Longing

It's my last night in Haiti.  I'm trying to savor every moment, soak up every experience, and store in my heart and mind all of my life in this place.  It will likely be a year before I'm here again, before I see these friends, before I see these sights and hear these sounds.  I'm sitting out on the balcony and the small tent neighborhood across the street is full of the sounds of the all-night church getting under way.  Some of the older boys are walking across the yard with their old dinner dishes to drop them off in the outdoor kitchen.  They throw a rock ahead of themselves to scare away any rodents that might have settled in there for the night, then someone flips off the light and they shout out in surprise.  The man who sits by the gate to provide the appearance of security is making his rounds.  If any prospective intruder knew just how kind and gentle this man was, and how tender he is with the little boys, they would never be deterred from sinister plans.  The chickens are quietly clucking around the yard and one rogue bunny is hopping as surreptitiously as possible because at dusk it won itself a night of freedom from its cage by evading capture by the laughing, chaotic crowd of little boys.  The city power is out and only a handful of homes in the city have lights glowing, indicating solar panels, inverters, and generators at work.  Up in the mountains lights flicker where wealthier neighborhoods are provided with more regular electricity.  Down here in the heart of the city where tents and tin homes are standard, the darkness of the night rules.  When the singing of the all-night churches near and far pause, you can hear voices from all around shouting and conversing.  There's little privacy when your home has no solid walls and you live only a stone's throw away from the neighbor.  The ocean breezes blow softly and cool off the city that was melting just a few hours ago under the heat of the Caribbean sun.  

Earlier this evening I sat with some of the little boys up on the top of a wall looking out over the neighborhood.  We pointed out different tropical trees and talked about the fruit they grow.  We looked up at the clouds and hoped in vain for rain-filled clouds to come our way.  Two of the boys sitting with me just said goodbye to their brother this morning as he headed off to college.  He was in the first class to graduate from the school, a class of four uniquely gifted boys who miraculously all got scholarships and visas to go to college in the States.  As we sat this afternoon looking up at the sky, the boys talked about what they would do "one day."  "One day, I'll go zoom!"  Gevenson exclaimed as he shot his hand up into the air like a jet taking off.  As the boys talked about their futures and their imaginations ran wild (just as the dreams of young children should) you could almost taste the longing.  With their eyes pointed upward, they were envisioning futures that in many ways are so far beyond what is reasonable or realistic.  In thinking about it now, it is that same longing that has been resonating in my heart this summer.  After five summers spent here, I'm afraid that the poverty and brokenness is becoming less and less shocking.  It makes me nervous that I'm feeling even a little bit desensitized to the pain and desperation I see around me.  But then I also think that I'm beginning to see into that longing more than I ever have before.  

This summer I've been struck by longings all around me... Malnourished children who are longing for a meal that satiates their hunger, orphans who are longing for a stable home and parents to love them, improvised parents who are longing for someone to show mercy and provide for the urgent needs of their children, aid workers and missionaries who are longing for a glimpse of fruit in the midst of their tiring labor, amazing young single teachers longing for marriage and family but needing a better income to take these steps, individuals who have been wronged and abused and mistreated longing for justice in the midst of corruption and apathy, and a whole country on the brink of elections that is longing for peace in the transition and a way out of a seemingly impossible cycle of poverty, dependence, and instability.  I've felt these longings as I've walked alongside my friends and family in Haiti.  Their longings have become my own in so many ways.  It wasn't a hard step because these longings feel common to humanity.  I look into the eyes of a friend here and listen to their voice as their hearts pour out longing.  My heart echoes the same longings and I nod my head in understanding.  

But this can't be where it ends.  We can't just keep walking along the road together dragged down by our longings or share meals together knowing that our hunger will return, or put temporary fixes on insatiable desires.  No, instead I'm recognizing that we need to lean deeper into the longings.  We need to recognize that, as one of my Haitian teacher friends said this summer, Christ is the "hub" of the wheel of our lives.  When I let any other longing be central to my fulfillment and happiness and contentment, I'm left with a void, a crooked wheel that can't turn, a bottomless pit of longing that will never be truly satisfied.  It's only when we give Him the center place that all these other desires are put in proper perspective.  I'm not sure exactly what this looks like in all circumstances, but I know what it means for my heart and my life.  It means that tomorrow morning when I wake up and say goodbye and go through the motions of leaving, I'll lean into that loss.  I'll mourn the brokenness of goodbyes of this life.  I'll recognize and then put aside fear for my friends here and what life will bring them in the coming year.  I'll dig deep into truths of Christ that I've been told for so long... He is faithful.  He is present.  He didn't leave us alone; He sent us a Helper.  He is the redeemer.  He is busy making all things new.  I'll pray for faith to keep my eyes fixed on Him, and then, I'm praying, that my vision for the longings of this life will be clearer.  It won't erase all the needs I've seen here, but it will put them into a larger context where hope and true redemption reign because Christ is supreme.  And then, by God's grace, He will allow us to continue to walk together this life of faith, finding Him at the depths of our longings.  Through whatever may come down the road, I'm blessed to know that we will be encouraging each other to find completeness in Him.  I'm so looking forward to continuing on this journey of faith with you!  

With much love and thankfulness in Christ, Jessie

Go to the Limits of Your Longing

by Rainer Maria Rilke

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,

then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,

go to the limits of your longing.

Embody me.

Flare up like a flame

and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don’t let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.

You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

Food

This summer I've been able to spend so many precious moments together with dear friends and sweet children, sharing food.  In a place where fresh water and life-sustaining food are hard to come by, I am much more keenly aware of these blessings in my daily life! I love the picture of our need for physical sustenance and how it reveals a greater truth about our need for community and spiritual nourishment as well.  Here are just a few snapshots of life shared through food together this summer in Haiti...

Saturday brunch with the girls from the children's home (and a few little boys eating leftovers!)

Friday night movie nights with popcorn.

Gifts of fresh fruits from thoughtful teenage girls.

The best cup of coffee I've ever had, along with beloved little early-morning friends to greet me.

 

I'm looking forward to sharing life (and food) again with you all soon!  With much love in Christ, Jessie

Beauty

I've been thinking a lot over the past few days...  about the upcoming transition back to life in N.H., about the great disparities between life here and there, and then about how when you dig a little below the surface, things are really the same no matter where we go.  There is joy and rejoicing and hurt  and loss all around us.  There is sacrificial service and honesty which builds up cultures and deceit and greed which corrupt cultures.  There are individuals who bravely face days of hardship and need without knowing how their needs will be met or when their burdens will be lifted.  The feelings of excitement, happiness, anticipation, confusion, fear, anxiety, and anger are common to all of humanity.  Over the last few days I've had conversations with friends here in Haiti who shared great concerns over their future, their families, their cities, their country.  Then I have had emails and conversations with friends from home who share similar burdens.  It is my natural inclination to take on all of this and walk around with an ugly burden that I was never meant to carry.  As if me holding onto the hurts and questions of those I love will in any way make those hurts and questions any smaller!  My eyes see ugliness and brokenness and doubt and confusion and these all threaten to consume.



Last night I had a hard time sleeping.  Faces kept flooding to my mind.  Faces of dear sweet children who are growing up as orphans in an ever-shifting life where stability seems always out of reach.  Faces of Haitian friends who are battling with brokenness that seems unable to be mended.  Faces of missionaries who are struggling physically, financially, emotionally, spiritually... 

I prayed.  I cried out to God.  And then I tried again to rest.  I turned on a song that a dear friend gave to me recently.  It's written by a father who has experienced great loss.  Instead of dwelling on the circumstances, he sees through them to the greater story that our Heavenly Father is writing... A story of redemption and hope and joy and peace and beauty.  How I long to live a life that is focused on Christ and remember the beauty of His Story for us. As my eyes are fixed on Him, I can see the beauty in the story of today and I can remember that one day we will experience a life where:

All the cancer is gone

Every mouth is fed

And there's no one left in the orphans' bed

Every lonely heart finds their one true love

And there's no more goodbye

And no more not enough

And there's no more enemy

No more

Many thanks for following along with me and for being patient with me as I process!  I am keenly aware that grace is abundantly poured out on me in Christ and in the friends and family whom He has given to walk alongside me!  With much love in Christ, Jessie