Present Peace

“For God is not a God of disorder but of peace.” (1 Corinthians 14:33)

A scrawny rooster crowed, waking half the barracks but not me; my eyes cracked open of their own order to welcome the pre-dawn gray. Like an ant army, we dressed in silence and one by one marched the no-man’s land between bed and bath, wash-clothes in hand. We returned, one by one, fresh-faced, squinting back the sun as it softly broke the eastern mountain crests, admiring the already warm morning, contemplating the day.

Breakfast: scoop of oatmeal, spoonful of sugar, splash of milk, dash of cinnamon, packet of almonds, did-everyone-take-their-malaria-pills? Devotions: worshipping from a still, steady heart and uncluttered head, giving God the day, minute by minute. Received the day’s orders.

“Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)

The rhythmic peace of reliable routine and no expectations was a balm for my weary, harried heart. Organize donations: one by one, wiggle a box from the top of the heavy pile, slice the tape, check the contents—another jersey!—move, sort, move, one by one. Organize the warehouse: receive a box, pass on a box, arms tired, drink some water, check the contents—another mouse got in—one by one, thirty-nine left, three, two, one… Organize the office: move out boxes, sort, sweep, sand, paint, stroke by stroke… Stop for lunch: beans and rice and soup and what-flavor-is-the-punch? Refill water bottles: soon to be warm again but now perspiring icy coolness. Continue on. Stop for the day. No urgency nor guilt nor pressure about unfinished work. No real deadlines. We’re on Haitian time.
 

"'Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.'" (John 14:27) 

The glory of clear skies continued with committed regularity. Day by day, I was allowed to release my thoughts to a warm and gentle breeze, to "cast my anxiety on Him" (1 Peter 5:7)—allowed to indulge my endless fascination with watching cloud formations change the color of the sky. These clouds did not block out the sun, but worked in ways that did nothing but enhance a week of crystal sunrises and ruby sunsets. I identified with the sun as it landed gently to the west, tired from its eternal work as we were. Moon and stars peeked out shyly by twilight, diamond eyes and faces shining boldly by evening, battling against the darkness creeping over the landscape.

“If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,’ even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.” (Psalm 139:11-12)

Swarms of mosquitoes and moths and gnats gathered around every light on campus at night, even in the dining hall. But even avoiding those tables, by dinner already littered with tiny corpses scorched by the lamp above, was an endearing custom. Refreshment from cool showers was short-lived; I was already nodding off into food and Bananagrams, blinking back sleep during discussion time and Bible study. Even during worship on the roof of the school under the cheerfully twinkling stars, constellations comfortingly familiar, my body melted into the quiet stillness around me, feeling closely the Spirit’s presence.

 “Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, for you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.” (1 Corinthians 15:58)

Night by night, full of the satisfaction from the day’s work and feeling exhausted, I went to bed and slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

The Lasting Kind

“[Jesus] replied, ‘My mother and brothers are those who hear God’s word and put it into practice.’”
(Luke 8:21)

Hi team,

This post is nothing less than a big thank you to each and every one of you, and is already long-overdue. I know that all of us were pretty thrilled to stay in the grace-and-truth quadrant toward each other (if not always for ourselves), so I don’t have much to add to that. What I frequently remember is that, after confessing our first night how numb and not present I was and feeling like I couldn’t pour back into anyone, so many of you were so kind in taking the time to draw me out over our trip. I am pretty embarrassed to share some of these things, but as per my last email to you, I feel my embarrassment was worth bringing glory to God through sharing the need for prayer and, as a result, through your prayers’ answer.

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” (Galatians 6:2)

Dear sisters, I especially want to thank you for getting deeper—some of you very deep—into my wounds and helping me clean them out and make sense of them. I appreciate your gentle empathy and kind compassion and sound advice. Thank you for "spurring me on toward love and good deeds", for "encouraging me" and "not giving up" (Hebrews 10:24-25).

“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!” (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10)

Dear brothers, I really appreciate you being good brothers, and showing that you men can comfort and lend an ear to us women without it being A Thing. I might be speaking only for myself, but I often wonder how women supposed are to practice good relationships with men (and vice versa) when our Christian communities are so segregated by gender? In any case, I do appreciate the practice.

Separately, there is one particular instance of thanks owed for which I know I am speaking for quite a few of the ladies, that we noticed the first few days moving donations in the sea container:

Once the consolidated boxes got too heavy to lift, you really stepped it up and helped out. It may seem small to you, but the women were really grateful that you did the part of the work you could do—lifting—without complaint; and moreover, let us do the part of the work we could do—directing—without questioning us or trying to take over. You could easily have pushed us all into the performance quadrant, but instead it was a really beautiful example of the functioning Body, with you using the strengths God created you—as men—to have. We really appreciated it and want to say thank you!

Finally (welcome to my slightly disjointed conclusion), I’m very happy for the awesome experience of community we made as a team and am especially glad we have kept in touch and can visit each other. It could have been one of those things where you meet once, add each other on Facebook, and then never talk again—but I don’t think this was. I’m so grateful for our special experience together and that our new friendships are turning out so far to be the lasting kind. And I look forward to more adventures with you!

"As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another." (Proverbs 27:17)

In His love,

Kelsey

Good Gifts

“It does not, therefore, depend on man’s desire or effort, but on God’s mercy.” (Romans 9:16)

Some people have found me hard to believe when I say there was nothing really distressing or even particularly uncomfortable about my time in Haiti. On the contrary, it was so full of pleasant surprises and comfort and happiness that I want to use this space to honor God with praises for a trip that was more like a homecoming for my soul than anything else. Besides, after the heaviness of the last post and this past weekend, I definitely feel the need to reflect on His unaccountable goodness in the form of describing the many ways He showed me His love and careful attention on the broken island in the Caribbean.

After a long and complicated journey from Boston involving a cab, an overnight bus, a subway ride, the AirTrain at JFK, and a Boeing 767, another bout of sitting-and-waiting—this time, outside the airport in Port-au-Prince—was happily resigned to as the preferred activity over trudging-with-luggage. And happy—not delirious from lack of sleep—it really was, for stretching over me in all directions was the perfectly unblemished blue of cloudless sky, and beaming down on me were 85 degrees of brightly and continuously streaming sunlight. It was not the passionless, washed-out blue of winter, nor the iron gray of storm, nor the lifeless undefined white that cloaks New York from December till March. It was certainly not the gloom of my apartment, which strangles even the strongest rays that dare battle their way in. It was radiance itself for the air to touch and warm my skin.

 

“‘Your Father knows what you need before you ask him.’” (Matthew 6:8)

The next two gifts were such a combination of specificity and improbability that it is impossible but that the hand of God was at work. Upon entering the dining hall, I was immediately greeted by the sight of a piano, complete with sheet music that ranged from Christmas carols easy enough for me to sight-read to Beethoven’s Für Elise, which I have been painstakingly working through for months. I can’t adequately express how entirely tinkering at the piano puts me at ease, except to try to explain that it’s qualitatively equivalent to enjoying a really good quiet time with the Lord. I spent a great deal of time there.

The other gift, which by itself was totally unlikely, were the no-bake cookies that were served with dinner that first night, the likes of whose glorious oat-and-chocolate-and-peanut-buttery-goodness I had never before beheld outside my own kitchen. That mostly everyone on my team happened to know what they were did not detract at all from the fact that Haiti had no-bakes in common with home, of all things. And food-related blessings didn’t stop there. Along with having to eat oatmeal, rice and beans, and spaghetti and chicken all week—foods that top the list of things I don’t get sick of—I realized as the trip progressed that God was restoring my appetite, which, after my perpetual illness last semester and the resulting fifteen-pound weight loss, was a miracle.

I saw a no-bake cookie.

“You are familiar with all my ways.” (Psalm 139:3)

There were many, many other details I could point to… the comfort of roaming barnyard animals and dusty heat, reminiscent of home… the particular satisfaction of cold showers and a clean face after getting filthy dirty… and many other instances I have yet to relay that soothed my heart that week—but I could hardly close on the goodness of God without mentioning the day on the coast.  

Having been raised camping and gotten through elementary school on books like Island of the Blue Dolphins, My Side of the Mountain, and Little House In the Big Woods, and playing games like Oregon Trail (I’m dating myself), I have in me an unswerving romanticism for certain time periods and environments in which I would realistically find my present-day self very uncomfortable. In particular, the idea of pre-industrial America and the English Middle Ages woo my fancy—as well as surviving on a deserted island, à la Robinson Crusoe. So washing that mango while standing in the waves, stripping it with a oversized knife, and then drowning my face and hands in its delightfully squishy orange pulp (and later, gnawing on a foot-length of sugarcane) pretty much fed the primitive instinct of my soul to be wild and fierce and somewhat unladylike, which I usually fulfill with sports and cooking-with-my-hands. This was great fun, but at the ocean, God met another, deeper soul-need…

I love water. I love the cool soothing swirling flow around my ankles, the rhythmic pitter-patter of rain, the perfect reflection of a puddle, the tenderness of a dew drop clinging tightly to the tip of a new leaf or sparkling in a spider web. I love the pulsating ebb-and-flow of the ocean, the weight of a giant heartbeat pressing around me, the salty sea-smells, the breathy crash and spray of a hello to the shelly sand. I could watch the variable tripping and giggling of a creek unceasingly.

Much like flying in an airplane, standing in the ocean is, for me, always a time to meet with God. In the ocean, listening to that strong and steady heartbeat, I experience His might and beauty and tenderness all at once. I can look out onto those clear blue ripples and imagine them rising up into wild waves, a black, crushing storm which my Lord calms with a raised hand, saying, “Quiet! Be still,” as He so often says to me (Mark 4:39). I feel the countless tiny grains of sand brushing between my toes and remember His thoughts of me are more numerous than the sum of them (Psalm 139:17-18), that I cannot find a place where He is not present, even if I “make my bed in the depths” or “settle on the far side of the sea” (Psalm 139:7-9). Lord, I will “be still, and know that you are God” (Psalm 46:10).

“‘If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!’” (Matthew 7:11)

Sovereign King

“As for God, his way is perfect; the word of the Lord is flawless.” (Psalm 18:30)

Allow me to partially depart from remembering Haiti with a brief discourse on God’s sovereignty.*** What with my college graduation swiftly approaching, my own plans blown wide open in so many ways, and God generally remaining too-quiet-for-comfort on the small but dear issue of my life, remembering our Creator Lord’s perfect dominion over all things is especially important for maintaining my sanity, which is otherwise at the mercy of a SSRI.

*** I’ve now finished writing this post, and along with not being brief, it turns out I haven’t departed from Haiti at all—and that I apparently had some serious reckoning to do with God. I hope this is an encouragement to my team, and any others who have personally experienced great suffering or witnessed that of others.

“Those who know your name will trust in you, for you, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek you.” (Psalm 9:10)

Lack of empathy for the despair of nature and man is not my will or purpose. A glib tossing up of hands at tragedy and attributing everything, good or bad, to God’s will demonstrates a lack of the understanding we can have. It is not easy to look through the thickness of depression—through a deep blackness of loneliness and isolation, past a blinding betrayal by a lover, through the fragmented glass of family deaths and other damaged relationships, through any of the endless sources of pain a person may experience—only to look through a grimy bus window into decimated Port-au-Prince. Questioning God’s goodness and control is completely natural and is a necessary step toward being able to walk with Him with “freedom and confidence” (Ephesians 3:12).

“‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,’ declares the Lord. ‘As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.’” (Isaiah 55:8-9)

How can God be perfectly good and omnipotent if He allows disasters like the earthquake that hit Haiti? I will try to do more justice to the example than I did in the maddening conversation Kristi and I had last Monday with a truculent man near Lincoln Center. On that occasion, I made the mistake of arguing that God used the earthquake and the 2-3 hundred thousand fatalities as a means for attracting the world’s attention to the absurd suffering of the remaining eleven million citizens. He, bent on being argumentative, twisted that to conclude God deliberately chose an earthquake in a cold, uncreative, few-for-the-many utilitarian sacrifice that couldn’t have been further from my point or the Truth.

I meant that my God, also omniscient, has an eternal perspective and orders far-reaching plans that, in our shortsightedness and limited understanding, may appear to us pointless and cruel. The much-beloved verse:

“‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” (Jeremiah 29:11)

is even more amazing when one considers the Lord spoke it at the beginning of Israel’s 70 years of exile in Babylon. We only sometimes see the good that comes from struggle and even then, we, lacking wisdom, may disagree with God’s plan. But one thing of which we may be sure is that He is good, and good for His word. Having an eternal perspective is not mutually exclusive of caring incredibly about the details of how His will is accomplished.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose… If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Romans 8:28, 31)

I’ve started reading Trusting God, by Jerry Bridges, which has provided the structure, if not inspiration, for this argument. He is more succinct and clear by distinguishing ‘enabling’ from ‘permitting’—two activities which, by the way, both imply having authority and power. Bridges’ definition allows me to refine my point about the earthquake, which I believe, along with all other natural disasters, is a result of fallen, rebellious creation (c.f. Genesis 3:17-18).

“Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.” (John 1:2)

A clarified explanation of the earthquake would then go something as follows: the earthquake was one manifestation of rebellious nature, which God, who “sustains all things by his powerful word” (Hebrews 1:3, emphasis added), permitted, as it was somehow in accordance with His grand plan of redemption. I must remember that, despite the fact that Haiti has been in trouble since its existence, international attention and aid really only began after the earthquake. And, from personal testimonies, many people’s hearts turned toward or were rejuvenated for God. These are good things to God, and these and many others will make the tragedy ‘worth it’, if only in His all-seeing eyes. I must remember that oft-quoted Romans verse, 8:28 (above), does not promise there will not be hardship. It promises that God will make good from every circumstance, no matter how bad.

“Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.” (Psalm 42:11)

It must be my comfort to be confident in God’s good promise. The earthquake was not outside His plan. He is not surprised by it, nor the deaths, nor the orphans. But neither does that mean He does not mourn. I must take comfort in His plan, and begin by opening my eyes to the raw reality that much of my passion and peace in my Lord at this very moment is fueled by the encounter with Him in that scorched place—and that it was likely the earthquake that brought me there. I must be like the young orphaned boy who told Joe that, despite losing both his parents, “He was okay, because he had Jesus Christ.”

“My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning.” (Psalm 130:6)

Dearly Loved

“Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.” (Ephesians 5:1-2)

Given that my go-to one-word response to, “How was Haiti?” has ended up being, “BABIES!” (despite all planning and forethought) and that this is a facet of Haiti that took and will continue to take up a lot of my team’s heart, some especially observant readers and teammates may be wondering why I’ve put off the topic. It is indicative of the natural depth of the trip as a whole and, flowing out of that depth, the difficulty I have encountered endeavoring to explain such a large part of it in one complete, cohesive piece. And I may have been waiting for pictures (thanks Edgar!).

Playful digression aside, I’ve come to realize that the neatly flowing, closed-circle creative work that is my tendency may not do justice to the lives of these children. Their lives are not neat, not sure. They’re messy, disjointed, uncertain, short, hard. They’re no shoes ripped clothes no clothes rocky ground mud huts no Mom-when’s-dinner don’t mention food. They’re red eyes hovering flies dirty water never settling endless dusty dirty dirt. But this is not seeing with God’s eyes.

We are foolish and blind if we feel any pity borne of a sense of superiority, if we fail to see the similarities between their outwardly ugly lives and the stench of our inward, awful, unaddressed sin. But the beauty of our visit to the village was that, whether or not anyone went in blind, everyone came out seeing with spectacular clarity, souls refreshed.

We were told we were going to play with the kids, to be little Christs to them, to shower them with love and affection and attention. We were also going with some insecurities, with some frustration with the language barrier, with the hardwired need to perform. In short, we all, as in any situation, brought our own needs and desires with us, although not anticipating ours, too, to be addressed in addressing the kids’.

Their ability to give and receive love is stunning. In my own soul, where Guilt often thwarts my ability to voice my own needs and Shame still whispers this lie that having any in the first place is excessive and condemnable, I was met by these sparkling lights—shiny, unashamed, eager eyes. It took nothing at all to please them, instantly doing away with the performance drive. We could do nothing but sit and watch the boys play football and the girls would clamor to sit in our laps and hold our hands, to braid our hair and try on our sunglasses. We could take pictures and not exchange a single word, but with a smile say everything that needed saying. We could bask in delighting in each other and soak up each others' joy.

As Deanna observed—how much more is our Father in Heaven satisfied and delighted when we simply sit in His lap! I was even charmed by the baby tantruming and pouring dirt and then spit on me, so long as she was in my arms. And I, too, am dirty and smelly and still how He dearly loves me, His "special possession" (1 Peter 2:9). He finds me exquisitely beautiful and precious; He longs to hold me and wash me, longs for me to “still and quiet my soul; like a weaned child with its mother” (Psalm 130:2) and “under his wings find refuge” (Psalm 91:4).

“Receiving the kingdom of God like a little child” (Mark 10:15), with childlike faith and giving and devotion, gained tangible meaning on a Friday afternoon in the village of Chambrun. And Heaven broke out in my heart as I, in yet another instance on this trip, grasped the total love and unconditional acceptance of our Lord, my heavenly Mother and Father, who always and ever will and never-will-not “receive me” (Psalm 27:10).

“[Jesus] said to [the disciples], ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.’” (Mark 10:14)

[Nehemiah has organized a child sponsorship program. $40/month goes to a child's education, healthcare, and food; 100% of the funds to the kids. Please prayerfully consider supporting the program. More information about the ministry and the kids can be found at: nehemiahvisionministries.org.]