Aslan Newsletter of July 25, 2001

Dear friends:

Walking through the streets of Port-au-Prince is always an adventure, and this particular morning was no exception. At 9:30 in the morning, it was already blazing hot. Torrential rains from the evening before left lakes of water everywhere. As Colleen, Joe and I walked through water filled with floating garbage and human waste, I was thankful for the work boots I was wearing. The purpose of our walk, however, brought a sense of anticipation to all of our hearts. We were headed for Mother Theresa’s Sisters of Charity Hospital, a brilliant light of hope in a hopeless place. The Sisters and their staff care for the needs of hundreds of abandoned babies and toddlers – nearly all of whom suffer from tuberculosis, aids or malnutrition. As a member of our Aslan volunteer staff, Colleen spent 6 months in Haiti last year. She had previously visited this hospital and asked Joe and me to join her today. As much as she had described her visits to the mission hospital, there really weren’t words to adequately prepare us for what we were about to see.

We rounded a corner, walked up a hill and came to an open iron gate leading to the hospital. Children and adults chattered in Creole as three "blancs" passed through the gateway, around a covered awning where Mass was being prepared and into the entrance to the hospital. Fluent in Creole, Colleen had an instant rapport with the Sister who greeted us. Sunday mornings are not a good time to visit, but Colleen assured our greeter we were just there to pray for and to hold some of the children. She smiled beautifully and welcomed us in.

We walked past room after room filled with fifty or more bassinets, each with a baby in it. What struck me first was most of the children were not making any noise at all. Some were hooked up to IV’s, and a few were standing up in their cribs. Most were simply too weak to make any noise. These children have been brought to the mission – or dropped off at the gate – to die. Day and night, the Sisters and a host of wonderful volunteers give their lives to make these babies as comfortable as possible. They are, however, woefully understaffed and the children rarely get much personal attention. Most of the time is consumed in feeding, changing IV’s, changing diapers, cleaning up messes, and changing sheets. They nurse some back to health, but many die.

Colleen led us to a room in the back, and she immediately picked up an emaciated child with sores covering its body and hooked up to a saline solution. She smiled at Joe and me and told us to choose any child and pick it up. She warned us, however, that as soon as we set the baby back in its crib, it would begin crying (provided it had the strength). To be honest with you, it was really difficult at first for me to pick a baby up. They all looked as through they would literally break to pieces in my hands if I touched them. And what if one of them coughed or sneezed in my face? Would I in some way be putting myself in harm’s way . . . ? It wasn’t long before I realized the selfishness of my thoughts and found myself with a tiny, desperate looking baby in my arms. Since all the babies were dressed alike, it was impossible to know if it was a boy or girl.

What I found lying in my arms was a precious child of God, obviously clinging to life by a thread. Pencil thin arms and legs that could barely move . . . skin wrapped so tightly over its skull that you expected the skin to break at any moment. What struck me most, however, were the baby’s eyes – eyes that reached out to mine and drew me in. I could feel his silent cry, "Please . . .help me . . . hold me . . . love me." I stroked the child’s head with my finger and I prayed. Lord, please look down from heaven on this, Your little child. Please, walk through this room and comfort each of these lives. They’re your kids, God. You gave each of them an identity – their own fingerprint – their own spirit. You love them. You gave your life for them. Let your angels watch over them. Comfort them in their suffering. Save some of their lives, and let them find hope in this tiny outpost of hope. Let them find You and live a life of joy - even in this nation where there is, from any earthly standpoint, so little joy. And welcome into your arms forever these precious ones whose lives are slowly being stolen away, inch-by-inch, moment-by-moment.

I looked up to see Colleen carefully placing her child back in the crib. The baby looked up and began to cry – hopelessly. Joe set his child back in the crib, and I followed with mine. My little one just gazed back into my eyes, trying to make a sound. But no sound came forth – only the movement of tiny lips.

It was hard to leave the room. At the end of our long walk back, however, a truck waited for us to whisk us away to the airport where we would board a plane bound for Miami. We walked through the hallways and thanked the Sisters for the favor and privilege they had granted us. This morning in June, 2001, we saw God’s face in the faces of these children. We heard His voice in their cries and in their silence. Perhaps we understood a little better what Jesus meant when He said, "Let the little children come unto Me . . . for such is the Kingdom of Heaven."

From August 13^th through the 24^th, Aslan will be traveling to our mission in Ouanaminthe, Haiti with Aslan students and adult volunteers. This is an experience of a lifetime for everyone – in particular the Aslan teenagers. Experiencing the overwhelming poverty of Haiti, one of the world’s poorest countries, permanently changes the thinking of each Aslan youngster that has ever gone. Of all the programs we have operated over our 26-year history, nothing has had more dramatic impact on our Aslan kids in less time than taking them to Haiti. Although we only take a few kids at a time, each teen returns with a perspective on life they could have gained nowhere else. Lynn (Haiti ’96, ’97, ’98) is a music major on full scholarship at Westminster Choir College. Sean (Haiti ’96) is in college on a basketball scholarship. Kerry (Haiti ’96 & ’98) is in the armed services and has served our country in the Persian Gulf. Melandy (Haiti ’96) is in her second year of college. KiKi, age 15, (Haiti ’99 & ’00) is returning with us this year. She works with our nurses in the clinic, and her dream is to become a doctor. Alexus, age 16, (Haiti ’99 & ’00) is also returning. Alexus’ desire is to one day become a missionary to the Third World. Cvon (age 13) and Ebony (age 13) are new to our team this year.

KiKi, holding Jean Daniel (named by Colleen after Craig & Lynn Ann’s oldest son, Daniel) with Aslan graduate & current staff member, Melanie Edmond. Picture taken on July 27, 2000, in a mud hut in the small fishing village of Lasalle, Haiti. Jean Daniel died a few weeks after this photo was taken . . . .

Each year the money necessary for our trip to Haiti must be raised from special gifts and projects. We are currently ten thousand dollars away from the amount we need to fully fund the trip. If you would like to give a special gift toward this year’s trip in addition to your regular gift, please earmark it "Haiti Team 2001" at the bottom of your check. Above all, please pray for this year’s team members as we prepare our journey to Haiti in mid-August.

As you know, the ministry of Aslan could not exist without the generosity of people like you. When you plan your charitable giving, please remember us. With Aslan you can truly make a difference. You can help us change the world . . . one child at a time!

Sincerely in Christ,