Sophonie
The name reminds me of Persephone, the almost tragic figure
of Greek mythology.
Beautiful, beloved daughter of Zeus and Demeter, Persephone
is one day seized by Hades and spirited away to the Underworld, away from the
sun and flowers in which she once frolicked.
She’s only a young girl when Hades abducts her, and her
mother is furious. Demeter curses the earth in protest, freezing the fields and
ceasing growth. Zeus intercedes but Hades has tricked Persephone. She’s bound
to him for one third of the year, having eaten devious pomegranate seeds Hades
presented her.
Persephone’s redemption is in the Spring. Hades compromises with her return to the surface for eight months of the year.
So after four months of barren freeze, she’s released for
the season of birth, of growth, and of hope.
Like the ill-fated Pandora, Persephone retains Hope.
The Sophonie I recently met is young. She’s 19 years old and
the fourth child of eight siblings.
Papa is a carpenter and Mama stays at home with the younger
children.
There’s not much money in the household. There are many
mouths to feed. Many school uniforms and books to purchase.
If the family fares as many do in this country, they live in
very close quarters and food is not a guarantee.
Sophonie is in her ultimate year of school. She hopes to
attend university.
She’s the oldest child living at home and, naturally, helps
provide.
She learned to crochet.
With the help of her friend Myrline, who learned crocheting
from her American sponsor mother, and her thrifty mother, Sophonie undertook
the art and can now create with yarn.
She makes bags.
Before I left Ti Goave in December, Myrline (Mee-lynn), an
eighteen year old housemate, presented me a plastic shopping bag folded with
crocheted bags in varying sizes and hues. I was impressed with the difference in
design and shape, and the strength of the flexible yarn.
Myrline dictated prices based upon size, and I nodded,
saying I would do my best to sell them, and hating the thought.
I’ve never been a salesperson. Never been a bargainer, a
haggler, or an ads rep.
Browsing in a store without purchasing something fills me
with guilt. Negotiating prices, even those which are meant to be talked down,
makes me highly uncomfortable.
The few times I’ve had to stand behind a table presenting
wares, at yard sales or craft fairs or raffles, I’ve squirmed in my skin and
held no expectation of purchases.
(This obviously makes it more challenging to fundraise, to
seek support for the school and myself as a full-time missionary.)
However, Myrline asked me to take the bags, and said there
was no problem if they didn’t sell immediately, but that I could leave them
with my mother when I returned to Haiti.
The bags made only one appearance in the two weeks I was Stateside.
I remembered to pick them up January 1 before we left for church where I was
sharing about the ministry.
A kind church member helped me spread some of them over the
table in front of the poster overlapped with photos of Haiti. She then overpaid
for one, bold crimson and white, saying it was fit for a young lady.
As folks asked about the bags I pointed to Myrline in the
group family photo, appearing as a tentatively smiling slim figure in a black
dress. I said Myrline had made them and was selling them to help herself out.
This I thought to be true.
Upon returning to Haiti I learned otherwise.
Yes, Myrline can crochet.
But she didn’t make these bags, and the money was not for
her.
“Not for me,” was the first I heard of it, as I gave her the
envelope of advanced money. “For my friend.”
“Oh?” I asked, adding a check to the mental list of
incorrect preconceptions. Then I told Myrline I’d like her to tell me about
this friend.
The other night I met Sophonie in person.
We attend the same church.
Sophonie is not tall, not grand, not loud or gregarious.
Possibly she is more bold when not around a blan, but I saw
in her a gentle person.
The most notable aspect of her unassuming presence is her
smile. It is bold, it is grand, it is sincere. It is wide and free under her
sparkling black eyes.
“She has joy,” Myrline told me before. “She is happy.”
Life is hard for Sophonie. I don’t need Myrline to tell me
that.
Life is hard in Haiti. Even the well-off face difficult
scholastic standards, competition, lack of medical care and an extremely
uncertain future.
Survival is dependent upon Jesus.
As is Joy.
Sophonie has eight brothers and sisters. She is the oldest
one living at home. Her mother depends on her to help the household.
She’s obligated to study long hours to prepare for her
Philo, 13th grade, national exam. She surely has to clean and cook
and tote water. She must wash her laundry and that of her younger siblings. She
gets up in the dark and awaits electricity that often doesn’t come. She has no
guarantee of….anything.
Sophonie is hopeful. Sophonie is joyful. She has a content
heart.
She also has talented fingers and an eye for design.
Maybe you don’t need a crocheted purse. That’s okay.
But at least consider Sophonie’s perspective.
She’s 19 years old and is yoked to a life of hardship and
uncertainty, already shouldering responsibilities unfaced by many of today’s
older millennials.
Remember the not-tragic Sophonie—a young lady with hope who
lives like it’s always spring.
Rejoice in the LORD always. I will say it again: Rejoice!
~Philippians 4:4
Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working
for the Lord, not for men, since you know you will receive an inheritance from
the Lord as a reward. ~Colossians 3:23-24
Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long
in the land the LORD your God is giving you. ~Exodus 20:12
