I miss writing and processing like I could write in Haiti. America doesn't appreciate you writing vulnerable stories about your neighbors the same way.
Or at all.
There were so many experiences at home in Haiti that I could literally feel myself starting to write in my mind while they were still happening...and every time those sweet or painful or funny or ugly moments happen here, I start to write them in my head and realize that I can't.
No matter how I feel, I'm no longer a foreigner, transparently able to share a totally foreign world and life with my home people.
As the kids and I sat around our Advent cards this morning--Day One: Advent meaning Arrival-- we talked about waiting for Jesus. About how long they waited for the Messiah to come, about how He arrived by messy, painful, imperfect family.
About how the arrival we are counting down to and waiting for is Him.
It's never felt so true, just so many hurting people all around us and a culture so dark and broken...I've never felt so anxious and dripping with the need of the Savior's arrival in every area of my life-I-can't-even-write-about.
Whatever the thing that's pulling us, this season, away from His arrival, let's fight it. Whatever we're waiting for that's NOT just Jesus, let's check it. Whatever we're comfortable with this season, whatever frustrates us, whatever we're needing, let's light that first purple "hope" candle for Christ-COME.
Every moment. Every element. Every aspect.
Advent: Lord, show up.
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