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August 26, 2005
posted by David Meigs at 8/26/2005 05:36:00 PM
From cover to cover, the bible is filled with example after example of God transforming disaster into something glorious. The Apostle Paul was wrongfully imprisoned, but because of it, he testified before Caesar. Joseph’s rat-bag brothers sold him into slavery, and because of it, Israel grew into a mighty nation.

Marc Honorat was born the son of a voodoo priest, and became a slave child at five years old. What the devil meant to destroy Marc, the Lord will use to defeat the poverty, hopelessness and demonic oppression of a nation. From the ashes of a broken people, God will cause Haiti to arise and shine for His glory.

After nearly seven years of hellish existence, young Marc was rescued from slavery. One of his brothers heard the stories of his abuse and came to investigate. When he saw how his little brother suffered, he took him away and placed him in an orphanage. While life in the orphanage was not easy, anything was preferable to the hell of his former mistress. At least he was given basic clothing and food.

Education is not free in Haiti. If a child attends school, someone must pay for it. Marc’s prayers were answered when the Lord put it on someone’s heart to sponsor Marc’s education. He poured his heart into his studies. Despite missing the first six years of school, he graduated high school on time.

Marc felt God’s call to ministry. He prayed that the Lord would open the doors to attend bible school on the neighboring island of Jamaica. God provided yet another miracle and a sponsor came forward to pay for his continued education. It was there at Bible school that he met Lisa. It was love at first sight. Within eight days, they were engaged to be married.

On Monday, I will share about the founding of the Haiti Arise ministry.

August 24, 2005
posted by David Meigs at 8/24/2005 02:08:00 PM

Marc & Lisa Honorat and baby Asher

Marc and Lisa Honorat are the Founders of Haiti Arise Ministries. I first met them at CLC Church in Port Orchard, Washington just after the birth of their son Asher (1 ½ yrs). My heart burned as Marc shared his experiences growing up in Haiti. He told us about the extreme poverty, corrupt officials and the grip of voodoo over the nation. We saw pictures of a woman selling dirt cookies, which people ate to fill their empty stomachs.

Born as the son of a voodoo priest, he was but one of fifteen children. There was not enough food, so at five years old he was given to a woman in town. My gut wretched as Marc told us how his little heart broke on that day. Neither his mother or father said, “I love you Marc” or gave him one last hug goodbye. Though Marc spoke bravely on, I could see the memories still stabbed at his heart with steely knives.

The next several years of marc’s life was living Hell. Even though the woman who took him was well off by Haitian standards, little Marc was not given clothes to wear and often no food to eat. He slept each night under the kitchen table, and worked hard all day in hope of receiving one meager meal. He was not allowed to eat the same food as the mistress. If she ate rice, he was given cornmeal. If things were tight, and she ate cornmeal, he was given bulgur. There were many days he was given no food at all.

Marc told of one painful day when he was six. He was given no food, and he could not stand the starvation any longer. He took a couple coins from the table and went to the market to buy himself bread. He was caught and returned home to face the mistress. It was pure hell!

For twenty minutes she beat this thirty pound little boy until he was senseless. She used a hardened leather whip/paddle made by the Haitians for the express purpose of beating their slave children. The loud cracking of the paddle and the screaming of the tiny child carried throughout the neighborhood. The worried townsfolk tried to break in to save his life, but she had every window and door securely locked.

On Friday, I will share how Marc’s brother rescued him from his life as a slave child. Please invite your friends to join us here as this powerful story unfolds. I also encourage you to visit the Haiti Arise Website.

God bless you all,

August 22, 2005
posted by David Meigs at 8/22/2005 02:03:00 PM
It is 5:09 pm, and Joe Anybody waits impatiently in the drive-thru line of Marvin’s Galactic Burger. Breakfast permitted no more than a pop-tart before hitting the road. Lunch consisted of a microwave burrito from the vending machine and though it was tasty, it didn’t satisfy.

He looked at his watch, and his face twisted into a scowl. If they didn’t hurry, he’d be late for dinner. What Alice doesn’t know won’t hurt her. This is not the first time he’s grabbed a snack to tide him over until dinner. Besides, tonight is meatloaf, and there is always room for meatloaf.

Joe’s fingers drummed until the air-head with the van full of screaming kids changed her order for the hundredth time and finally pulled ahead. Joe raced up to the hi-def screen, screeched on the brakes and waited. He scowled at his watch again, and his eyes shot death rays at the ditz and her wagon full of brats. His stomach growled like a pack of wolves.

“Welcome to Marvin’s Galactic Burger. Please order when you are ready.”

“I’ll have a triple-whammy cheese deluxe combo, and super size that please. Substitute the regular fries for the chili-cheese curly ones. Don’t forget the onions!”

“And your drink sir?”

“Make that a biggie-size chocolate malt..., no wait, I am on a diet. Change that to a diet cola please.”

“Your total comes to $6.66. Please pull forward.”

Ridiculous? Maybe just a little. In real life, Joe would have gone for the malt. We live in the land of plenty, and I praise God for that. Good for Joe and good for the lady with the van full of perfect angels. Good for Alice too, she makes a mighty fine meatloaf. But did you know that not far off the coast of Florida is the poorest nation in the western hemisphere? I am willing to bet one of Marv’s galactic gut-busters that this isn’t all you didn’t know about Haiti.

Come on admit it, you thought that America was the first to end slavery. Nope, Haiti ended slavery in 1804! President Lincoln hadn’t even been born yet when an army of escaped slaves known as Maroons kicked France’s butt to the other end of the island and won their freedom.

I know what you’re thinking. You read this in high school history, which means I owe you dinner at Marv’s. Hold on, there’s more. Did you know that the Maroon leaders made a pact with the devil to end slavery? Yep, you heard me right and it’s an historical fact. They promised their children to Satan for the next two hundred years. It was a high price to pay for freedom, even from the horror of slavery.

Marc was born into a family with fifteen kids. His father was a voodoo priest. There was no food to feed little Marc, so at five years old he was sold as a slave child. He was given no parting hug as he left out the door. He heard no “I love you” from mom or dad. Marc was now alone in a living hell.

“How can that be? Slavery is illegal!” you rightfully ask.

You see the one called the “Deceiver” found a way to have his cake and eat it too. In Haiti, they’ve made child slavery an accepted practice. The upper class even has a polite name for them, and it is Restavec.

To borrow another cliché, with the end of 2004 the Haitian people have finished “paying the devil his due”. 2005 marks the ending of the two hundred year curse, and God has called this former slave child to bring hope to the land that gave him none. For the next couple weeks, I will share Marc’s story with you.

Because there is so much to tell, I’ll only be posting on Monday, Wednesday and Fridays. In the meantime, check out their website.

See you Wednesday,

August 19, 2005
posted by David Meigs at 8/19/2005 12:01:00 PM
This morning I looked in the mirror and thanked God. Can you blame me? I have repeated this ritual for years. Oh, the custom may vary in sequence. I sometimes pluck my nose hairs before I do the ears, or elect to harvest them another day. I might floss before I brush, or maybe let it all go in favor of wearing a golden smile. After all, what can I do to improve anything?

“Lord, thank you that you love me as I am, warts and all.” I always say.

Let’s face it. I’ve not won any beauty contests in..., well never. I have what you call the perfect face for radio. I suppose the same could be true of a writer. Yes, that’s it. I have the perfect face for a writer. All I need is one or two photos for book covers anyway. They can do amazing things with Photoshop these days. Hey, why diet? A good digital artist can make the pounds melt away. I’ve never felt tall enough... No problem, they can stretch me.

God loves me the way I am. Mom loves me no matter what I do. Darla loves me, the kids love me and even the dog adores me. I am loved. With all my warts, frumpy backside, wild nose hairs and golden smile. I am loved. My cup is full. Life is good.

Unfortunately, this was not true for my friend Marc. Nope, no loving hand ever held him as a boy. He never heard the words “I love you son”. You see Marc was a “slave child” in Haiti. He never knew love or kindness as a lad. He slept under the kitchen table, where all slave children must sleep. He was not even given clothes to wear.

Here is my announcement. I have been asked to write Marc’s story, and that of the Ministry of Haiti Arise. I began the interviews on Tuesday. I will share more on Monday. You will be blown away. We serve a mighty God!

August 17, 2005
posted by David Meigs at 8/17/2005 05:48:00 PM

"Quick, run for the hills!"

"Impending doom!"

"The mark of the beast!"

You know what I mean. No mark = no cocoa-puffs. No more cashing the pay check at the bank, because they deposit it directly into your forehead via the blue-tooth technology implanted in your, well in your teeth. You know, it’s the time when you hear a ring at the door and instead of it being the Jehovah’s witnesses; it is the nice men with the VR helmet so you can take part in the day of awakening...

Nope... not that 666... I am talking about my first book. A very kind group of nice folks have been giving it a once over. One of the suggestions was to tone back the “however” usage.

“It’s how they talk!” I grumbled at my keyboard.

It is the keyboard’s fault after all! That is what I get for buying this generic trash.

“You never type what I command you!” I said, feeling better.

"Lord, do I have too many “however’s” in the book?” I asked.


“Send me a sign!”

Still nothing.

The light bulb lit up with incandescent fury. I knew what I needed to do. Just instruct "Hal" my computer to count the forever’s for me. With the speed of one of those monkeys with the red racing striped down it’s back, I keyed it in and punched “find” and closed my eyes for a long count to two. I opened them, and felt my jaw colliding against my chest.

"Good morning Dave, I have completed the search, and counted the word however 666 times.”

“Nooooo” I howled, and banged on my keyboard. “How can you do this to me? There are only 550 pages. Why that is.... I whipped out my trusty calculator... Why you bumbling seditious piece of junk. That is....? wait a minute... that’s over one “however” per page!”

I felt as if the whole world was laughing at me. After all, how could they know about my defective keyboard? Am I doomed? It was 666! There is but one answer for my troubles. I must fix things quick before the men come to the door with the VR helmet.

Argh. What can I say? I ran the same search on my “ly” word usage. It was not as bad as I thought, but I still cannot count that high. I wish that were all of the “keyboard errors I had to fix. There were a couple thousand improvements that have found their way into the new and improved document. Feeling much better now. Hmmm? Where do I find a few more victims to read my newest version. Is it all it can be, or is it still a work in progress?

Friday I have a big announcement to make. Until then, watch out for the men with the VR helmets. Keep away from those red-striped apes, and change your undies before leaving the house. Can’t be too careful!

Aka: David Meigs
August 10, 2005
posted by David Meigs at 8/10/2005 12:23:00 PM

Finding a bride was less complicated back in 1643. No need for small talk, compatibility tests or Aunt Rosie’s matchmaking skills. Nope. A tobacco farmer could trade a couple of bales for the lass of his choosing. Just pay a visit to the prison ship fresh in from London. The trick was in finding one that would not stick a blade between your ribs while you slept. After all, this was a prison ship.

Andrew bought himself a bride. Naturally, he had to celebrate with the boys for his last night as a single man. Feeling lucky, Andy tried his hand at a friendly game of cards. Little did he know the trouble he won when one man could not pay his losses. Instead, he gave Andy the pink-slip to a beautiful but feisty redhead. All he had to do was to go back to the ship and pick her up.

Grandma was fit to be tied.

How would he explain all this to bride number one?

Hell hath no fury like that of bride number two (who was actually the kidnapped daughter of an earl).

Oh, the sparks are going to fly!

Poor Andy. What was the boy thinking?

I’m talking about “A BRIDE most BEGRUDGING”, the new novel by Deeanne Gist. I’d love to tell you more, but I don’t want to rob you of one precious twist. I admit my face turned a little red under my wife’s taunting gaze as she spied the romance novel in my hands. After all, the curmudgeon is no girly man.

“It’s a historical novel,” I grumbled.

“Of course it is dear.” She teased.

Hey, I didn’t lie..., well not completely. It didn’t matter anyway, because I soon lost myself inside this mischievous little page turner.
My hat is off to Dee, and to the good folks over at Bethany House Publishers. You got yourselves a winner.
I loved it. You’ll love it too! I guarantee it.

Get your copy by visiting the local Christian bookstore, or simply order it online: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0764200720

Take a peek at Deeanne’s website:

August 04, 2005
posted by David Meigs at 8/04/2005 08:25:00 PM

Nope, it’s my son John.

“Why is he wearing a mustache?”
I don’t know.
“Is he hoping to fool the 7-11 into selling him beer?”

Don’t think so.

“Why the mustache?”

Got me?

I’d love to hear his answer, but he can’t tell me. John is autistic.

“What is it like to have a son like John?”

Heaven, pure Heaven.

“Isn’t it hard on your family?”

Yes! Praise God! It’s the hardest thing we ever went through, and again I say praise God!

“Aren’t you angry at God for allowing this?”

Used to be. Not anymore. Not even a little.


John is the sweetest ray of sunshine ever to warm this old heart. I would not trade him, autism and all, for every gold brick in Fort Knox. I thank God for him, just the way he is.

So far, he’s not shown any savant abilities such as counting cards or decoding CIA crossword puzzles. He can’t play piano or violin. I don’t know why he won’t eat the ends of hotdogs, or why he chews on soap. I only know that God gave him to us as a blessing. I am so glad He did.
August 01, 2005
posted by David Meigs at 8/01/2005 03:00:00 PM

“Hi Daddy!”

That’s all I could hear. Not the cheering crowds. Not even the first blasts of her guitar.

My hand shot up, and I waved back. My chest never stuck out so far!

Daddy? Yep, that’s me!

World, this is my baby girl!

I’m so proud of you sweetie!

I’ve heard her sing that song on the front steps, on the hood of the car, and a half dozen other places, but it never sounded as good as up on that stage. Each note was perfect; each guitar strum added its voice in perfect harmony.

Yesterday was the local festival of festivals down at the waterfront. They call it “whaling days”, but from the sounds of some of the other talent show contestants, it might have been better labeled “wailing daze”. Anthony Haung (spelling) would have been proud. I thought a pincher bug had crawled up one contestant’s pant leg. Those screeches could not be human... Not without the help of strategically placed electrodes. Hmmm?

My 23 year old baby girl gave the performance of performances. She dazzled the crowd. She dazzled Dad. She dazzled the judges, but not enough to win. Bummer. Hey, she beat out a few hundred other contestants to make the cut. That’s not bad!

You did good honey!

You made daddy proud!