Suddenly, with relentless determination, DeMarcus shredded the long list into little pieces.  How amazing that the incredible weight of those horrible and tormenting memories was outmatched by a forgiving heart.   “…Father, forgive him, for he knew not what he was doing.” Repeated DeMarcus, as I guided him through a forgiving prayer.  

“Now if these memories come back, they will simply be a reminder of what you have forgiven.”   I explained.   

“Yes’ir…” Responded DeMarcus, wiping streams of tears from his eyes.  On that day, he was given a new name: Ben Teskil (son of success).    I would later take that shredded list and toss it into the sea on our way to Haiti. 

  Another one of the many amazing moments we had with Pastor George, took place in prison.  Both he and Ben Teskil’s Grandfather have a prison ministry, so they invited me to go.

“Wa’sup!…” Greeted the men with a challenging stare as they entered the prison mess hall.   We men tend to have protective walls to mask our vulnerabilities, and in that cold and echoey prison mess hall, these walls appeared to have an unpenetrable thickness.

Pastor George spoke briefly the only way he seams to know how; with the kind of love that disarms every stronghold.   Then he introduced me.

I shared the story of my experience in Haiti, when we were staying at the house of a missionary woman who was in charge of a new orphanage property that had no children.  We on the other hand had children but no property.  Thus a merging of ministries would be a blessing. But then I shared how torn I was when I began to realize how terribly condescending and mean spirited she was toward the Haitian people.

“…can I have a word with you miss Debbie?” (I continued telling the story.)

“What is it?…” She replied as if she had no time for small talk.

“It’s the way people are being treated… My heart grieves.” I explained gently.

“Get to the point!… Tell me who’s treating you bad and I’ll deal with it so you can move on!…” She responded harshly.

“It’s not me, it’s the Haitians who are being treated badly, and the person treating them that way is you.”

At that she demanded we be thrown out on the street, in the middle of the night.  The large iron gate slammed shut behind us.   There we were, unable to speak the language, unable to find our way, and worst of all, we had no idea what on earth we were now going to do with our children who had two days to move out of their home.  We were devastated.  (I continued telling the story.)

  Someone recognized us and gave us a ride to the orphanage.   As we arrived, I could hear a faint cheer in the back ground.  It was the children; they were singing “we’ve got the victory… we’ve got the victory… we’ve got the victory…”  This was the song I taught them to sing when everything seems hopeless.

I tried to stop them… This was no time for cheering.   We had to pray and figure out what on earth we were going to do in two days when we would have to leave that place, and have nowhere else to go.   But they just wouldn’t stop cheering  “we’ve got the victory… we’ve got the victory… we’ve got the victory…” 

“What on earth am I suppose to do???” I cried desperately to G-d.

“You could join the children…” I felt Him say.

“Fine!!!” I was so upset and angry that I began jumping up and down yelling “we’ve got the victory…” In a sarcastic way… 

(By this time, everyone in that prison mess hall was on the edge of their seat. I continued telling the story…)

To be continued