Last week I visited the Palace in Haiti. It was the first time I had seen it and it was every bit as horrific as I expected. The broken dreams and lives that are held in this fractured shell are on full display. They are lined up along the street and in every inch of the park across the road. They are under moldy bed sheets and tattered tarps. There are no orderly lines of matching tents here, no crews cleaning up garbage or endless lines of outhouses. There is nothing clean or orderly here. For thousands of people I counted less than 50 toilets.
I saw nothing beautiful, until I saw his face.
Just a little boy, 11 years old who begged me for a drink. Behind him on the cement sat his baby sister and when I passed him a bottle of water he held it to her lips while she took her fill. They finished it in a few gulps and then he lifted her and walked away. I saw beauty among the ruins.