Wednesday, May 20th, 2015
Today as I sit by my bedroom window, gazing out at the dreary, weeping
skies, I feel just a slight longing for the blazing sun of the Caribbean. And my frigid fingers quite agree with
me. It is May, for goodness’ sake! Where are the fresh spring breezes and puffy
white clouds? These gray skies, drizzly
rains, and should-be-February winds are pushing my mind back to Haiti, back to
a morning from a few weeks ago…
It was barely dawn when my eyes opened, and
for some reason I was fully awake. It
had been a long week: sick children, early morning prayer meetings in our yard,
less helpers than usual at Kids Club, dealings with difficult people, equipment
breaking at the worst possible moments, and the heat and humidity of the rainy
season slowly growing more and more intense each day. I was exhausted and hadn’t slept well. It wasn’t yet 6:30 a.m., and the air around
me was already sticky and hot. I rolled
my eyes and flopped out of bed.
Then I remembered…I’d been wanting to spend one of my quiet times on the
roof before I left. What a perfect
opportunity! I grabbed my ipod and
hurried outside, eager to reach my retreat before anyone saw me and tried to
interfere. “Thank you, Lord!” I
thought, seeing the ladder still there, leaning against the house, left from
last month’s solar panel installation.
That was probably the fastest I’ve ever climbed a ladder in my life (I’m
pretty scared of heights, but life in Haiti has been working to cure me of
that).
Reaching the top, I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d made it this far with no interruptions. Shifting my feet to stay balanced on the
slanted cement, I remained standing for a bit, taking in the view. In one direction I could watch from above as
the ladies in the yard swept and prepared the charcoal fire to begin
breakfast. Before me was the beach, the
crashing waves as the tide came in, and the glassy-silver expanse of a sea that
had not yet been touched by the light of morning. To the left of that was the wharf, already
bustling with merchants disembarking the speedboat that had just carried them
over from the small island across the bay.
But then I turned around, and found my gaze lifted up, up: past the wall
surrounding our compound, past the main road, past the rooftops of the village,
to the very peaks of the mountains. Suddenly my heart was at peace. I tiptoed around the solar panels, found an
open spot, and, putting my earbuds in, turning on my worship music, I sat down
and watched the sun make its leisurely appearance.
As
music praising the Creator wove its way through my being and the first rays of
light peered between the mountains and lit the tips of the palm fronds, all of
the tenseness and worry of the previous days melted away. Not that I forgot all that had happened; it
just didn’t matter so much anymore.
Because all the sickness and heartache and mechanical problems and
division were not what it’s all
about. This. This beauty.
This daily renewal. And the Creator
of it all. That’s what it’s all about.
Sometimes in life it’s like our feet are stuck in the mud. And every time we get one foot out the other
one sinks farther in. When there’s mud
all around us it’s really hard to lift our chins and look up. We want to focus on getting out of the mud, and how can we do that
unless we’re looking down at it? I mean,
that makes the most sense, doesn’t it?
But if the mud just keeps getting deeper, and thicker, and heavier,
maybe it’s time to stop struggling and turn our faces heavenward. Maybe it’s time to be still and just wait,
wait for the sun to come out and dry up the pathway.
That’s what I found out that day.
That day I climbed above my circumstances and got a fresh
perspective. That day I remembered Who it’s really all about.
"Be strong, and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the Lord!"
Psalm 31:24
