I started writing this blog last Sunday...I'm just now getting around to finishing it.
As sad as I am to say it, I'm home. I actually made the decision to leave on Tuesday, but didn't update about it because I wanted to surprise my brother...which flopped...(I was told to text, not call because my parents got a fancy car that shows who is calling and can be projected through the speakers...I didn't get the email on account of no internet for the last 4 days in Haiti...my brother may or may not have seen my name, and heard my voice say "I'll see you tonight in Knoxville." We tried). At any rate, as much as my heart longs to be in Seguin, I am, once again, in Jefferson County, TN. It was so tough to finally come to the decision, but this is definitely where God wants me. There are some things in my life that weren't totally sorted out, and one reason for going to Haiti was to run away from them, but they followed me...with vengeance. So, I'm home to heal. I'm home for restoration. I'm home because God wants me home to find him even in the mundane life, in the little things...even in Jefferson County. Pride would have been the only thing holding me in Haiti, not God. So here I sit, in my comfortable bed, with air conditioning, unlimited internet, electricity, bountiful food and water...yet something feels wrong.
I have become accustomed to children asking for something as simple as food or shoes when I now hear them wanting the newest cell phone or computer. I saw children having fun with an old bicycle rim and a stick instead of video games. Children simply wanted to hold a hand and live in community instead of locking themselves away behind a computer. I saw adults plowing each other's gardens. There were people who truly wanted to learn and be educated instead of having to force themselves to go to class. I knew that happiness didn't come from possessions, but I saw it lived out. No television, no video games, no internet, no bowling, no movies, no malls, yet happiness. There was a simplicity to life that could not be measured. Living day-by-day is a beautiful thing, and, honestly, our society could use a little more of it. Instead, we plan and look to the future and control our lives, but life is so much slower and wonderful than we make it out to be. There is time to enjoy someone's company without worrying about if you will make it to your next appointment and missing half of what they had to say. There is an investment from person to person that is unmatched. People genuinely care. People hope and dream for a better tomorrow, for a better life; they simply don't know where to begin.
Here I sit...one week later. I've had time to settle in and reflect on what I've been through in the past month. I've learned that the mission field doesn't have to be in Haiti, or Uganda, or Belize. The mission field is where ever you are. It is in the words that you speak, in your actions, and more importantly, it is in the way that you love. I read a quote in a book that I recently read. I think that Mother Teresa said it (I don't really know, but it sounds very "Mother Teresa-esque"), "Love, and when necessary, use words." This was a HUGE revelation in Haiti. I was so concerned with the fact that I couldn't even talk to them, but those kids didn't care. They knew, with the pale, freckled hand that held theirs, that I loved them for no other reason than that they were precious in the sight of our Father.
My brother, part of the reason for my early homecoming, just drove away about two hours ago. There was a sense of hesitation for the past couple of days. Last night, we kept the tv on, kept watching movies, kept wasting time like it was standing still. This morning, we all slept in knowing that the second we awoke, we'd have to pack the car. The hour still came at us as the same speed. We just hoped that maybe by staying asleep, we could pretend that we were invincible, that nothing, not even time, could tear us apart. The hallway, the driveway, the room next door...all empty. My mother cries a lot, and we make fun of her for it. Normally, she laughs along. Today, she never did.
"Goodbye," "Take Care," "Write," "I love you." All words. All cutting too deeply. This day had to come. We knew that. We simply pretended that it never would. So, last night we went out with a bang and watched Aladdin, then quickly scurried off to bed so that we never had to say "good night," knowing that it would be the last time for a long time, and the last time living, all of us...together. Although his constant presence is ceasing, and our ability to communicate has definitely been limited, we "love, and when necessary, use words."
Learning, growing, moving on, loving...here's to you!
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