I know I should be doing homework right now. I know I have a hundred other things I need to be doing to get ready for school. But I really wanted to write to you all. Whoever the vast unknown ‘you all’ is. I do not know necessarily who you are, or why you are reading this. Did you know this blog started out as a journal. I told all the ups and downs I was feeling. I just needed to write to get it out of my system. Here I am over 2 years later, still writing and people are reading it. And being affected by it. And that is crazy and powerful to me. Words hold power. My words. It scary.
I am back. I am back in Haiti. I left on Friday, the day of the hurricane. I made it to Miami before my BA’ness out stretched my pilots. So I was grounded for a couple of amazing days I got to spend with one of my best friends and a beautiful family. Fastforward a rainy, blissful weekend, and one seemingly long flight and I took a big breath of Haitian dusty air and knew I was back.
I got to move out to Jubilee! My house is as finished as money will allow for now. Block walls with a few holes. No electricity means no fan on windless nights. No running water means no toilet, shower, or sink for now. No tile means uneven cement floor that is super dusty.
Heck, I am jealous of my own life.
Cause my existence, what I get to live, is amazing. Don’t kid yourself, I am not ‘sacrificing’ to be here in Haiti. I am here because I am selfish. The inconveniences are minor in comparison to what I gain. The beauty in this place isn’t in the aesthetics. Rather in the small moments, the hearts, actions, words and lives of these people. As I write this three boys with beautiful hearts are stripped naked playing water fighting while washing my shower. Walls, floors, bodies full of suds. A rag, hands, and a toilet bowl wand are their scrubbing tools. They’re laughing and soaking wet. I get to experience this. In half creole we joke together and share a slice of bread and cheese. It aint much, but I don’t have much to offer. It’s enough to them.
These moments of light and joy lift my spirits. Not every moment is happy. As I sit making decisions on which children come into our school and get the opportunity to learn and grow in a way other children won’t get, my heart breaks. The stack of kids I reject is larger than the stack I accept. Their faces haunt my dreams. But our God isn’t limited to me. He works in amazing ways and I have to believe I am not choosing who gets to live a life of abundance and who lives a life of poverty and starvation. God is working through more than just me. Thankfully.
So we hold tight to the little moments of joy when the hurricane rips through our hearts. We believe God is big and mighty and doing big and mighty things. I am attempting to live and love well. It is a beautiful disaster, but I am doing it with my feet moving.