In preparation for Haiti

Most of you know this, but I went to Honduras for eleven days in January.  I haven't been able to go more than about 20 hours without thinking about that experience and how much I want to go back.  I might not get the opportunity to go back to Honduras, but I'm hoping to travel again this January.

The professor with whom I traveled takes a group to Haiti on the years he doesn't go to Honduras.

I am elated about Haiti.

I loved my experience in Honduras so much that I cannot even imagine how much fun I'll have in Haiti.  I just want to hang out with kids again.  Sweat in the sweet heat and giggle with some kids on the front porch of a school.  I've been Googling things about Haiti for the last week in anticipation. 34% of the population is younger than fourteen.  I couldn't be more excited.

Haiti intimidates me.

I don't know how to speak even a tiny bit of French.  And French Creole sounds even more exhausting.  How am I going to connect with people when I can't understand anything? When I can't speak anything?  But if I learned anything while I was in Honduras, it's that laughter and silliness are languages without distinctions.  I might be alright.

My heart breaks for Haiti.

Haiti was the first post-colonial black-led nation in the world.  They endured so much persecution by the Spanish and French over the years that their government has been pretty unstable for its entire existence.  It is currently the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.  Poorer than Honduras? I think to myself. How my heart breaks for the people there.

Haiti is hurting.

In 2010, an earthquake struck Haiti, killing over 300,000 people and leaving over 1.5 million people homeless.  Four years later, they still haven't recovered.  They may never fully recover.  Their environment is subject to extensive deforestation and soil erosion.  And there is barely enough potable water to provide everyone with enough throughout the year.

Haiti can teach me so much.

Over 95% of Haitian citizens are black.  Over half of the population practices voodoo (although the census says that they are 80% Roman Catholic).  I am so incredibly interested in the culture there.  Not as a specimen of study, but as people I'd love to have relationships with.

I am so excited to meet my brothers and sisters in Haiti.  I'm going to be hitting everyone up for money soon.  It makes me ill to ask for money like this, but these trips are formational and completely priceless to the ministry for which God is calling me.

Crying.

Sometimes I cry. 

I cry a lot. 

I cry when I'm sad and I cry when I'm happy. Sometimes I cry when I think of you and how far away you are. I cry when I think of all the things I should have done. And I cry when I think of all the things I still have to overcome. Sometimes I cry for no reason at all. But mostly, I cry when I pray.

I don't pray just anywhere. And I try not to cry just anywhere either. My favorite places to pray are very simple. I love to pray in nature- when I feel God's presence around me in the beautiful things I can see and feel. And I love to pray in an empty sanctuary. When I was still in high school, I would sometimes walk out into the woods behind my house if it was a nice day and I would take in everything- the smells, the sounds, the sun glistening off the pond. I would run my hand over tree trunks and feel dirt run through my fingers. I felt at home there. And I had conversations with God. I felt like Adam in the garden before the fall, like God was right there walking beside me. After these walks I would almost always feel refreshed and ready to move on to the next part of my busy life. I sometimes felt that I had a whole new meaning and goal I was working toward when I emerged from the woods. It felt wonderful. 

I have only ever prayed in an empty sanctuary twice. Once, I was cleaning for my old church in Virginia and no one was in the church except for me. I knew it would be safe to go to the alter and kneel at the cross. No one would see me there. There is something about being in a silent church at an unusual time. That day, it was around 5pm and the light streaming in from the stain glass windows was indescribable. Seeing that was enough to make me feel the Holy Spirit. But I kneeled down at the alter and I cried. I cried and I prayed and I put my hands on the alter and let my tears fall to the floor. I had never prayed like that before. I had this feeling that God was really listening to me in that church that evening. It is hard to say why or try to describe the feeling, but I felt as if every word I spoke was delivered up to Him by angels.

The second time I cried in an empty church was in Ohio. My grandfather's church has a beautiful stained glass window above the alter and right around 3pm, the sunlight streams in like God opening the heavens. It is breathtaking. I don't remember why I had gone to the church that day or why I had my grandmother's key to the church, but I went inside quietly as to creep around the cleaning lady. I didn't go in with the intention of praying, but after seeing how beautiful it was, something moved inside me and I had to kneel at the railing. I wept for everything that afternoon. Things I don't even remember and things I am trying to forget. I wept for 45 minutes at the railing and wept as I drove myself home. I cannot describe how liberating it was. Sometimes I just need to cry. 

There is something that comes over me sometimes. I don't know what it is or how to describe it. I'm not sad or frightened. Sometimes when I cry I hate it because I don't understand it at all. But I think I understand why I cry when I pray. 

I am so overwhelmed with relief. At first I am grieving. I am grieving the fact that I will never be good enough. I can never pray long enough. I can never love God enough. I will never be as good as I should be for Him. And He knows it. He knew it before I was ever born- before I was even a thought in my parents' minds.  He knew everything about me and the struggles that I would go through and the thoughts that would race through my head every night before I go to sleep. 

He has felt my pain and knows my sorrows and knows why I cry. He understands everything that is inside me. Yet he lets me cry. He encourages me to cry. And He cries with me. He leads me down a path so that I may love Him more and more every single day of my life. And I try. I try so hard to live my life in a way that He would be proud of. But I know I cannot be good enough for Him. I will never be good enough to deserve what He has already given me. That is why I cry. 

But then my sorrow and self-pity turns to relief. Like a barber turning his sign from “Open” to “Close” at six o'clock every night. My emotion turns so quickly. I weep with relief. I remember- He reminds me- that I don't have to be perfect. I don't have to be good enough for Him. Because He loves me anyway. In spite of my sin- because of my humanity- He loves me. 

He loves me so much that He gave His only Son to die for my sins. My sins! I have so many! I surely don't deserve to have someone be crucified on a cross for my sins! Let alone the Son of God! But I don't deserve it. That is what makes me cry. I am so unworthy of His powerful and everlasting love. Yet, He calls me back when I stray, saying, “Please, I am not done with you. I want to love you more and give you more and be here forever and ever for you.” But I do stray. And I do wander. And when I do, He never loses sight of me and is always waiting for me with open arms to welcome me back into His presence. 

And I cry. Because I realize that I have not been living the way He wants me to live. He is calling me to His table every single day, every hour, every moment, saying, “Come, eat this bread and you will not hunger. Drink this wine and you will not thirst. This is my feast that I have prepared for you. Come eat with me at my table.” He is so quick to invite me to sit with Him. As if I am worthy! But instead of taking His gift, His generosity, His love, I am hiding underneath the table in my guilt and sorrows. 

He knows I cannot always be good and I cannot always be right. But I am called to love the people that are hardest to love. I am called to recognize that everyone makes mistakes and I am called to forgive those mistakes. Every single time. The Lord loves me so much, without measure, and without reason. He loves me every single day in a way that is so completely unimaginable that it makes me cry. 

And I am supposed to love everyone around me with that same type of love. Because of God's love, I am to love others. And I am trying. I may not always be right and I may not always be strong, but I know that God forgives me until the day that I die. I do not have to be right on my own. He is there for me. And I will never have to be strong- for He will always be there with me. Because of Him, I am able to conquer all evil. And through Him, I am able to love all of God and all of His people.