Soft, lullaby-ish singing.
I saw the Momma giving her boy a bath.
He stood on a 2x2 foot concrete slab in the middle of a mud and gravel yard. She had a large bucket filled with water and was dipping out smaller bowl fulls of water and pouring it over his head. Soaping up his body in between. Then pouring more water over his head to rinse.
She was looking at him and singing to him.
He was smiling and enjoying his bath like any small child.
As I stood there and watched I was struck by the beauty of the scene before me. A momma and her little boy sharing a bath that while certainly aren't up to my American standards of bathing conditions, was filled with love and gentleness.
I'll admit, when we first arrived, I looked at their living conditions with...pity.
But now, after living with them, I'm not seeing just the conditions...I'm seeing them.
Devoid of pity.
I'm seeing the enviable community they are surrounded by.
I'm seeing the assistance given to the elderly man walking down the road from a stranger.
I'm hearing the singing as laundry is hand scrubbed and line dried.
I'm seeing the joy found in simple stick and rock toys.
And I'm seeing a Momma giving her little boy a bath. Maybe not in the same conditions I bathe my children in, but certainly with the same amount of love and care.
Yes, life in Haiti is hard. And conditions are not always good.
But it isn't just hard. There is joy and beauty.
The longer I live here the more I realize how much I need to remove myself of my American mindset of "what they need" to the human level of what we ALL need...
to be looked at with dignity and worth,
and to know the deep life-changing love of the Savior.
A Savior who doesn't look at us with pity, but mercifully, thankfully, and overwhelmingly sees the beauty beyond our own brokenness.