So this season of struggle, still fresh and deep and unexpectedly painful, carrying on and on and on, has really surprised me. Every time I think the clouds are lifting, there is new heaviness that brings back old heaviness and I'm buried...and after months of feeling sad in my deep places, in my bones even when my footsteps lighten, I'm sad and tired of feeling sad and tired, even with so very much that I am genuinely thankful for...and suddenly I realize that that IS understanding depression in a way I haven't in the past.
Like the rest of the world, Haiti is staggering under one heavy blow after another...political instability, insecurity, corruption. Complete and utter financial disarray. Major economic crisis, total collapse of infrastructure. Massive unemployment. A full year without education for ALL children and most universities and higher ed. It. Is. A. Mess.
Maybe an unprecedented mess, and Haiti has BEEN in some messes.
And I am finally seeing from the most resilient of friends the repeated idea that "Haiti is finished. She is finished."
The frustration and anger is melting into despair and complete helplessness and hopelessness, and the despair of friends adds to my own helplessness and concern for the people and country that we love, and realize that we all still call home.
Matt walks Wesley's halls before the staff arrives, praying over each office, always, in Haitian Creole. "It just feels like it's my prayer language, Stacey. It still feels sacred."
Nora, still, asks most days if "when we're finished with this _____, can we go home then?" or an occasional tearful, "Haiti is better. I miss _____."
Haiti is finished, Haiti finally feels, long after most of the world already thought so.
And when I see it posted again and again on Facebook and in emails and hear it in the voices of our dear ones, Li Fini, without fail that still, small voice down deep whispers to me, strong and calm, "Fine. That may be. But I am not."
I can't seem to shake all the pain and loss and struggle...here and there and everywhere. Every new blow both here and there--friends struggling with major and heart-breaking brokenness, sickness, family issues...news that our friends and neighbors are not returning to Haiti this year...our dog and friend Jaxson is sick, sick...our staff and students don't know if classes will be able to resume in August, American Airlines has decided to stop flying to Cap-Haitian before it's even had the chance to start again--it all finds me still down, anyway. Even the ridiculous things...mourning the stupid black laundry tub that we used as a bathtub for infant, baby, and toddler Lily....then Sofie...then Nora...then Ben...mourning my briefcase and work blouses and peaceful, happy office and a few hours each day to enjoy them and the men and women who joined me...missing my daily devotional time with my students, always so humbling and powerful...mourning the old, heavy desk that many inspiring missionaries used before me and that I used, every single day, for 13 years, meeting Jesus and catching tears and piled with kids artwork and student workbooks...missing heavily the worship and prayer and preaching of chapel, every other day. Missing lifting my eyes a hundred times a day to our mountain...strong and silent and unchanging, reminding me, every time, of His powerful presence just right there, just on the horizon....palpable.
I was talking about a dark and heavy place months again, and here's July and I'm still in tears most days. I wonder if I am just finished, and He's allowing that I might be.
But He is not.
Tomorrow we all set out on a 12 hour drive to Kansas, speaking Sunday, staying with Aunt Sharon and Uncle Martin, and spending the week with lots of dear and long-time family. So thankful.
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