HAITI is such a strong word

Recently, I was reading an awesome story of a woman missionary/doctor in Haiti. In her powerful story she describes a young 16 year old boy, on the other side of a chain-link fence, trying to get all the American ladies' attention. One of the doctors, Dr. Jen. had been refusing his advances to take a love note from him, but this woman decided to take the note. Here's the story in her words:

"Angelina..." he called suddenly, in my direction. I was cynically flattered. I chose not to be, in any way, overtly peeved by his insultingly conniving, wishywashy, two-timing, less than monogamous intentions. I was impressed by the bold sixteen-year-old confidence that allowed him to turn his attention to me...despite the fact that I had just witnessed his impassioned, enamoured plea to the woman two feet to my left. He'd remembered my pseudonym-- Angelina Jolie; that scored him a few points. And, yes, perhaps lost a few points for the absence of subtlety and sincerity. But still, his score was in the black.

He raised his eyebrows and smiled sweetly now in my direction, imploringly, impassioned. He again tried to push the rolled up piece of paper through the mesh. This time, in my direction.

I raised a cynical eyebrow in return.

"For me?" I asked, with a smirk. Then, flatly, "I'm honored."
"Angelina...." he whispered. "I love you."

I laughed at him. He shoved the piece of paper further through the mesh, wiggling it slightly, urging me to take it. Finally, I grabbed it, and held it like a contaminated cigarette.

"For me?" I asked, amused. He nodded earnestly, eagerly. I turned to Dr. Jen. "See, now it's mine. Too bad for you."

I unrolled the paper with an air of sarcastic dubiousness, but as I read, I was taken aback. This was no quickly scribbled love note. This was, in fact, a manifesto. Not a spontaneous appeal. Not a childlike whim. No, this was, in that moment, an entrancing literary wonder. A blue inked seduction. Obviously planned for quite some time...with no particular audience in mind. Cleverly entitled, "Cherie..." (translation: "My dear...") to enable it to be shared with no particular woman...or, as in this case, passed around, until some poor sucker finally bit. I imagined this young man sitting intently with a Creole-to-English dictionary, a ball point pen and small notebook on his lap in his darkened cinderblock room in the slums, spending hours carefully penning this note. When had he written this? What had been his plan? How long had he had it, rolled up in his pocket. And, at exactly what point had he said, "I will write a love note in English, and hand it to every English speaking woman I meet, until, at some point, I succeed in my quest."

I read the note and smiled, definitely impressed. "That's great," I said. "That's really great." I attempted to hand the note back.

"No," he said, refusing its return. He gestured for me to keep it. "I love you," he said, in English.

"No," I replied, amused, trying to push it back through the mesh. "You don't love me."

He grinned, refusing to take it. I smiled, still gripping the end of the rolled up note.

"Well, okay," I said, and stuck the paper into my shirt pocket. "Merci. I'll keep this."

I smiled to myself, then turned back to my dressing change. He smiled back, completely insincere in his flirtatious, boyish grin. But sweet. And endearing. And completely non-threatening. An A+ for effort. A hilarious, sweet, amusing memory. Of innocence. And youth. Of boyish courageous charm. And love. And hope. And the wonder that it represents -- that this neighborhood is healing. That thoughts are turning, from sadness and devastation and loss, to flirtatious moments of happiness. Healing.

I suspiciously wonder how many copies of this scroll he carries, and in how many languages. But, for today, on our last day in this slum, it is a symbol for me of something sweet and innocent and kind and beautiful and welcoming that is the people of (Haiti) Cite Soleil. Our people. Our patients. This community of challenged, impoverished yet not poor, strong, driven survivors.

So, here's to all you potential suitors out there. Take note...of how you might effectively court a woman... if you're trying get a woman's attention, and get her to pause and take note...here's how it's done:

"Cheri, Darling. You thrilling me. You give me goose bumps. You're driving me crazy. I fall in love you. I'm boun to love you. You really I need. I want to be with you. I want to be you sweet. Call you beautiful. I've a place deep on my heart for you. I think with you everitime you always on my mind baby. When I look at you I see the sun shining on your face. Please don't make me suffer. Im head over heel since I met you."


This blog, which can be found here, really touched me.

I've been to Haiti three times. I've adopted two girls from Haiti. I love Haiti. Now that the "earthquake" is "yesterday's news"... it's easy for Haiti to slip our minds. May we all remember that there are still millions of people who need to be loved... practically - not only in Haiti, but all over this world.

May you and I be known for our sincere love for God... absolutely. But may we also be known for our deep love for others.

Today... LOVE.

When I look at you, I see the sun shining on your face.
I'm boun' to love you.
I've a place deep on my heart for you...too.