three

One of the first things people say when they realize we live in Haiti--well, after they first think I mean "Tahiti" and say, "OH, I am SO jealous!"--is "Wasn't there some kind of big flood there or something a few years ago?"

There was.  An earthquake.  And I can't believe it's been three years.  

Three years since the floor shook under me, and I thought someone was pulling a prank and shaking my chair.  Since I realized I'd just been through an earthquake, and was desperate to make sure Lily, with her nanny, was ok.  Three years since we learned from family members in the States just how bad our "shake" was less than 100 miles south of us.  

Three years since I sat in this stadium, filled to the brim with horrifically wounded people, those in shock, those in deep grief, small children somehow playing soccer, survivors--

"Two thousand people can sit here at one time!" he told me energetically, and the release was gone...I started thinking numbers again. I looked around at each happy colored seat...cheerful yellow and vivacious red...too happy. I placed a person in each chair, filling the stadium. I made them dead, in my mind. Two thousand. All dead. Then I tried to do that ONE HUNDRED times. Tears well up in my eyes again as I thought, unable to turn off my mind.

Does heaven feel the loss, I wonder, of those that might have been there? Does He? Does our Lord feel the loss of every single one of His children who never choose Him...for all eternity?

Three years since I met Valerie.  Sat with her in a sweaty tent, her leg and much of her family now gone, sharing with me her hope.  Her hope.  I will NEVER forget Valerie.  I wonder where she is today...

No sooner had I finished that she prayed for me, and I knew as I sat there beside her, sweat pouring down us both in that stifling tent, that this was one of life's rare purely beautiful moments. Just two hours after standing horrified by a river of death, I sat by still waters with joy in my soul.

Three years ago since I wondered if the fear would ever subside.  How life could possibly move on.  How Haiti could ever continue, or if it would just cease to exist in a pool of despair and suffering...

At first, I thought everyone was homeless. But after a few moments, I realized that while many of them were, most were just like me, sleeping in less-than-desirable places…SAFE places. As I looked deep into the sleepy dark eyes around me, I realized that these eyes had SEEN. They had seen their children crushed beneath homes they had built with their own hands. They had seen strong fortresses crumble, had seen the impossible take place in 35 seconds.

Three years since our students and staff headed down in droves, setting up prayer and evangelism tents and watching as hundreds turned from the depths of destruction and darkness and despair into the arms and life of Jesus...

I have stood in the middle of dozens of open air churches proclaiming His praises, captured many standing in the streets, pouring over dog-eared Bibles together, heard dozens of beautiful people, some without limbs…sisters…parents…praising the Lord for His many gifts and for the joy of their salvation on the cross.

Three years ago since Emmaus took in Jean-Marie, Leandre...Simeon, Jean-Marc.  Students in Port left with nothing, searching for hope and help and training to help thousands of hurting brothers and sisters.

It's been three years.  A lot has happened since.  Time marched on, and Haiti, rather used to suffering, did too.  

And the darkness?  Much of it continues.  

But even the darkness continues to not be darkness to Him.  (Psalm 139:12)

And as long as His light is available, we're all gonna keep working together to give it.  

Have a few minutes?  Read a few of the testimony links throughout this post and remember some who have been lost, remember what was, remember what He has done, and who He is.