A number of people from around The Times and Democrat Region have reached out to the country of Haiti on church mission trips throughout the years.

Back in June 2001, 12 members of United Methodist Volunteers In Mission from Orangeburg County helped build an eye clinic near Jeremie, Haiti, which later was enlarged to include dental and other medical services.

Eleven of the 12 volunteers were members of North United Methodist Church and one was a member of Limestone United Methodist near Wolfton.

Billy Robinson, one of the North UMC volunteers, said the 2001 trip to Haiti was the first mission trip for fellow volunteer Laura Gleaton of his church.

Gleaton was so moved by what she found in Haiti that she wrote a poem describing her experience. Her poem accompanies this story.

“This was her first mission, and you can tell from the poem how touched she was by what she saw and experienced,” Robinson said.

“I am sure that some of the same children and people she talks about in this poem were affected by the disaster (Tuesday’s devastating earthquake).”

The tragedy that has befallen the people of Haiti this week makes Laura Gleaton’s poem even more poignant.

The Call of a Distant Land

The people of this distant land had seemed so far away,

Their needs, their strife, their poverty ... “Not our problem,” I’d say.

“We have our own needy people, our hungry, our poor.”

“Why, they’re right here in our own backyard, Why should we take on more?”

But God had other plans for me. He was working on my heart.

He put me on a plane and made me listen from the start.

You see, my idea of poverty had been really misconstrued,

For here in this great land of ours, it’s a matter of asking ... and the hungry receive food.

But oh, how my eyes were opened to the ultimate despair.

These people whose whole lives are consumed with mere survival, how unfair ...

That they drink infested water, sometimes from puddles on the street.

They have few clothes; they have no shoes to wear upon their feet.

They swim and bathe amidst sludge and mud along with hogs and sow,

And why they were not all diseased I could only wonder how.

Day in, day out, they walk, they search, just trying to survive.

They try to sell their wares to those who’ll buy – to stay alive.

A simple shack they call their home, no electricity or plumbing,

With only the bare necessities, and no other resources coming.

The men, they toil, they labor, their sweat pouring from their brow,

To earn a wage ... mere dollars a week ... again, I wondered “How?”

The women struggle from dawn to dusk, their wash upon their head,

Journey to the rivers and streams, by donkeys they were led.

But the children, oh the children ... to see them told it all.

Their toys were rocks and animal bones, tattered cloth wrapped into a ball.

Some wore simple rags of old, some not a stitch in sight,

Their shoeless feet, their unkempt hair, told of their endless plight.

But yet, their eyes were not filled with tears, but with innocence and joy,

For a smile, or a hug, or a touch from us, would bring them so much joy.

And though not a word was understood between us, the language barrier in the way,

The language of love spoke loud and clear between us every day.

And I knew then what I was meant to see in this land so far from here,

A message that had eluded me was now so very clear,

That ‘cause even though these people lack things that we have come to know,

Their faith is strong; their love runs deep; they’re grateful to us so.

They had nothing, yet had it all, through God’s unconditional love.

From within shackled walls of worship, they praised Him up above.

We have so much, yet take for granted, things they’ll never know.

But God’s enabled us to reach out beyond our comfort zone.

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