I would like to start this blog off with an antecdote that exemplifies (so perfectly) the messiness of life. And having to sit in messes sometimes and be okay with it.
The ministry we have been doing here in Haiti is AWESOME. I absoultely love Mission for Hope. All of our work has been village based, ministering to the local villages of Simonete and Lavec. In the afternoons, we have been holding what we call Kids Camp in Simonete about ten minutes away from Titanyen, where we live. So a few days ago, just like most other afternoons, we were having kids camp, and NONE of the kids wanted to play with me. We are talking serious rejection here. Some even shrugged me off if I tried to pick them up or ran to other people. I was pretty bummed.
All of a sudden I saw my friend Jay pick up this teeny tiny, precious, malnourished baby boy who was practically asleep, and I thought to myself “Here’s my chance. In a few minutes, I will steal that baby from Jay and he will love me and everything will be okay.” So I did. Jay graciously let me borrow her little nugget and I was so happy. He smiled and what not. I bounced him on my hip and what not. I looked down and happened to notice he wasn’t wearing pants. No big deal, right? I mean, this is the World Race…sometimes kids aren’t wearing pants. It happens.
So I continue bouncing, and he continues smiling. Eventually I hand him back to Jay. And it wasn’t until about 5 minutes later that I looked down and saw it.
A big, brown streak smeard on my favorite light blue quick dry shirts.
At first, I was seriously grumpy about the situation. I mean, the only baby that would let me hold him all afternoon seriously just took a poop on my favorite shirt. I was so grossed out and just not having it.
But then I realized that it was okay. I would live. I would wash my shirt. I would move on from being so grossed out. And it was actually really, really funny.
It turned into a miniature life lesson. Stuff is gonna happen. If I could push through being pooped on in the middle of nowhere in Haiti, without a change of clothes or a ride home, and realize that having poop on my shirt for a couple of hours was worth loving on a little guy that probably really needed it, I can push through a lot of other things as well.
I can hold the hand of a little boy who has maybe-spreadable open wounds and infections all over his body.
I can hug kiddos while mentally playing the lice-or-dandruff game.
I can love my teammates and squadmates on my bad days as well as theirs.
I can choke down that mystery meat (or silently suffer through the hunger later).
I can lay hands on the crippled old woman with no one to take care of her even though I really just want to run away and cry
I can pray over men and women with tuberculosis and cholera, without feeling like my skin is crawling the whole time.
I can focus on letting God break my heart…on prayer and love, rather than the obsessing over the fact that things might not be as clean and sanitary and healthy as I once preferred them.
I chose this. I chose to live in underdeveloped areas for a year and to embrace the hard parts that come with it. And it is so worth it, because a lot of really beautiful things are happening too. Sometimes you have to spend a few hours with poop on your shirt. But sometimes you get to worship with the Haitian staff on a bumpy bus and laugh harder than you have in two months. And sometimes you get to snuggle with the most beautiful children in the world until they fall asleep, or sing songs praising Jesus with people who still worship him, despite the fact that their bodies are physically decaying. It is so worth it.
I hope that if I end up living in the United States again, I will seek out situations that make me uncomfortable. It’s easy for me to fall into routine and comfort. But it has been so, so good to be challenged in ways that surprise me. To allow God to meet me when I’m grossed out, or worried about getting tuberculosis, or crying on someone’s front porch because my heart is broken. It’s such an easy place to be met by God, because that’s where he sent his son. That’s where Jesus went. Jesus went to the sick and dying people, the lepers, probably even the poopy babies. He didn’t stay clean, or safe, or in places where he couldn’t contract any diseases. It is so beautiful to be able to meet Jesus in that place, where my heart is broken and my hands are dirty, and I can finally forget about the poop on my shirt because I get to work with my Savior to love his people.
