[title subtitle=”story: Corey Woodard | images: courtesy Corey Woodard”][/title]
Growing up in Lamar, Arkansas, the only living I knew was small town living. I had the kind of life where you knew everyone that you went to high school with, their parents, and their birthdays. I loved my Southern roots. I grew up comfortable and had a loving family and great friends. I planned on going to college at the University of Arkansas Fort Smith, getting a degree in English, and becoming a baseball coach. It was the American Dream, and I wanted to be the poster boy for it. It wasn’t until my sophomore year of chasing American idealism that I realized that there was more to life than me. I was in for a very rude yet, beautiful awakening that would change my world and perspective forever.
It all started with a man named John Schaffner. He was the director of the University of Arkansas Fort Smith Baptist Collegiate Ministries (UAFS BCM) when I started college, and I got to know him over the course of my freshman year. As we developed a close friendship, I learned from John what it meant to be a man in pursuit of the heart of Christ.
One afternoon during the summer between my freshman and sophomore year, I received an invitation from John to take a week-long trip to Leogane, Haiti with the UAFS BCM. My initial reaction was to pretend to give some serious thought to the matter, but have no real intentions of going. Not only was Haiti considered one of the poorest countries in the Western Hemisphere, but it also had fallen victim to a 7.0 magnitude earthquake a year and a half earlier that sent the already unstable third world country into an even deeper state of hopelessness. It was dangerous; it was risky; it was reckless. But as my head resisted, my heart grew closer to Haiti. I began to research the country. Eventually, I caved. I knew that I needed to go. I didn’t know what I could do, or how I was going to do it, but I felt what I believe to be God’s call to Leogane.
Five months later, as I boarded my first plane out of Bentonville, Arkansas, all I could think about was my mother’s worried face as I walked through security and out of her reach. I had my typhoid shots, malaria pills, clothes, extra food for the flights, and was ready to go. But where I saw adventure, she saw a potential for disaster, as any caring mother would.
When we landed in Port Au Prince after roughly twelve hours of travel time, my heart raced with fear and excitement. I looked around in astonishment. It was just like the magazines and websites had portrayed, only worse. Had I not known better, I would have thought the deadly earthquake had happened the day before instead of a year and a half earlier. Tent cities stretched for miles along with crumbled buildings that served as makeshift housing for millions of homeless Haitians. Trash overflowed in the rivers and creeks while children rummaged through it. This place actually existed. These were real people living in a real life situation that had real problems and heartaches. The thing that is so convenient about a magazine is that you can turn the page and look away. I didn’t have that option. I was in the middle of it, forced to look desperation in the face. I prayed for guidance and a way to show these people God’s love.
Over the next couple of days we completed miscellaneous projects throughout Leogane. It wasn’t until our third day there that I found my heart in Haiti.
Three of us were going door-to-door doing street evangelism. It was my first time doing such a thing, and I failed miserably. I came back to our compound defeated. How was God going to use me if I couldn’t even do this simple task? I stayed down the rest of the afternoon. Around five in the afternoon we loaded up our vehicles to take our group to a nearby orphanage. I didn’t care. I wanted to keep beating myself up about what had happened earlier.
When we pulled past the cement walls that surrounded the orphanage, the first thing we saw were forty tiny feet running our way. The car doors barely opened before little Haitian hands wanting our attention, latched on to us. I had never seen anything like it. Every child just wanted to be loved. I began to realize what I had taken for granted back home. Growing up, I had a mother and father who tucked me in at night. I got three meals a day, maybe more if I wanted it. My closet was full of clothes, and I had the privilege of receiving a formal education. And for the first time in my life, I met children who had none of that. They were lucky to get one meal a day that consisted of cornmeal and water. They had a headmaster, a man named Jean-Claude, who told them when to go to sleep instead of tucking them into a bed. And I think, for me, the hardest part, was knowing that someone wasn’t there every day to tell them that they were loved; to tell them that they mattered. So when I became privileged enough to spend time with them, I wanted to make every second count. As the time sped by, I fell in love. These children, despite the position they had been given in life, were some of the happiest kids I had ever met. Their eyes weren’t glued to an iPhone, or the latest video game. We played tag and soccer for hours in hopes of, if even for the small time we had, letting the kids in this orphanage know they did matter to someone and that someone did love them.
As we left, sweaty and tired, I knew that this would not be the last time I would see these children. And it wasn’t. Exactly one year later I returned. One of the greatest joys when I came back was seeing one of the children recognize me immediately, despite the passing of time.
All in all, I’ve been able to go to Haiti four times in the past year and a half with the UAFS BCM. If I’ve learned one thing from my travels it’s this: true love, that’s unconditional, is the greatest gift to humanity. It goes beyond every barrier, including language. Love endures all things. 1 Corinthians 13:13 “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”
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To learn more about the University of Arkansas Fort Smith’s Baptist Collegiate Ministries, look them up on Facebook, or call Corey Woodard at 479.214.1032 or Susie Thompson at 479.597.8263