Posts tagged Haiti


This morning early Phil and I got on our knees and asked God to give us what we did not have: wisdom, insight, understanding of a culture so different than our own.

We told our Father what He already knew— that this task He has assigned for us— to inspire and teach and encourage and exhort the leaders in Haiti, is beyond our ability.

And as Phil prayed, I wondered… what am I doing here? 

Nothing about this assignment fits who I am. 

I’m a home-body— not an adventurous bone in my body.

I don’t like heat or sweating or dirt or bugs— all of which thrive in Haiti.

And my nose works far too well for this land where running water is scarce and sewage runs open down the streets.

In our harrowing car ride from Port au Prince to Carafour I tried to avoid looking out the open window because when I did, the chaotic, devil-may-dare driving seemed surreal. That and the men with machine guns standing in the middle of intersections.

The strangest thing is that I’ve never once felt afraid.

Me— the one who double-checks the locks in my perfectly safe suburban house.

Add to all that my introverted shyness, my aversion to the limelight, and you know why I asked God, “What are You thinking? I think you’ve got the wrong woman here…” 

And yet, here in this land so far from the familiar, I feel myself turn into a different woman.

Bugs don’t bother me in the least.

The heat feels fine even as sweat drips down my legs and melts the make-up right off my face.

And here I’m not shy.

I am Pastor Diane Carole Comer to these Haitian women.

We are not different— we think and laugh and hurt and fail in all the same ways.

These are my sisters. I am one of them.

This morning I told them things my own kids have never known about me. I told stories of my failures and my discoveries and my joys and deep regrets. We know each other. Kindred spirits who wear our skin a different shade.

And that is exactly why I am here.

Not because I like this place. Not because of the weather or the safety or how comfortable I am or am not.

I am here because something in my story resonates with something in their stories and we share the same Father who is writing something magnificent and magical and mystical in each of us.

And maybe this whole story fits together in some way. Maybe I can’t understand mine until I hear theirs.

Maybe hearing that I hurt helps these women who have suffered so terribly and so often to hurt a little less.

And maybe you need to tell someone your story.

Because maybe someone needs to hear your story in order to make sense of theirs.

And maybe we all need each other’s stories so that we can understand the mystery God is writing at this time in his-story.

A lot of maybe’s…

From my heart,


P.S. Thank-you, dear friends, for praying for me while I am here.

I am sticky, sweaty, dirty, uncomfortable and having the time of my life!


Haiti Here We Come


In just five days Phil and I will board a plane for Haiti.

We're going together for the first time, an adventure for just the two of us. Once there we'll have the joy of dedicating a building at Grace Village which Solid Rock paid for, then we'll head back across town for the real reason we're there.

One thousand Haitian pastors and leaders and their wives will gather to be encouraged and taught-- and we get to do the teaching! I am more than a little humbled-- why us? Why me?

Aren't I still just the shy fear-prone one? The one who stumbles over words and gets so scared she can't choke it out?

Or maybe that the me I used to be and now I'm the woman who loves women and loves the Redeemer and is different than I'd ever thought I'd be. Maybe He's changed me and I've hardly noticed those changes.

Or maybe that is how I really am and He takes over in magnificent ways when I tell Him I can't and I believe He can.

Either way, I'm going. Fear prone but not fear defeated. All my weakness and all His strength.

Will you pray for me? For us?

On Wednesday, January 23 and Thursday, January 24, we are each teaching a total of 6 times. Phil will speak to the men twice and I'll get to share with the women both times too. Then we'll do a session together about Ten Things To Teach Your Children.We're going as a part of the Luis Palau Team. Andrew Palau is bringing a Festival to Haiti in March and this is their way of gathering the pastors in order to enrich the Church.

My interpreter is a trusted friend, Madame Doris Juene. She's one of those rare "kindred spirits" and I fully trust her to make up for any cultural mistakes I might make! Sister Doris and I share the same heart for the women and her grand humor and godliness always strengthens me as only one of God's chosen servant's can. I pray that I can give back to her in per portion as she gives to me.

I love knowing that you will pray! I love knowing that God delights in answering your prayers!

And I'll try to post from Haiti too. And Instagram and tweet and Facebook and all that. But power and internet are spotty there so if I'm silent, just pray. Please.

Serving Him in His strength and with your prayers,



My goals is that they will be encouraged and knit together by strong ties of love.  
Colossians 2:2
Twenty-one months ago a group of women from Solid Rock set out together for Haiti.
While there we did life together in the grimmest of circumstances. And we found both friendship and joy in the midst of all that devastation.
Our hearts were knit together in ways I'd never experienced before with women-- ever. And those ties remain all these months later. In fact, we've been calling each other "The Sista's" ever since, our need for this kind of sisterhood connection transcending ages, stages of life, interests, anxieties.
This week a few of us met for a picnic. I thought I'd stay and hour and get back to work. I stayed 2 1/2 hours, cramming in last minute talk right up to the parking lot and last round of hugs. Once again I found courage with these women. They believe in me, want the best in and for me. We champion each other's dreams and as you'll read in this story, even clean each other's bathrooms…
From my heart,

Then he said to them, “Whoever welcomes this little child in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. For he who is least among you all—he is the greatest.”

Luke 9:48


Sometimes you just know you are in the presence of greatness.

When Bishop Juene and my dear sister, Doris walked into my home on Sunday night, I felt it.

Something more foreign than their Haitian heritage, lovelier than the Creole lilt to their flawless English.

A sort of strength. A beauty. A humble dignity that could be felt.

When they sank weary from a long day of ministry into their places at our table, instead of sighing, they delighted in the spread.

My friend Jodi had delivered the perfect feast on a cold and rainy Northwest night: thick soup, hearty breads, creamy cheeses… and raspberries! Where do raspberries grow in the middle of winter?

Dinner among friends.

Laughter echoed loud. Madame Doris chuckles with her whole body, weaving in a sort of dance of delight. The dignified Bishop shakes his suit-clad shoulders, his face filled with the joy.

When finally the talk grew quiet, my always-alert husband asked, “Now… how are you? Are your needs being met? How can we help?"

And that’s when I learned that these magnificent servants of the Most High God, these two people,

…who are revered in all of Haiti,

…whose work impacts thousands,

…who have saved who-knows-how-many from death and despair,

…who welcomed 20,000 helpless Haitians onto their property immediately after the earthquake, setting up water and food distribution and shelter,

…have never owned a home of their own.

They live with their 30 or so adopted girls, claiming one small room for themselves.

Everything they do, everything they have, every moment of their lives, is devoted to serving God by saving His children.

And I sat at that table, my shoulder rubbing against her greatness, and saw all that I have.

A beautiful home.

A place to welcome friends.

A place to hide from all the world and rest a while.

Madame Doris dreams of a home of her own where she can welcome her own two boys and their wives and a growing passel of grandchildren. The family she dreamed of when growing up in an orphanage without parents of her own.

A place to be Mom and Dad… and grandma and pops…for just a little while.

And I wish I could give it to her. And maybe I can… but I don’t know how… but He does.

And so when we huddled close to pray, I asked.

For them. For her.

Someday, Father… please?

From my heart,