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.