It all started out as a normal day in Haiti, if there really is such a thing. The team was working hard on rehabing a house that will be used for older girls getting ready to transition into life outside of the mission and things were going well.
My friend Colton and I were working on installing a new water pump that would pump water up onto the roof of the house and we needed a new ball valve to help prime the pump. Since I had lived in the area, I knew of a little hardware store we could grab one at and off we went.
You see a lot of things walking down the street in Haiti. There are street vendors cooking rice and beans, tap-taps picking people up and dropping them off, little shops selling hardware, barber shops, small household stores, etc. It can be a pretty neat experience and a good initiation into Haitian life.
As we were making our way to the hardware store we walked up on a small crowd of people gathered around a boy, who looked to be around 12 or 13 years old, laying on the sidewalk. My first thought was that he was dead. He was lying facedown in the dirt and trash, looked like he had been drug around and wasn’t moving.
One of the women began to explain to me that he was cut and had been beaten. She poked him and told him to look at me. He slowly repsonded and I saw that his right arm had been gashed to the bone, probably by a machete.
This kind of thing usually happens when someone is caught stealing. They are beaten and cut to help remind them not to do that again. If you try to help, the people who beat them will usually get mad at you. It was pretty clear no one was going to help him. They just wanted him to move on.
I asked the boy to get up and come with me. As he stood up Colton and I wrapped a shirt around his arm and asked him to hold it tight. He couldn’t because he had to hold his pants up which had been ripped during the beating. I asked the kid what his name was. “Jimmy” was his quiet response.
We walked with Jimmy to a nearby hospital on the street. When we arrived I remembered that the hospitals were all but closed down due to a strike and we were quickly turned away.
As we walked back up the street towards a small clinic, a young man looking for trouble approached us and began to try and tell me that he knew Jimmy and he would take care of him. I told him we were ok and he could move on. As he walked with us he got louder and at one point yelled at me.
There is a “fight or flight” response in all of us when we get into situations like this. My default is “fight”. It doesn’t always serve me well, but as I turned to the guy and yelled back at him, he left. I told Jimmy it was going to be ok and we made it safely the clinic.
The clinic was extremely small with two rooms. A waiting room and the office/exam room. We were greeted by a man who I assume was a Doctor who was able to stitch Jimmy’s arm back up and wrap it in a bandage.
As we settled with the Doctor and the pharmacy where we had to buy the sutures and guaze, I had the chance to tell Jimmy that Jesus loved him and that we cared about him.
His eyes were hollow and he was closed off from what I imagine were years surviving on his own. He broke my heart. I don’t know if I will ever see Jimmy again. I look for him
everytime I drive down that road hoping to have another chance to talk with him and share more about Jesus with him.
Asking you to pray for Jimmy is overwhelming. He needs so much. To be loved, to be taught and encouraged, to be a kid. I am praying that I will get to see Jimmy again. If I don’t get to in this life, then in the next. I am praying that he finds hope, love, and salvation in Jesus. Would you pray with me for Jimmy?
Maybe one day we will see him, but this time with hope in his eyes that only comes from knowing Jesus.
