as a loving father very soon.

The rest of the day in that village was full of kids calling me “Blanc, blanc” and demanding I take their picture. I had a great time with them showing me around their village. There was about 40 or more kids in such a small village and a newborn in almost every hut. After about two hours of me teaching them to call me by my name, not just ‘white person’ and letting them take the pictures of their friends with my camera the novelty of being the only white woman in the village needed to wear off. I was exhausted. Up until the last minute they were crowding around me, asking for more pictures. They were all so beautiful. I tried to learn their names too, but I can only remember the girl who impacted me the most, the one they kept tied to a tree and her name was Megua.

(one of the kids took this one)

(These are the beautiful faces staring at me)