Bright Eyes and Smiles
November 2003
Her name is Manette. She is a 21 year
old Haitian woman. At our first meeting,
she was nine years old and living
in poverty. I went to Haiti in 1991
to serve with others from my church
in missionary efforts to share the
gospel to the Haitian people and help
to construct a dormitory building
there. I thought that I would leave
that two week trip having helped others
but I was the one who was helped and
taught. My teacher: a nine year old
Haitian girl named Manette.
Each day of my trip brought new adventures
as we combined mortar and clay to
form the bricks that would be used
to construct the small orphanage by
day. We taught Bible studies at night
and made friends with the natives.
I was enthralled with those people
and with their lifestyle. My friends
and I were saddened and even alarmed
by what we saw and the conditions
that we ourselves were asked to live
in. Although the missions organization
that accommodated our trip tried to
institute some of our American traditions
to make us as comfortable as possible,
we still had to use the roach filled
out-house, take a shower with cold
water that came out of the waist high
faucet in a single stream, and sleep
on a tough mattress in a bunk bed.
Each morning we would wake up to the
sound of children playing and Manette
was one of those children. This playful,
happy, giggling bunch were the same
ones who would stay around the doorway
at dinnertime, stomachs growling,
watching us eat a plentiful meal and
hoping for just a little taste. When
the sun soared above the horizon each
day, Manette and the others would
dance around the building where the
Americans stayed and wait for us to
come out to play. When they saw my
figure come from behind the doorway,
they would all run in my directions,
their white teeth gleaming against
the backdrop of their dark skin. Their
clothes were tattered and torn; their
hair, unkept and unruly; their stomachs
empty and starved; some of their parents . . .dead. From every angle it would seem
that their lives were broken, but
their spirits, somehow, someway were very much still in tact. What
struck me and stayed with me about
this young girl named Manette was
her unbreakable peace-filled spirit--her ability to play in the doorway
of our dormitory every morning with
those bright unforgettable eyes and
gleaming smile in the midst of tragic
circumstance. This little Haitian
girl caused an American teenager to
take a closer look at herself. And
when I looked into the mirror of her
eyes, I saw myself clearly as if for
the first time and I didn't like what
I saw. I immediately recognized my
sin of discontentment and my lack
of real peace. I easily remembered
every begrudging comment about our
rooms and showers and outhouses. I
remembered how I had complained about
the seat I had been given on the plane,
the length of the flight to Haiti,
and even the shots that I had to take
to be eligible for the trip. When
I looked into the mirror of her smile,
I saw the many times I had frowned
because the food wasn't cooked just
the way I liked it, or the lemonade
was too tart instead of sweet. I saw
the times I had forgotten to say my
grace to thank the Creator for my
meal and just plunged in instead.
I remembered how my roommate and I
had scowled out our accommodations
when we saw the roaches darting from
underneath our bed. But, she smiled .
. .as bright as the noon sun and even
warmer. With no real bed to sleep
in, still she smiled. With no knowledge
of where her next meal would come
from, she smiled. While I complained
about the length of my flight, she
smiled, knowing full well that she
could probably never have the luxury
of leaving Haiti at all. Had I ever
smiled so brightly or so often? How
could she, in the midst of her circumstance
still look at me with those gleaming
reflective eyes and that incredible
tell-tale smile?
At nine years old, the student taught
the teacher that bright eyes and smiles
cannot be allowed to be controlled
by the external circumstances of life
but rather by the internal happenings
of a peace-filled spirit. She taught
me that I had mistaken the temporary
and saccharin satisfaction of material
things for peace that only comes from
a wealthy spirit. My teacher taught
me that bright eyes and smiles come
from a heart that has discovered the
true source of peace. Does it come
from an abundance of material things?
Evidently not, Manette had nothing
to claim as her own. Can it be found
in a freezer stocked with food? Most
likely not, since Manette had no idea
where her next meal would come from.
Is peace found in having a beautifully
decorated home? Can't be, Manette
lived in poverty. Then where is peace
to be found? How can you and I, the
pampered Americans who think we have
everything to offer others, find the
true wealth that they have already
discovered. The answer is found in
John 16:33. Jesus says, ". .
.in me you may have peace". It
seemed that those Haitian children
had discovered how to hide themselves
"in him".
I had no contact with Manette over
the 12 years since we left Haiti.
I didn't know if she was alive or
if the poverty of her circumstances
had claimed her life. Yet, recently,
I received an email from a woman with
the mission's organization that partnered
with us in Haiti. She sent me a picture.
As the dusty recesses of my mind began
to clear and the memory that fades
over 12 years became refreshed, I
saw Manette. There were two things
that I immediately noticed about this
now, 21 year old woman: bright eyes
and a radiant smile emanating from
what her last letter to me called
a, "great deal of pleasure in
my heart."
You and I would do good to remember
that our pleasure, peace, and joy cannot
and should not be found in the things
of this world, but only, in our heart
and spirit and only when, like Manette,
we hide ourselves "in Him."
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