Hope Beneath Our Feet_ Restoring Our Place in the Natural World - Martin Keogh [113]
“This is where the outdoor cafeteria will be, a large space for the food program to be served. Hundreds of children will be able to sit down at once.” His eyes smiled and his voice was convincing.
“An outdoor cafeteria?” I said confused. He nodded. “With a roof and sturdy tables and benches for the children and a concrete floor so they don’t hurt themselves walking on the rocks and glass.” He led me around the corner and pointed to the back of the building. “Right here is where the new kitchen will go. With running water and a big stove to cook food so we can serve meals to the children during the week.”
I squinted in the sunlight, trying to imagine the new kitchen and the possibility of more days of food. He continued with a big smile. “Over here is where the school will go.” He pointed to the empty half-acre lot to the left of the rectory. “With a daily lunch, and a library and health clinic.”
“And over there,” he spun around and pointed to the road leading to the rectory, “I see the roads paved. No more roads that wash away every time it rains. No more struggling up the hill.” Then he turned slowly in a circle, pointing to the homes surrounding us. “Margaret, I see all the children fed and their parents working. Everyone has enough food to eat and electricity and running water.”
I looked with him into the neighborhood, past the piles of garbage and the dark interiors of the dilapidated homes trying to see the vision he saw. But I couldn’t. The bleak reality of the neighborhood was overwhelming. So I shut my eyes. Standing in the middle of the empty lot, I tilted my head back. The sun burned my cheeks as I tried to imagine a school next to the rectory. After a few seconds, it began to take shape in my mind’s eye. It was three stories high with bright blue, orange, and yellow paint. Happy colors. I imagined a bell ringing and dozens of children skipping through the gate with books in their arms. They chatted and laughed as they went to their classrooms and sat behind new desks. Teachers greeted them and lessons began.
We stood in silence for a minute and then he continued, “We have a Creole saying I want to teach you. ‘Piti piti n a rive’. That means little by little we will arrive. One step at a time, Margaret. In Haiti, sometimes they are very, very small steps. Sometimes they go backwards. But it’s important to keep taking steps, even though they are small. Never give up. Never lose hope. One day, maybe not during my lifetime, but one day, we will get there.”
Over the last seven years as our food program has grown, that July afternoon with Father Gerry continues to remind me of how important it is to have a big, inspiring vision and then to break it down into small steps. Sometimes I can get lost in the vision and forget that to get there requires action and a lot of patience. Other times I can get stuck in the action and forget the vision that’s needed to inspire me to keep going. A healthy balance of the two is the key for me. So far, my work with Father Gerry and the What If? Foundation has not resulted in the vision he described—but we’re headed in that direction—piti piti. We’re up to five meals per week for nearly one thousand children. We haven’t built that school, but the foundation pays the tuition for one hundred children to attend other neighborhood schools.
I remember my high school physics teacher saying in class one day that when a fly lands on a steel beam, the beam bends. It’s hard for me to believe that something so light has an impact on the beam. But it does. And so does each step we take towards a vision of a peaceful, healthy planet. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the magnitude of the problems we face right now—from hunger to war to global warming—and to question whether the little things we do make a difference. But when I get discouraged and wonder if we’re making