Two Years of Awkward. Two Years of Heartache. Two Years of Beautiful.

January 31, 2014.

The day I stepped off a bus from the DR and began the adventure of a lifetime: my new life in Haiti.

Sometimes, it feels like just yesterday that I was stepping off that bus, blinking up at the bright Haitian sun, wondering what life was going to be like from here on out.  And sometimes it feels like I have always been in Haiti.  It’s hard to explain...when your heart beats so passionately for something – the way my heart beats for Haiti – there is an infinite, timeless quality to it.  It is hard to imagine a time before Haiti was home.

And yet, it has been two years.

As I finish out my first two years of life in Haiti and look forward to continuing on this journey God has placed before me, I am reflecting on what the past two years have been like.

The past two years of life, work, and ministry in Haiti have been…awkward.

Living life in a different culture is FULL of awkward moments.

Like when you come back from a trip to the US and a Haitian friend greets you with an enthusiastic, “ala gwo ou gwo!” (“wow, you are so fat!”) and you have to smile and say “thank you,” because you know that even though the words sting, what she really means is I’ve missed you and I’m so happy to see you!  Still, it’s awkward.

Or when you accidentally ask in Creole if someone has a voodoo priest (manbo), because it’s one letter away from the Creole word for peanut butter (manba).  Awkward.

Or when things that are so simple in your first culture – things like getting gas or buying butter – cause you to burst into tears at the side of the road while strangers stand by helplessly wondering why the silly little American girl is so upset.  Awkward.

The past 2 years have been…lonely.

God has been so faithful in surrounding me with amazing people here in Haiti.  I am blessed to have amazing friends, neighbors, roommates, coworkers, and the best Haitian family I could ask for.  But at the end of the day, when my friends and neighbors are headed home to their families and my coworkers are gone and my Haitian family is settling in for the night…I come home, close my bedroom door, and listen to the silence.  And the silence reminds me of the fact that being a single missionary can be incredibly lonely.

The past 2 years have been…heartbreaking.

I wish I could put into words the heartache I have felt ministering to orphans and vulnerable children.  Children like 8-year-old Isabelle who fought back tears as she told me that once again, her dad was nowhere to be found, despite his promise to come back for her.  Children like Synthia, who sat alone at our Christmas party – when every other child had a family member there – because nobody in her family could come share it with her.  Children like Josie who were uprooted from everything they knew and loved when an earthquake destroyed their homes and families.  Children like Elsie, who have been beaten and abandoned by their families.  Children like Rosie who have been shipped from one orphanage to another with no stability in their lives.  Children like Crystal who have lived in slavery.

There are no words to describe the heartache.

The past 2 years have been…rewarding.

Little ones don’t always know how to say thank you…but they know how to smile.  And laugh.  And hug.  And yell my name from across the yard.  And run into my arms.  And place their hands on my chest to feel the security of my beating heart.

That is their way of saying thank you.  That is their way of showing me that they love me and appreciate me.  That is how I know I am making a difference in their lives.

That is my reward.

The past 2 years have been…confirming.

730 days.

730 days of awkward.  Of lonely.  Of heartache.  Of frustration and confusion and just trying to figure out how to do life in this second culture where nothing seems to happen right the first time and everything seems to take twice as long.

And yet here I am, knowing that this is where I am supposed to be.  Confirmed in my calling to live in Haiti and to kenbe fèm.  Stay strong.

The past 2 years have been…beautiful.

I can’t think of a better word to describe it all.  The kids.  The relationships.  The moments of heartache and the moments of growth.  Simply beautiful.

Getting on a plane in Arizona 2 years ago.

Game days at the Green House are the best days.

Their smiles are my reward and my confirmation.

Two years with this girl isn't long enough.  Can't wait to keep watching her grow.