Palanca

Palanca

“To give lift; to rise”

So many wonderful things happen in the world. Each and every day, in every corner of the globe, ordinary people undertake extraordinary tasks. Sometimes we see these people featured on a popular daytime talk show, or maybe a network news outlet picks up the story. Countless others go unrecognized; invisible faces sometimes doing immeasurable work, the benefits of which we may not know or even understand.  Celebrities give millions of dollars in aid money, and invariably walk away, satisfied with their high profile efforts and unwilling to be bothered by the subjective realities people face in this world. It’s the everyday people on the ground, those without recognition that make a tangible difference in the lives of those they serve.

In my four weeks at Be Like Brit, I have received countless emails, facebook posts, letters, phone calls and tweets commending me for the amazing, courageous work I am doing here in Haiti. While the sentiment is genuine, I feel sometimes as if it is unwarranted. I do this work because it is what I want to do. On many levels, I do this work for selfish reasons: It gives me a sense of purpose, and even the recognition I lament and dismiss in this very piece of writing is something that reaffirms my place in this world. I truly believe I am doing the kind of work I want to do forever, and it is exhilarating. Having stumbled for years, dare I say decades, I am where I want to be, and I am where I am supposed to be.

A very new but very dear friend recently spent some time with me here in Haiti. We were strangers when we met, but after two weeks together, we developed a bond that is somewhat indescribable; the kind of bond that develops in doing this kind of work. Authentic, genuine regard for one another is the foundation upon which this friendship is based.

This new friend shared something with me tonight and I felt compelled to pass it along. An email from her at around 9:00 this evening propelled me into a frenzy of thought and reflection, contemplation and consideration. She sent me a palanca: a letter of encouragement, meant to “give lift”, or raise one’s spirits. I received my first palanca this evening – which I appreciate so very, very much, and secretly hope to receive more of. My response to her email got me thinking, and so I felt compelled to blog about it – and even more compelled to share with you a small part of that reply. To my new friend whom I met in Haiti and adore with every ounce of my being, I wrote:

“It's funny when people express these well-wishes, don't you think? I mean, I am sure that you get plenty of your own Palancas when you are on your trips, and I am sure you likely brush them off as unnecessary or unwarranted - we're just here doing what we do because we love the work. At least that's how I feel about it. To me, this position at Be Like Brit was a gift. I am beyond honored, humbled, and so thankful to have been chosen as the program director here. I knew the experience was going to be awesome - and meeting people like you is just what my friends and I refer to as "gravy" - it's just extra - a perk - but it's what makes the experience so meaningful.”

“I don't doubt that I'll do good things here in Haiti, though I don't presume they are any better deeds than those that countless others do. I earn a salary, after all - and those missionaries who come and do it for free, doing the work that Christ Himself would be doing if he were on earth - well, I don't know how I measure up to that. The courage and the strength are not in people like me. They are in the people we serve. The people who manage to get up each and every morning and face a world of uncertainty and anxiety. The people who labor until their bones ache and their fingers bleed, just to take enough home to maybe feed their family the only meal they will eat that day. The children who laugh and smile even after enduring such horrendous loss and tragedy - the smiles that brighten my day and make me feel as though I have some purpose on this planet - as if somehow I were part of the plan all along - complete with my flaws, my shortcomings, my past mistakes, my faults. The three year old who clings to me so tight he leaves marks on my flesh yet moments later is all smiles and filled with joy and love and affection – as if somehow he’s forgotten that just two days ago he was brought to a strange place and left with strange people. Those are the courageous people - the ones who fight every day to make it to the next. Not me - no. Not the one who can retire to his room at night, crawl into his double bed with blankets and access clean water, food, and medicine. Not the one who doesn't have to worry about falling ill and being unable to purchase the very basics which might keep him healthy and alive. Not the one who could have a helicopter land on the roof of the earthquake-proof building and be ferried off to Miami in a moment’s notice to meet whatever needs I may have. That is not courageous.”


I thank my friend for her kind words, her palanca. Her palanca to me, the culmination of six or seven lines, prompted me to evaluate what it is that I am doing here. Through her palanca, I am able to say that I am in love with life for the first time in a very long time – and so her words have done far more than encourage my efforts. They have justified my being.






Thank you, SJ. And thanks for reading,

Jonathan