Two weeks ago, I wrote about candles changing the way I would live. I said they would change my schedule.
Well, God didn’t give me a week of candles. He gave me the next closes thing: A week in Haiti.
A week of waking up to roosters at sunrise, of running to the roof to look out on such a beautiful, broken land,
a week of no city electricity,
a week of whirring generators,
a week watching sunset and lightning shows from the roof in the evening,
and a week of falling hard and sweaty into bed when the sky goes dark.
You can’t go anywhere once the sun goes down in Haiti. You stay in your compound and trust God to keep you safe.
So even though I didn’t use candles, my schedule followed the sun. I said two weeks ago that candles would force me to re-prioritize. But God and Haiti forced me to re-prioritize.
I’m back now. Back to lights on. Back to high water pressure. Back to air conditioning. Back to comfort.
But they aren’t. All those kids–Francesca, Athulia, Luc, Yvendi…
How do you return to normal when normal no longer exists?
What do you do with the knowledge that Donalson is back at the urine soaked boys house with no electricity, no running water, and no parents?
I have a respite, but Marquise and Martine do not.
How does their reality change mine?
I wrestle with these questions and pray, “Jesus, come back soon.”