Monoville used to be a thriving little church. People filled the benches. Worship was loud. Community life was strong. But over time, because of some hard internal issues, everything fell apart. Attendance dropped all the way down to one pastor and his two kids. And then his wife started going to another church.

In Haiti, people see everything. Word travels fast. The way a pastor treats people… the way he treats his own wife… it matters. The whole community watches. And in this case, the community just said, “No more. We’re done.” So folks either stopped going to church or left for another one.

Through a friend of a friend, Pastor Rosinel was invited to preach one Sunday in February. When he arrived, it was exactly what he had been told—just the pastor, his two children, and a few neighborhood kids. But as Rosi preached, he fell in love with the church. Even the pastor said, “I want you to take my church.”

So we started showing up every week. And every week, two or three new people came. Within one month, we had nearly 80 people again. Many were old members who heard that something fresh was happening. God was clearly moving. Rosi carries a real anointing, and the people felt it.

The original pastor and his family were extremely poor and were actually living inside the sanctuary. Every Sunday morning, we’d have to ask them to move their bed so we could hold service. So we built a small living space on the side of the church for them. They were thrilled.

The church was growing again—yet the same patterns continued. The pastor and his wife began arguing loudly in front of everyone. Rosie tried to address it lovingly, over and over, but nothing changed. At one point he told them, “You’re drilling holes in the boat while we’re trying to move forward.”

We asked them to officially sign the church over, like we do with the other Vision Churches, but it got complicated. They lived on the property, and that created tension. Still, ministry continued—good ministry. But the conflict kept popping back up, and attendance has dropped again.

Right now, we’re praying and waiting. Rosi has stepped back until the Holy Spirit makes a clear way forward. He’s told the pastor, “If you want me to lead, you have to get out of the way. If not, I’ll have to step aside.” And so here we are—waiting on God to move.

Life in Monoville is hard. Poverty doesn’t stay outside your walls; it presses into every corner. A pastor can’t hide his home troubles when his “home” sits in front of the whole community. With no work, no income, no privacy, no dignity, the pressure is constant. Marital conflict becomes public. Personal struggles spill out onto the porch. Neighbors see everything.

In small Haitian communities, everybody knows everybody. There’s beauty in that kind of accountability… and there’s also pain. People show grace because they all live under the same weight—no food, no showers, no hygiene supplies, no jobs. We’d bring crackers, break them into squares, and everyone would light up just to have one. Families survive day by day with almost nothing.

In environments like that, people extend grace as far as they can. But even grace has a limit when someone forgets their first love. And that’s what happened here. It’s happened to many of us, too.

Monoville isn’t finished. God isn’t finished. We’re holding this church open before Him, trusting Him to breathe life again—His way, in His time.