
L’Eternel est mon berger.
Je ne manquerai de rien. Psaume 23:1
I’ve been thinking about Haiti a lot lately… not that I ever stopped. So many things remind me of my time there. I never thought I would say this, but I miss Haiti. (Who am I kidding? I knew that this day would come. It always does.)
I want to go back, but what would I do there? What did I even do the first time around? It’s so difficult to really put a finger on the intangibles… though I suppose that’s why we call them intangible.
In order for me to survive in Haiti I had to put a wall around my heart. You see, I cry watching the news. I cry reading the news. I cry watching Oprah… heck, I cry during particularly moving commercials. I am tender hearted. Haiti is not an easy home for a tender heart. I would have died of grief had I not done something to protect myself. Problem is, I’m having a hard time deconstructing it. (If it we’re real I’d dance around it seven times with horns or something.)
Most days I am fine, though in my quiet times with God I am finding it impossible to get past a certain point with my heart. I hit a wall. I can feel it. I can’t quite touch it. I can’t quite reach it, but I can feel it. Sometimes I accidently jump over it into the sludge. I have a particularly close friend whom, whenever our usually joking conversation turns serious I end up weeping and talking about Haiti for at least 45 minutes. It’s happened several times now.
What’s a girl to do? I pray frequently for my friends there. I’ve toyed with the idea of going back on my own accord (Casey Johnson: Rogue Missionary. I like it.). I’ve thought about volunteering for J/P HRO.
I’m so afraid of forgetting… and afraid I’ll never heal. Jesus knows.
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