Saturday, November 11, 2017
The Port au Prince mountains of my heart rise in welcome as we softly land with an almost imperceptible bounce. This marks my eighth visit to Haiti and yet visions of my post earthquake arrival crowd my mind; that landing was a bone chilling abrupt eyeopener. It is a different welcome today, save for the mountains. We are greeted by the lively music of the caribbean accordion and drums. If Philip were here we would be dancing. My toes start tapping as we negotiate customs and glide through the modernized terminal, unhindered.
Soon we are out into the humid warm air, walking the gauntlet of the usual Haitian welcome wagon lining each side of our path to the van.
Our journey takes us north two hours and we pass Mission of Hope and the towns where we served last year. The silver grey ocean is to our left as fingers of pale color stretch across it giving the sun permission to descend to its rest. Two hours later, the lush greenness of our mountain hideaway guest house near St. Marc rises from the dusty street of Route One. It is a beautiful white washed set of buildings with pointed turrets and balconies overlooking the palms and bougainvillea. I am enfolded in its sweetness and find my own rest.
Tripping with God: Stories of Faith and Inspiration 