all together now

A few evenings ago Matt was teaching from Acts when he mentioned several experiences in Haiti that utterly lacked privacy or personal space, but were totally transformed and beautiful through vulnerability and community. 

Our things, our time, our gifts, our talents, he said, aren't ours, but His. We're only stewarding them for Him and His glory. Even our space and our privacy are not our own, but His to use.

As he spoke I was transported immediately to the sweltering night in July when Ben was born, truly one of the sweetest, most painful experiences of my life. 

I labored through the sticky night after putting the girls to sleep across the hall, and when morning light woke them, they found the baby they'd been praying for in bed with mom and dad. I emerged later that day to stretch, sunshine, and introduce our curious village of Saccanville to its newest Haitian creation. As I meandered to the front gate, I found Yves, tall and chiseled by sun and labor and age and life, and just as gentle as he was hardened. 

As soon as he saw Ben's fuzzy head, he broke into his signature grin, and I announced "Brother Yves! The baby has been born!" 

I know, he smiled. Just after 1 am.

A bit baffled, I continued giving the information culturally expected. It was a hard labor, but not long. A boy, as expected. All is well!

I know, he smiled again down at Ben.

Robbed, I started to walk towards the cafeteria to see the ladies.

Well, tell the village! I called back.

I already did! he beamed. At sunrise!

I turned right back around and confronted the mystery.

Turns out, while I was laboring and while the littles slept...screens in the huge open windows of our block home...Yves was walking the campus. Night watchman... bringing Psalm 130:6 to a whole new level since moving to Haiti ten years before. 

He lit the way at 11:30 pm for Matt when he ran next door to find the midwife. He watched the lights come on inside our home at midnight. He circled our house silently in watch care and in prayer, and asked the others to do the same, and sent one to alert the wives to be praying.  

He heard Ben's cries at 1, and watched our house grow dark by 2. 

Yves had circled and watched and prayed, all night...a sacred violation of privacy vs. an announcement of Facebook three days later. 

I have often shared with Ben that a village prayed over his birth, and how men and women joyfully participated in his coming, supernaturally giving me the peace and power needed to deliver a 9+ pound baby in the middle of such political unrest that the road to the hospital was cut by burning tires in three places. 

I'll never forget it. 

And I'll always stand for our circles, our times of agony, our private spaces being for one another to guard and hold and circle in prayer...not stand at a distance. 

What I wrote in 2018...

While I labored through the most agonizing night of my life, no question, God was there in the middle, watching over me.  Yves was walking around Emmaus, encircling me in his prayers, many of you have written or called or texted to tell me that throughout the nights, you have awoken again and again and deliberately turned your midnight prayers to us. 

In the middle of a stifling, mud-hut village with only three beside me, many, many were, and even moreso, the Great God of the highest heavens, Watchman of our Nights and Bringer of the Morning, He was H-E-R-E and waiting and watching and in the middle, and brought peace.

What can preach better than Yves, that we might wait upon the Lord and lift each other unceasingly upward, waiting upon the Light intensely? 

What can preach better than Ben, that in a country and a time so broken and dark, in a night so full of pain and despair, God brings the most intricate beauty and provision and peace, that He comes and comes and comes among us in unexpected ways and in painful nights, transforming them?

What can preach better than our lives, God in the middle?