The story behind my scar is a story I myself don’t remember but it’s one that I know how to retell. I was just 18 months old when it happened. My mom was ironing but took a break to answer the phone just outside the laundry room door. I ran past her and headed for the ironing board to do a quick work out, I suppose. The location I chose to do my pull ups was not the most ideal. The iron fell on my little hand before my mom could stop me. I can’t recall the pain from the burn of the iron nor can I recall the agony that came for weeks after during the healing process. A process that involved me going into a trace or a different state, as my parents say, whenever they had to change the dressings on my little hand. Other than the scar that has remained, I have no memory of what happened so long ago.
But now there is one memory because of my scar that will never leave me. This memory, while I didn’t know it at the time, has led me to where I am today and why I have started this blog.
January 4th was my 2nd to last day in Haiti and only 8 days before the the earthquake. My team traveled to an orphanage in Leogane and experienced much more than our eyes and hearts were prepared for. There was a darkness there that pierced all of our hearts that I cannot explain. I did my best to hide the heartache that came crashing in even though what seemed natural was to stand still and cry. God’s strength is what got me through that day and what led me to meet the most precious girl, Daflooz.
By this point I had learned a little Creole after being in Haiti already a week. I knew some phrases and words that allowed me the chance to “talk” or probably mostly point to get by. I had already met Daflooz by the time I started talking to this one group of girls but never would have known I shared something with her if it wasn’t for those girls being fascinated with my white skin.
As they were holding my hands and touching my white skin they noticed the scar on my left hand. Immediately they started yelling “Boule! Boule! Boule!” It took me a minute to register what they were yelling because there was some other stuff I didn’t recognize. Then it hit me.
Now a little Creole lesson for you of what exactly went through my head:
“Sak Passe” means “What’s Up?”
“Map Boule” is a popular response that means “I’m burning” which is similar to when Americans say “I’m chillin”.
Sooo “Boule” must mean “Burn”
Back to the story now... The girls were yelling “Burn! Burn! Burn!” while trying to tell Daflooz to come over. For a second I had no idea what was going on and why me having a burn scar on my hand mattered. Then I remember looking over to Daflooz who had this irritated look on her face that slowly disappeared once the girls made it obvious they were talking about my burn... not hers. She came over to see my burn and then timidly showed me hers. Her face lit up like I can’t even tell you. And my heart flooded with joy because at that moment I knew I had that scar for a reason.
Unfortunately it wasn’t the only burn that marred her skin. And it pains me to think that she is not like me and does remember her story. I wish I knew how it happened. If there was anyone to take care of her when it happened. And was it by accident or on purpose. These things I may never know and really I hope its something she doesn’t know either. I hope she’s like me in that I have a scar on my hand and if wasn’t for my parents I would have no idea how it got there.
Every time I look down at my hand I am reminded of Daflooz. The day I met her, I wondered if I would ever see her again and when the earthquake hit I was afraid I got my answer especially once I discovered the epicenter was in Leogane. But I did get to see Daflooz again when I went back to Haiti this past June! I can’t tell you how beyond excited we both were when we saw each other. It still makes my heart well up with joy thinking of that moment when she came running to me yelling my name after 6 long months of not knowing if we’d see each again.
I no longer think of my burn as something ugly and embarrassing. I think of Daflooz and of Haiti and of beauty and of the design God had for my life long before I ever knew Him.
