On Monday we had our end-of-school/beginning-of-summer party with the youth group. We spent our evening doing the normal kinds of things youth groups do - playing games, eating junk food, generally having fun, being silly and smelling fairly stinky (like gym socks and deodorant-defying body odor). At one point in the evening, there was a large crew who decided to play a super intense game of dodgeball. Well, at least I thought it was intense. As some of the more mellow (and sane) among us watched from the sidelines, we cheered for those who were successful in dodging the rubber balls that were flying with surprising force across the room. We winced in unison when one of the younger or smaller among the group was knocked out with an echoing smack of rubber against flesh. Later in the evening we waved goodbye and went our separate ways. The youth will continue to meet through the summer, doing Bible studies, going on the annual summer retreat and having absurd amounts of fun. I'm sorry to miss the summertime with our youth group, but I'm also thankful that they are supporting and praying for my summer adventures in Haiti. I left youth group with a big smile and a box full of gifts for my friends in Haiti - gifts from the youth at Christ Redeemer Church.
In a few days I'll be Haiti-bound for the seventh summer. While a lot about this summer will be similar to the past summers, there will be new sprinkled in with the familiar. I've been trying to work up the inspiration to blog about this summer's adventure in Haiti. Dodgeball in that noisy, smelly gym was exactly the catalyst that I was in need of...
I feel like I've said it all before. If you look back over the past six years of blog posts (which might take a long while - probably something to taste in small nibbles not to be consumed in one bite), you'll see themes that run through these experiences. These summers are woven with threads of God's grace and goodness, His faithfulness and constancy in the midst of hardship and uncertainty that are so much of this life. Inevitably during the summer in Haiti, God graciously brings me to moments of clarity. Despite having vision blurred by the busyness and comfort of routines and my own efforts of diversion, I suddenly see glimpses of the bigger story of grace. It has been my experience that when you are immersed in a different culture and you take away your normal patterns and familiar faces and spaces, you are left a little lopsided. It's like wandering up a rocky mountain path with the wrong kind of footwear. Each step is a little unsteady and those things which you might not normally attend to suddenly require your focus. How you place each foot, how you shift your weight, how you swing your arms and hold your head are brought to the forefront of your mind. How I spend my time, how I process frustrations or conflict, or how I handle minor discomforts or inconveniences are right in front of me. Not only am I able to reflect on myself more clearly and honestly during these summers in Haiti, but in this stripping away of distraction and familiarity, I'm brought to a place where faith is not to be compartmentalized. When I share life with my Haitian friends, teach in the Haitian school, walk through the streets of Port au Prince, and worship with my Haitian brothers and sisters, I'm humbled and reminded of what this story is all about - grace and redemption.
For some reason I relate to the color orange. Giraffes - I get them. They're tall and spotted and orangey-colored. I'm tall and spotted, or freckled, and orangey-colored. I've never studied the science behind why certain people favor certain colors, but I know that orange and I have this kind of relationship. So, when I'm out biking and hiking and wandering in the woods, I get a unique kind of thrill when I spot this vibrant flash of orange in the midst of forest greens and browns.
A few days ago while biking on a new favorite trail in the woods of New Hampshire, I met this little orange friend. There he was, on the soggy trail, surrounded by the massive drops of a spring rain. I imagined his perspective on the situation. He was just wandering through the forest of grass and stepped out into the vast expanse of the muddy path when with a squeaking of breaks and a crunching of gravel, along comes my bicycle. He couldn't do much of anything to protect himself against the force and weight of myself on the bike. Our interaction could have easily ended in a regretful accident of oblivion and squish, rather than stillness and up-close awed investigation. Even though he had no real control or understanding of the bigger situation, he was still taking one amazingly small step at a time out into the path, unprotected and uncertain about what he might encounter there. I know it's all anthropomorphizing on my part, but I could help but put myself into the "shoes" of this little friend.
It leaves me with questions. How much of my life of faith is like being tucked away safe in the protection of the tall grass or on the sidelines of a dodgeball game? Am I ruled by fear of what I might encounter or what I might discover about myself if I venture forward? How many times have I failed to jump into the middle of a situation to lend support or encouragement because I couldn't clearly see all that I would face on that path? In short, I'm questioning my tendency to dodge opportunities rather than enter them walking by faith.
So this summer, my big prayer is that I wouldn't dodge. I'm praying that I would lean in when things become tricky or frustrating or confusing. Especially when it comes to being able to support and encourage those around me, I'm praying to be hit squarely by these opportunities to share love and grace!
Thank you for following along with this summer's journey! I'll look forward to sharing what's going on in Haiti as time/internet/electricity allow! Much love in Christ, Jessie
