Parenn

Parenn is Creole for Godfather.  A term of endearment and honor given to me in the not so distance past by a young man, Ti Papa, as we had begun to build a relationship.

See, this blog was supposed to recant the joyous festivities of his wedding, but instead my role as the Parenn took a harsh and painful turn today.  Ti Papa and his new bride, Manoucheka, were expecting a baby in February.  Though the idea of being married and having a baby came with fears, he didn’t back down and was willing to stand as a husband and a father, which is amazing, as this is sadly not the norm. 

So I write this tonight to help sort my thoughts, feelings, frustrations, doubts and to ask for prayer.  Ti Papa usually calls me in the mornings and afternoons to check in if he is working at our other site and as my phone rang this afternoon I assumed this call was like so many before, but it unfortunately it wasn’t.  Ti Papa said he was on his way to my house because his baby was dead.  DEAD, what do you mean dead? I was in shock just at the utterance of the words.  Upon his arrival Ti Papa stood strong and asked for Jen and I to come to his house.  Without hesitation, yet filled with the painful feelings of loss and pain that we know to well, we left and went with him.  As we drive through town its surreal, people are going about their normal daily lives and we going to Ti Papa’s house, because he has just lost his infant gift.  Upon entering the one room home, with a strange sense of pride he shows Jen and I his lifeless, yet beautiful baby girl.  He just keeps repeating she’s dead, she’s dead, she is dead.  Other family is in the house arguing that she isn’t, but it is their denial that was speaking.  She had no life, only a painful still beauty.  With no words of pastoral wisdom to say and no scriptures to share I held Ti Papa, a strong, well built young man, as he wept tears of pain, anger and doubt.  Emotions do not come with ease in Haiti, but there is no getting around this terror.  Through tears, badly translated words of console we discuss what he would like to do.  During this time Manoucheka is in such shock she is at a house around the corner and practically frozen in disbelief and pain.  She has just had the blessing of holding her precious gift for 2 days and today it was ripped away leaving behind the still present pains of birth and a void in her soul. 

After discussion and prayer, Ti Papa made the decision that he wants to bury his baby girl.  I’m confused at first, because I’m not sure if it’s a lack of comprehension or just the raw, gritty reality that death has brought forth. He grabs a pick axe, two friends, myself and his baby princess wrapped in blankets and we get in the vehicle. 

As we travel up the mountain road to his family’s property I don’t know which is more shocking, the death or the coming events.  Knowing the pain of losing a child did not prepare me for digging a grave.  Without hesitation our friends start chiseling away at the rocky and unforgiving Haitian soil, making an unfit final resting place for Ti Papa’s daughter.  As we take turns digging and holding cell phones for light, I’m lost in the stinging reality of the situation.  When Haiti’s soil relinquished its grip we laid her swaddled being in a cardboard box, surrounded it with rocks and crumbled cement and then proceeded to cover her shallow grave with the soil that just fought to let us in.  Before leaving one of the guys that so selflessly dug an infant grave, finished in prayer.  While not understanding all the words I was truly grateful to hear him plead for loving courage from our Father and that regardless of what we face, God is at our side.        

I can’t explain it, but life has a strange sense of cheapness here, that it’s disposable and not a gift.  Has the harshness of life robbed all the joy, all the hope and left only despair and pain?  I pray against this with all the faith I can muster. 

God, I don’t understand many plays of your hand.  I don’t pretend to have the answers and its times like this where my faith seems to be left with Ti Papa’s buried baby girl.  So tonight as sleep is replaced with pondering thoughts and tears I ask for You to bring healing and peace that can only come from you.  Not for me, as I believe I have much to learn here, but for Ti Papa and Manucheka.  Jesus step forth with your love and compassion, invade their home with Your Spirit of life.  Allow no evil spirits or damning thoughts to rob this time of growth that only comes from You.  Jesus, would you stand taller than any cultural myths, worldly chatter and Satan’s lies; be present so that Ti Papa and Manoucheka would know You never left their side or that of their precious baby girl.  May we all look forward to the day we meet Jesus and the children so many of us didn’t get to hold long enough.