Almost One Month

I miss Haiti. Real bad.

It has been almost a month since I said “see you later” to Uncaged one by one at the airport. Almost a month since I walked away from Kellen’s car, alone for the first time in weeks. Almost a month since I held Oliver, stroked Orpha’s hair, or rode in the cage.

It’s amazing what can happen in one month, or alternately, what does not happen in one month.

July has been a lot of driving around, seeing people I haven’t seen in a while. It has been a lot of planning for my dear sister’s wedding. It has been phone time with my Uncaged sisters. It has been alone time with my Savior.

July has not been a lot of chasing after jobs. It has not been sleepless nights because there is too much work to do. It has not been stressful. It has not been many things that my life used to be.

Finding a God-fearing, supportive community is something with which I often struggle. Haiti was one of the first times in my life that I took the opportunity to really invest in a community in the way I should have been all along. Since coming back to the States, I’ve wrestled with what that means/looks like for my life in Norfolk. I was in church yesterday evening, standing and worshiping, when I broke down because I miss Uncaged so freaking much. I miss our worship sessions to start the day and long talks on the roof and singing in backs of trucks. I miss Emily yelling “That’s my jam!” and Sammie Jo’s laugh (as well as a billion other things). And as I was standing in the church pew with tears streaming down my face, God once again revealed to me that I have a hard time being invested in the present and always think life would be better somewhere else. It is something I deal with constantly. God also reminded me that I have a hard time being invested if I plan on leaving (ie I plan on moving come the new year, so why get invested here when I’ll only be here for five months?).

And then I was convicted. I was in Haiti for one month, one month, and was completely invested. I’ll be in Norfolk for at least five months (in theory), so my community and investments here could be that much more incredible. I’ve struggled because I do not have any of “my own friends” but only know people through my brother and sister. Who’s to say that my community can’t be my bro and sis, Dani, Crystal, Marty, Abin, Dustin, Sonja, etc? Who’s to say that these people are not exactly who God has intended for me to serve during my time here? (So if you’re one of those people, let me know how I can serve you.)

I miss Haiti, but I have the opportunity to bring Haiti here, now. And that sounds like the best thing ever.

Go.

On several occasions both before I went to Haiti and since my return, people have told me that they think what I’m doing is great, that they would love to go themselves except they need air conditioning.

Really? You need air conditioning? As in you’ll be completely useless or even die if you don’t have air conditioning?

That’s ridiculous. And not true. And really selfish.

No one needs air conditioning. YOU don’t need air conditioning. Air conditioning did not even exist until very recently in the history of the world. If you want to go build houses for people in rural Latin America who don't have homes or clean up the Gulf (now that the oil has, in theory, stopped) or provide hope to victims of human trafficking in Southeast Asia, then GO. Stop making excuses about air conditioning. If you’re in a place where everyone sweats all day, no one is going to care if your hair isn’t perfect or your makeup drips off your face. Everyone’s shirts get soaked through with sweat and after a while, being a little dirty simply becomes a part of life.

So stop saying you would go except…

And GO already!

Rain

I love rain.

It was raining when I woke up this morning and it’s still raining now. The forecast has it raining for several more hours. In the heat wave the east coast has been having, rain and a cold front are very good news. I don’t mind the heat so much, but I do love the rain. The image of water falling and hitting the ground. The sound of drops gently smacking the window. The feeling of clean it brings. The way that, even after it stops raining and you walk under a tree, it is still raining and you will get wet.

Rain makes me think of God.

Often, when I’ve been upset and crying for a few hours or days, it starts to rain. Sometimes it will be a soft rain, other times whole sheets of water come crashing down. It was in these moments that I came to think – sometimes it rains because I don’t need to cry anymore. God is crying for me. God is crying for all the evil in the world. God is crying for the Gulf oil spill, God is crying for Haiti, so I don’t need to cry anymore. This brings me incredible peace.

About two thirds of the way through my month in Haiti, Emily, Sammie Jo, and I were up on the roof talking. We were in that sweet spot – past the tents but not right up against the wall so nobody could see us unless he/she was looking real hard. I was telling them the story of my most recent ex-boyfriend, how the events of the fall of 2008 affected my life, and ways in which I am scarred from everything that happened. I was crying – not big racking sobs like I have been known to produce, but simple tears running down my face that I could not stop. I think all the sadness I have bottled up over the past two years forced its way out through my tear ducts. It wanted release and I had no way to control it.

When it started raining, we were nowhere close to done with our conversation, so we sat out in the rain. We let the rain drench our hair and clothes, let it wash over us completely. (Also, when you haven’t showered in a day or two, it’s nice to sit out in the rain so you can push another day without washing your hair.) It was God crying for me, letting me know he was still there and still cared more than I could know.

An hour or so later, when we were finished, we went downstairs to find every single other member of our team soaking wet. Apparently everybody had also been outside in the rain. Kellen had been under the mango tree. Melly and Tiffany had been by the pool. We had all been outside having a hard time dealing with our junk and so God cried for all of us. In that moment, in that rainy afternoon in Port-au-Prince, He provided healing and peace for all of Uncaged. He reminded us that He is still there and still cares. That He will always be there and always cares.

I love rain.

Cleaning House

I have been making excuses all week about why I would not sit down and write. My family was in town, my sister got engaged, we went wedding dress shopping and to the beach, et cetera. I think my favorite excuse is that I didn’t have my computer. How can I write if I don’t have my very own personal computer?

I’m currently sitting on my childhood bedroom floor in my parent’s house. I booted up my own computer for the first time in about a month and a half and immediately went to check my gmail account. What had my Haiti teammates written about today? I needed to see their words and feel more connected than a brief text message allows. Both Emily and Tiffany had written about…writing.

And then I was convicted.

When I left Haiti, I spent the night in Atlanta and attended a Braves game with some of my Haiti teammates. I was supposed to fly to Philadelphia the same day I left Haiti, but I was not ready to walk away from it all. I changed my flight to the following day. And I changed it to fly to Norfolk instead of Philly since that is where my family planned on gathering for the nation’s birthday. My whole time in Norfolk, the only clothing I had was what I took to Haiti (okay, my mom brought down a couple pairs of jeans and my beach bag, but that’s it). My bag contained some beat up t-shirts, a couple skirts and pairs of shorts, and my Reefs. For a month and a half, that is all I have had to wear.

Today, on the way to my parent’s house, we stopped by my storage unit.

There was so much stuff…I wanted everything to disappear. I want everything to disappear.

I don’t need any of it. My shelves, my five different bath towels, the ottoman containing my bed sheets, my couch, I want it all gone. It got worse when I got to my parent’s house, which is where all my clothes are. I am completely repulsed that I own so much stuff.

I’m spending the next couple of days cleaning house. I don’t need most of my junk – in fact, I just need to find my camera cord. That’s about it. I’m going to make a big old pile of Stuff I Don’t Need, and then I’m going to give it away. I don’t have a house to put all my stuff in, anyway. I feel incredibly burdened and feel like I am going to have a difficult time doing what God really wants me to do if I do not get rid of my stuff.

I think there is a parallel in there in which stuff=all the emotional baggage I confronted in Haiti. But that is a story for a different time.

So I’m getting rid of my stuff. And I’m keeping a record of my thoughts.