goodbye

Ugh.

Saying goodbye is the WORST thing ever. It’s like stabbing your heart multiple times, then pouring sea salt and Tabasco in it with a squeeze of lemon juice. Then you mix it all together and repeat. Each goodbye was a bit harder than the last.

The few days before we left I prayed for courage not to cry, because I can quickly become a blubbering mess and it can make it slightly awkward for others who are not so.. say.. overly in touch with their emotions. My whole adult life, in fact, has been peppered with a series of prayers- mostly before emotional exchanges- that go something like, “Please God… help me not to become a sniffling and red eyed blob, and help me to gain control of my tears..” So then usually, I’ll feel the tears prick my eyes and I perform a series of tricks. I look up quickly as if doing so may drain them back INTO my eyes, I blink quickly and look into the light, maybe to scare them away… and then sometimes I even shake my head, maybe to scatter them away. But once they start to well up… it’s over.

As you can imagine, these tricks did little to help as we said goodbye to both our Haitian and expat friends. I finally said, “screw it” and allowed myself the freedom to express my sadness over the close of a very meaningful season in our lives. Justin reminds me that expressing emotion shows I’ve allowed it to mean something to me. Thanks, love, for accepting my weepy ways.

We visited Esaie and his little ones one more time and promised we be back. I don’t think they believed us. They’ve had so many people come and go.. they had their heads in their hands on the picnic tables outside as we said goodbye. Some cried, others looked away. Esaie said to them, through tears, that we were different. We would be back. They reluctantly agreed to believe his words. We can’t blame them, they’re fragile hearts are scarred by the wounds of abandonment. We took this last shot before we left:

We spent a lot of time with little Plump’s family as well, taking them to church and having dinner with them. I took them to visit my IDP camp friends, and it was such a lovely reunion- both for them and for me. I have tears in my eyes recalling it (no surprise here). Valene and Gener were so excited to see their friends again, they were all waiting outside as we pulled up to the camp. Dancing, laughing. Welcoming. Hugs, warmth.

Haiti has afforded me a way to experience God’s promises like I’ve never been able to before. Throughout our study through John together in the camp, God allowed us to redefine hope to people who had lost everything in 45 seconds of shaking last January. I remember sitting in our Bible study when two police officers poked their heads in. They were quite surprised to see a white girl, unaccompanied and sweating profusely, conducting a Bible study here. One of the officers was Canadian and he asked me if I had “seen anyone with guns running around here.” They laughed. “Every day.” This was their reality.

And who was I? Just a simple girl from America. But I wanted them to know, more than anything, that God’s compelling love was pursuing them. That in His love carried the promise of something lasting and far-reaching, past the miseries of this life. Through the harshness and heat, flies and frustration, I want to believe this truth quietly- yet urgently- emerged.

Now here I was, saying goodbye, leaving them there. “Please don’t forget about us. You have shown us that things can be better for us. Thank you,” Michmelle said as she reached for my hand. “Call me. Please, call me,” she said as she placed her number in my hand. She had taken over the other half of the tent after we moved Plumpy’s family out, and it was still inadequate and filthy because of the elements. Yet she smiled and didn’t let my hand go, the sweaty piece of paper sticking between our palms. Others came over. We hugged and laughed. I held their babies one more time.

I wish I would’ve prayed for them before I left. We had to leave quickly because of travel time restrictions. We got in the car and drove off.I pressed my head against the window and closed my eyes. I think of the song, “Psalm 87” by Audra Lynn as I write this, remembering driving off that day. Lines from the song came to me as I prayed over each of them. It’s a 23 minute song, but I encourage you to listen to it as you pray and are still before the Lord. It’s led many quiet times for me and I hear the Lord speaking to me through it. It’s linked above.

All your fountains are in Me… I have everything you need.

Michmelle… sweet warrior, courageous friend. Beautiful potential. Cast your cares upon on me.. for I care for you. Keep coming back to Me.

Marie…faithful lover of the Word, mother to many without. Strong and trusting. I’m coming back for you.. Do you believe? Do you believe that my words are true?

Robinson.. harsh exterior, gentle heart. Bon zanmi… My son, my daughter, have I brought you this far just to be led astray? I will not let you stumble. I will hold you close to my heart.

Wiedline– struggling mother. Shy, yet so protective over your children. I know you long for your husband. Will you let God be your provider? I have carried you this far. I will take you the rest of the way. Do you trust me? Will you believe me?

I have everything you need. Keep coming back to Me. Keep coming back to Me.

Amarante and Fedeline. Lovely siblings, must you live your teen years here? Constantly caring for the young in the camp, I will never forget the love I learned from you. Do you believe I will hold you? Do you believe I will never let you go? Do you believe I love you? Do you believe my delight is in you, that my desire in for you? Just trust me. Lean upon me.

Valene and Gener. You’ve changed the way I understand love and sacrifice. I see the end of the road, I see where this is going. I see you crossing that finish line. I’ll never let you go.

And so I prayed, over and over again as we drove away… keep coming back to Him. Keep coming back to Him. Beautiful friends of Cite Soleil.

After dinner that night we walked Plumpy’s family back to their house. The car ride was sullen. It was pitch black, the electricity was out. Peterson was draped in my arms, Justin held Stevenson close, Valene carried Rose. Gener led the way with his flashlight. The crickets were chirping and the air was still. Tranquil. I started crying silently as I held Peterson close. Why does this have to be so hard? He snuggled in close as if he knew. My heart broke into a thousand little pieces, all over again. They will remain there.

We exchanged tearful goodbyes at the house. I was grateful it was night time because the tears were falling and I couldn’t control them. Valene started crying . The kids didn’t understand and looked at us. We embraced and walked away.

Gener walked us to our truck, he and Justin hugged for a long time. Bon baggay..(good things..good things…) he kept saying to Justin, and they put a fist to their heart before saying goodbye. Brothers. Friends.

It wasn’t that this was the last time we would see our friends. It was more so an acute sadness over the loss of being involved in the dailyness of their lives, the triumphs and struggles, the small milestones. Loving them as Christ would have as he dwelled on this earth. Knowing I had to step aside and give this all over.

Saying so long to our expat friends we have labored alongside was no easy task either. Their kindness and love blessed us as they hosted a beach party and a slip and side party at our base. They each hold a special place to us in this experience. Some shots are below.

I know we have said this many times before, and I pray saying it again doesn’t dull the efficacy of our words: thank you. Thank you for your prayers and support during this year in Haiti, as we learned what it looked like to love and stumble, through the messiness and chaos of it all. We will be processing our season here for some time to come. Our chapter isn’t over yet for Haiti; just on pause for the present.

Dinner with P and fam on our last night

Beach party

Slip and slide party

Of course Stevenson had to try with Justin

Last visits at the house and church