Reflection Time

     It has been three months since I went to Haiti with my church, but it feels like a lifetime ago. At
the time, I thought it was something I could never forget. And it is. But I didn't realize just how hard I would have to try to keep the memories from that trip fresh in my head and in my heart. Life gets in the way so easily. While we were there, we all answered questions and prompts in these little journals. Looking back at my answers, I see that a common theme was that of patience. The answers were fill in the blank and here are some of them (italics indicates the part I filled in).

July 8th
"Thanks for all of Your patience."
July 9th
"Thank you, also, for teaching me to be patient about things I can't control."
July 14th
"Forgive me for the times I am impatient."
July 15th
"Continue to help me to be patient."

The last thing I wrote in it was:
"When I'm home again, I promise that I will not take my problems too seriously."

I have mastered the art of making, I must let the letting happen.

     Just yesterday, I sent DL a string of texts along the lines of "I need scholarship money, I just want to submit my applications already, I want to know where I'm going, I want to see my future planned out in a PowerPoint presentation." DL, in all her wisdom replied "...it IS planned out like that, WE just don't get to SEE the PowerPoint Presentation." In Haiti, I was just beginning to grasp this idea of patience, of everything happening in its own time, not my time. I was just beginning to grasp the idea that my problems back home are positively minuscule in comparison to the things the people around me dealt with on a daily basis. I was just beginning to understand that, and then I was hurled back into my comfortable life of privilege and opportunity. A life I had managed to fill with worry and doubt and distrust. I fell back into those habits so easily, like they were old friends. I made a promise when I came back to think about those kids every day, to pray for them everyday. And I broke it. I broke it because I became so involved in my life that I had no time for even a simple "Please keep all of those kids safe and give them food and let them know they are loved." I could not muster even that.
     In the past week or so, I have had two very vague dreams about the kids from Dessalines. The only part of it that I can remember was that I was by our garden passing something out and there were all these kids around me sticking their hands out and I was speaking to them in Spanish, saying "I only have this many" and I kept saying "Wi" (Haitian Creole for "yes") instead of "Si" and had to correct myself. I'm no dream expert, but I think that my subconscious guilt was coming out in that dream. I can do nothing for those kids where I am now except pray for them and think about them, and yet somehow I have managed to neglect that simple duty. I think my subconscious was reminding me that they are still there, even though I cannot see them.

     I think I tried, in a way, to replace the feeling I had in Haiti by volunteering with the girls at Girls Inc. and by helping with confirmation classes. But neither of those things have been half as fulfilling as even an hour with the kids at St. Claire. It is not their fault, but my own. I cannot replace those kids, and I cannot expect to get such rewarding results when I am not putting in even half the effort required. Yes, a roomful of girls yelling "Me, me, me!" and "Gimme that!" can be extremely trying. More than once I have used the term "brat" when telling stories about the girls I work with every Tuesday. But I don't know that that is entirely fair. Most of them come from very low-income households and for some, their time at Girls Inc. is the only time they get any sort of one-on-one attention. And yes, maybe they can be whiney, and in-your-face, and rude. But they can also be really, really sweet. Mother Teresa once said, "If you judge people, you have no time to love them." In Haiti, it was easy not to judge those kids. They had so little, and gave so much. Loving them was easy. In America, it is different. Those girls do not wear their problems on their sleeves. I cannot see them. I only see the effects of them: the crying, the vying for attention, the way they talk to each other. But I have no right to judge them for what I cannot see and what I do not know.
     Loving is not always easy. I think in some ways, I loved Haiti so much because love was so easy there. But I am not in Haiti. I am home, and I have to find ways to love the people who are here now while not forgetting the kids in Dessalines. I have to find ways to be patient and to just let things happen. In all my 17 years, I have not experienced one single thing I have not been able to recover from. I have no reason to believe that all of a sudden, God will shower upon me hate and misfortune. And yet, around every corner, I'm looking for it. That failed homework assignment that will somehow drop my grade to an 89! That misspelled word that will lose me an acceptance letter! I create these ridiculous scenarios because I am a serious control freak with serious trust issues. It's hard for me to let go of that. But I think I will either make the decision to let go of it myself, or something will happen that will force me to let go, and it will not be half as easy or pleasant.
    I'm sorry this was such a long post. One thing just turned into another and I had more to say than I originally planned!
     Anyway, have a happy, loving, patient, amazing Tuesday. :)

Day 703 Song Recommendation: "Better Love" by Foxes. Thanks DL for the song rec!
-SE Wagner