I found myself thinking, “This can’t be God’s way. We shouldn’t come for a week and then leave people behind in pain.” I vowed never to do that again.

For the first time, I truly felt the weight of the community’s suffering and the bleak reality they faced once we left. A horrible, sinking feeling struck deep in my soul. I realized I was part of the reason for Paul’s tears, and for the pain of those 85 people still in line.

In that moment, I understood: something had to change.

I broke down and wept with the realization that the people I had met might be part of my tribe and that my own people might have contributed to their current state of poverty and bondage. This gut-wrenching realization shook me to the core.

Displaced people still lived in flimsy tents and shacks, buildings that had collapsed during the earthquake remained as piles of rubble, and the streets were lined with trash and debris. UNICEF confirmed our observations, estimating that, one year after the disaster, more than one million people remained displaced, living in crowded camps with insufficient services for children to stay healthy.

As individuals, we all have blind spots. An African proverb says, “Nobody can see the back of their own head.” This wisdom was especially true when Charlie Vittitow and I ventured into Haiti. Partnering with a trusted colleague who knew the country well, we were introduced to people and organizations that would have otherwise been invisible to us.