today

May 15th.

That's the day we had tickets to leave Haiti.

My list for the time between our evacuation March 25th and today is still in my Bible.

Gertha and Granny were going to teach me once and for all how to make some of the girlies very favorite Haitian food, their way, so that I could make it for the kids once moved to Mississippi...they would relish the tastes of home, and I would relish the precious time in the kitchen with Ger and Gran.

We were all going to hike to church at Coup-a-David, Ben's first trip, my fiftieth, one more time. I was going to visit with families along the way I have gotten to know over time, meet Pastor Enique's precious newborn, and relish the mountain hike I have deeply loved, every single sweaty time.

We were going to go the beach with the Edlers and Pam for Easter, one last big trip...sit in the sand and watch all our precious children deeply enjoy being together, reminiscing all the many times those waves washed the hardships of daily life and ministry away. Spend the night, wake up with the sun and the coffee and so many memories and with dear friends.

We were going to have 2 precious weeks with our Haitian-American Aunt Sharon, doing some of the lasts with her, celebrating all the many times she had come and come and come and become family.

We were each scheduled to preach in chapel one more time, and I had already started working on my last message to that dear family, my chance to share my heart and some of what He's taught me these 13 years with my Haitian brothers and sisters.

The fourth year class had asked me to be the maren, the class godmother, for graduation, and I had happily agreed and picked their gift and planned to celebrate and enjoy that last always-inspiring event.

I was going to finish my classes well and enjoy each one of them...clean out my office, leave lesson plans well for the next classes, enjoy those last classes to the full...There was never a class, not in 13 years, that I didn't truly enjoy. What a gift it was teaching English at Emmaus since the month we moved to Haiti.

I was going to walk the campus with the kids every evening, like always, and listen and breath and enjoy. I was going to sit in the yard with the kids and friends and enjoy it. I was going to tell the dumb dog I wasn't going to love that I did. I was going to eat May's many mangoes and enjoy them as thoroughly as always, but knowing.

I had a list of churches I wanted to go to one more time, quietly entertaining Ben in the back and listening to my husband share the word in a language I've come to love, sway with the worship that has become my own, cherish each song and sister and brother.

I was going to host one last sleepover for all the girls school friends, one last crazy night of giggling and popcorn and Swiss Family Robinson (always Swiss Family Robinson and that thrilling snake) and take pictures and paint toes and make spaghetti for breakfast.

I was going to cherish, cherish the last two months of Tuesday staff prayer meeting, just my favorite and most sacred time of the week.

My list had a smaller list of people we were going to have for dinner one last time...Dave and Marilyn, Gues and Leme, Jodenel and Esther, Gertha and Wislin, Granny and the kitchen ladies, Anne-Yolie and her family, Enoch and his, Lucner and his, Guenson and Claudia, potluck with OMS, Yves and Paulcine, Job and Tata and the kids, Nick and Nikki and their dear ones, Steve and Shelley and theirs.

When I made the list, I didn't know how I was going to get through those. But I was going to do it WELL and with joy, and "cherish" must be on my paper 49 times.

I was going to take lots of pictures with the kids, places, people, things, pets, favorite plants and memories. We were going to pack well, give-away well, go well.

My list, titled, "Most Important Things to Do Before We Go," feels stupid in my hands, but each time I go to crumple it...I cannot. 

It's worth nothing but a painful reminder of painful losses, and for the first time, I understand the many people who left Haiti over the past 13 years for one reason or another, most of whom seemed to drop off the face of the earth. Couldn't get ahold of them, stop communicating with everyone....what in the world?

It's because IT HURTS.  

It's because the little proverb about loving Haiti being like having a grain of sand in your shoe is true. 

No one sees it, but you feel it, every step. You never can forget that it is there.

And it's not that you want to. 

It's that constant rub wears you raw.

May 15th we were supposed to leave Haiti well, full and closured and organized, good-byes all said and tears all shed and gifts all given and well-done. I had pictured it, mentally--taking 13 years of my very best unto Him, 13 years of friends and family, being faithful to the very last day--and wrapping them up and giving them back to Him with peace in my heart.

Nothing is ever a neat package, I know. All of those closures would have been difficult, and people, people, we are always messy. It would have still been messy to say and hear and do, I know.

But how I longed to feebly wrap up my messy best and look forward. 

And how stuck I am over what to do, instead, with this worthless piece of paper, and 100 places raw.