Ayiti cheri, M ap ekri lèt sa a paske kè m lou e je m plen dlo. Mwen sonje lè m t ap grandi nan bra ou. Menm lè sa a, tout bagay pa t pafè; wout yo te souvan gen pousyè epi lavi a te rèd. Men, nan tan sa a, te gen yon lanmou ki te fè nou mache. Nou te gen chalè bèl bonjou vwazen yo ak fòs yon kominote ki te konnen ki jan pou yo lite ansanm. Men jodi a, kè m ap dechire paske mwen santi yo vòlè lanmou sa a. Mwen wè jan sa vin rèd, mwen wè laperèz, ak lonbraj ki anvayi lari nou yo. Mwen konnen lavi a se yon gwo mòn n ap monte kounye a, mwen konnen grangou a reyèl e sekirite a frajil, men mwen wè tou, san lanmou, blese yo ap vin pi fon. San lanmou, n ap pèdi nanm nou, sa ki te fè nou premye Repiblik Nwa a. Men, malgre tristès sa a, pouvwa nou rete etènèl. Ou se yon tè ki bèl e ki gen pouvwa. Mòn ou yo toujou kenbe eko libète a, epi tè ou toujou sonje tras pye ewo nou yo. Mwen kwè ak tout fòs mwen w ap leve ankò. Se pa paske rès mond lan ap ede nou, men paske dife ki anndan w lan pa ka tenyen nèt ale. Ou se pitit fi favè Bondye, ou se pitit gason kouray. W ap geri, w ap pran souf, epi w ap jwenn melodi w la ankò. Mwen renmen ou, Ayiti. Pou lavi. “Lanmou gen pasyans, lanmou gen bon kè. Li pa gen jalouzi, li pa vante tèt li, li pa gen lògèy. Lanmou pa fè anyen ki mal, li pa chache pwòp enterè pa l, li pa fè kòlè fasil, li pa kenbe moun nan kè. Lanmou pa pran plezi nan sa ki mal, men li kontan ak sa ki vre. Lanmou sipòte tout bagay, li kwè tout bagay, li gen espwa nan tout bagay, li endured tout bagay.” — 1 Korent 13:4-7

They whispered of the coming storm, And bolted every door, They feared the shape the light would take, The crashing on the shore. But let them watch the horizon break, And let the cowards peer— For you are not the one who hides; You are what they fear. "The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?" — Psalm 27:1

The golden curtains of the palace in Port-au-Prince swayed in the humid evening breeze, but inside the private chambers, King Jeff 101 moved with a quiet, heavy grace. The great crown remained fixed upon his brow, its jewels catching the flickering candlelight as he knelt beside the cradle of his baby sister, Nanane. Even in this private moment, the weight of his station stayed with him. He took her small hand in his, his eyes reflecting the weary wisdom of a ruler and the fierce love of a brother. "Nanane," he whispered, his voice like the low roll of Caribbean thunder. "Look at me. This world we were born into... it hasn't been kind. I know the shadows that dance in your eyes even now. We have never truly been happy with this life, have we? This crown I wear is sharp, the land is scarred, and the air often tastes of salt and sorrow." He smoothed a stray curl from her forehead, the metal of his headpiece glinting as he leaned in. "I know how tortured your spirit feels, little one. I see the weight you carry before you can even walk. But remember this: you are a miracle. When death reached for you, the only true God reached back and pulled you into the light. He saved you for a reason that the world cannot take away. Jeff 101 leaned closer, his expression softening with a defiant smile. Listen to your brother. Since this life may never give us the peace we seek, you must find it within. You can be happy with yourself, Nanane. You are a kingdom unto yourself—holy, chosen, and resilient. Do not look to the horizon for a rescue; look to the breath in your lungs. Hope isn't a fairy tale we tell the citizens to keep them quiet. Hope is alive. It’s beating in your heart right now. "The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me. My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise him." — Psalm 28:7

It’s not in the shout, the flash, or the frame, Or the hollow pursuit of a temporary name. It’s found in the handshake, the word, and the will, The ones who stay steady when the world won't sit still. You are the "Real ones," the salt and the light, Who choose what is honest over what is just bright. No mask for the masses, no scripted routine, Just a soul that stays true in the spaces between. Through the fire and the frost, through the thick and the thin, You carry the grace of the places you've been. For the world is kept turning by the hands of the few Who live by the spirit and stay rooted in true. "Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." — Galatians 6:9