Our Last Moments Together

For nine months, I spent five hours a day five days a week with these rugrats.

As a teacher, you always get to know your students – their strengths, their weaknesses, their quirks.  But when you only have six students in a 10’ by 12’ room, you REALLY get to know them.  We’ve had our share of struggles.  I admit that there were a few months when I didn’t think we were going to make it.  But now that our time together has come to an end, I miss them…deeply.

As school ended today, I asked them all to gather around the table – our table – and sit quietly for a minute.  And for once, they did.  Silence fell over the classroom – a silence that in nine months, we have never achieved.  We all sensed the heaviness of the moment and we all leaned close to each other.

This is how I said goodbye:

“Today is the last day of school.  It is the last time we will sit together around this table as a class.  Once you leave this room, I’m not your teacher anymore.  I will definitely see most of you over the summer, and many of you will remain together next school year, but things will be different.  So now, as you leave, I hope you know that I love you.  I love you very much and I miss you already.”

What I didn’t know about being a missionary

Before moving to Haiti, I did my research. I went to cross-cultural training. I read books and articles and I questioned missionaries from all over the world. But even after all of that, there was so much I didn't know.

 I knew that working with orphans would break my heart, but I didn't know that I would lie awake at night and cry for Isabelle when her dad left and nobody wanted her. I didn't know the way it would feel to give food to 7-year-old Janeane, who wouldn't otherwise eat that day. I didn't know that I would meet a once-starving child and that my heart would explode with both pain and joy at the opportunity to feed her a bowl of spaghetti.

I knew that I would grow in my walk with the Lord, but I didn't know how completely and desperately dependent I would be on Him.  I didn't know that I would go to bed with sore knees because I had been on the rooftop praying for so long.  I didn't know that I would have literally no choice but to cry out to Him or that I would see Him show up in truly miraculous ways.

I knew that I would have to say goodbye to friends and family, but I didn't know that the goodbyes would never end - short term teams, interns, missionaries finishing out there time here. I didn't know that everyone who left would leave me with a gaping hole in my heart. I also didn't know that I would feel forgotten when people from the States didn't call or write...or that a simple card in the mail would absolutely make my day.

I knew that there wouldn't be some of the luxuries (and even necessities) that I enjoyed in the States, but I didn't know that at the beginning of the year, all of my classroom supplies would fit in a single plastic tub...or that one book would become a treasure to be cherished. I didn't know that I would go back to the States and find that the luxuries there are both genuinely satisfying and fundamentally disturbing.

I knew that I would take on extra roles, but I didn't know that being a missionary also means being an author, a public speaker, an accountant, a bus driver, a counselor, an events coordinator, a nurse, and a mom. I didn't know how bad I am at some of those things...or how good I am at others.

I knew that I would have a special relationship with the kids here, but I didn’t know that I would be the only one Isabelle would feel like she could trust when her world was crashing down around her.  I didn’t know that she would see me and smile in a way she doesn’t smile at anyone else – a smile that says ‘I feel so loved by you.’

There are so many things I have learned from living here.  Even though I usually learn these things the hard way, I'm glad I didn't know them before coming. Stumbling through the day and making it up as you go is hard, but it's worth it. It makes life interesting and fun.

Deploy the troops. Send in backup. Go go GO!

Chaos, violence, and disaster reigned.  Men in orange uniforms fought, shoved, and stabbed everyone who got in their way.  Meanwhile, I sat on the edge of my seat in my living room chair, eyes glued to the TV screen.

My friends and I (as well as all of our neighbors, thanks to us!) have gotten addicted to the TV show Hawaii Five-0 (the remake).  For those of you who don’t know, Hawaii Five-0 is about a task force of 4 cop/detectives who, in addition to being partners, are best friends.

*Spoiler alert*

In this episode Chin, one of the Five-0 members, was kidnapped and smuggled into a high-security prison where one prisoner hoped to kill him.  Soon, an all-out-riot broke out because of Chin’s presence there.  When the Five-0 team found out where Chin was, there was no question.  This was one of their own – they were either going to get him out of there or die trying.  When the Hawaii police department refused to help because of the danger, Five-0 took matters into their own hands, flew a helicopter into the prison yard, and burst into the prison, guns blazing.

So what does this have to do with me?

A few weeks ago, I sent out an email begging you to pray for me.  The last few months in kindergarten have been rough.  They have worn on both my patience and my sanity.  From the moment I wrote the email and pressed send, I was overwhelmed by the response I got from family, friends, and supporters.

“I am printing out 50 copies of this email to give to my prayer class,” one of my college professors wrote.

“Our Bible study is meeting tonight – I will share this with them and we will pray!”

“We just had a prayer meeting.  You should have heard how passionately people prayed for you.”

As I read these responses, I was reminded of Hawaii Five-0.  I felt like Chin.  It is hard to be surrounded by chaos, but it is beautiful to know that you have a team that cares deeply and passionately about you.  A team that, as soon as they find out what is going on, jumps up and comes to the rescue, guns blazing.  “This is one of our own.  Send in backup.  Deploy the troops.  Go, go, GO!”

Prayer is powerful.  Keep praying.  I guarantee you that not a day goes by that I am not in need of your prayers.  Thank you for being my prayer warriors who are willing to fight for me.  You may not fight with guns, but you fight on your knees.  And that’s even better.

The epic adventure called 'life'

            “Watch your step,” I called as I hopped over the large pothole.  Glancing over my shoulder, I did a quick headcount.  1, 2, 3, 4, 5.  I turned my attention back to the road just in time to notice (and avoid) the large wheelbarrow carrying a huge piece of raw meat…the back leg of a cow, to be exact.  Unfortunately, not all of my missionary friends were lucky enough to notice the wheelbarrow in time to dodge it…

            Pushing through the crowded street, the five of us made our way through the food market, past countless vendors selling everything from pencils to apples to raw meat, and finally into the clothing market.

            After two hours of shopping, bartering, filming, and peeing in a cup (not me), we sat down to ice-cold cokes at one of our favorite (…one of our only…) restaurants.

            From there, the plan was simple.  Quick stop at the tourist market, pick up a few more groceries, and head home.  Well, that was the plan before the car broke down three times, before our one stop at the tourist market became two, and before we realized that the phone store was only 2 blocks away…you get the idea.

            By the time we made it home, we had been gone for 7 hours.  My shoulders were the same color as the tomatoes in the market.  We were hot and sweaty and exhausted.  But we were happy.

            “I think that was one of my best days here!” one of my friends said enthusiastically.  I had to agree – it was pretty amazing.

The moral of the story?

Every day is an adventure.  Every day is a blessing.  Every day is a gift.

Live it.  Love it.  Cherish it.  Enjoy it.

And steer clear of raw meat.

A cross-cultural God in my cross-cultural life.

I love speaking Creole. (Usually.) I love the way it sounds – elegant like French, but also unique and exotic. I love knowing that by speaking a foreign language I can follow Christ's call for my life.  I love that Haitians don't expect the foreigner to speak their language, and so when I do, they feel loved and appreciated.

But I have to admit, usually by the end of the day, my tongue is tied, my words don't come out right, and I'm just plain tired.  I get frustrated when I can't express myself the way I want to.  I want to build deep relationships, but I just can't put together a sentence with the same care and precision that I can in English.

I go to Haitian church almost every Sunday.  Church here is mostly Creole, but partially French.  The songs from my Creole/French hymnal are beautiful.  The worship is genuine.  The praise is real.

I really love going to Haitian church.

But today, instead, I went to American church at a ministry called Children of the Promise (COTP).  Every Sunday morning at 10, all of the missionaries who work at COTP come together for a time of worship, teaching, and (at least today) communion.

Going to church this morning was like a breath of fresh air.  It was such a blessing to worship in my own language.  To hear a sermon and not have to translate it in my head.  To sing songs I have known for years.  To linger after service and chat with my fellow missionaries…in English.

It’s a hard line to walk between engaging in the Haitian culture as thoroughly as possible, and preserving my own culture (and sanity) as I live in a community of Americans and Canadians.  I haven’t figured out exactly how to walk this line yet.  But until then, I will continue to be thankful for what I have.

When I go to English church, to be thankful for the chance to worship in my heart-language.

When I go to Haitian church, to be thankful for the chance to immerse myself in the beautiful worship of this amazing country.

When I dive into ministry, to be thankful for my Creole training and the chance to use it to glorify God.

When I come home, to be thankful for a community of missionaries who understand each other in a way that is unique to our ex-pat life.

And most of all, to be thankful always for a God who crosses cultural boundaries, language barriers, and differing lifestyles.  I serve a God who sees my skin color, my language, my culture and says they are beautiful.  And He sees Haitians’ skin color, language, and culture and says they are beautiful.  And He sees these two cultures as different – and that’s beautiful.  And He sees them as united in Him – and that’s beautiful too.

What a God we serve!

By His wounds you are healed

I was sitting on my bedroom floor with my knees tucked against my chest, my back pressed against the locked door, and my tear-streaked face buried in my hands.  I could feel the desperation rising up inside of me, threatening to explode.  I had to do something to make the pain go away.

I knew exactly what I had to do.

The sharp edge of the silver razor glinted in the light of my bedroom lamp.  I pulled up the leg of my favorite pair of yoga pants and looked at my ankle.  My white skin seemed so pale and vulnerable.  As I pressed the razor to my flesh, crimson red blood slowly seeped out.

I didn’t wince or make a sound.  I only gritted my teeth and forced the razor harder into my skin.

My ankle ached with every pass of the razor, but I refused to stop.  This was the only way.

It wasn’t until there were three deep cuts etched into my skin that I wiped off the razor, walked to my desk, and hid it beneath my pencil case in the top left drawer.  For next time, I thought, because I knew there would be a next time.  There always was.

My four years of high school were the hardest years of my life.  I was knee-deep in my eating disorder and I didn’t know what to do with all of the pain in my heart.  So I turned to cutting as a way of dealing with my emotions.

 “Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God?  You are not your own; you were bought at a price.  Therefore honor God with your bodies.” (1 Corinthians 6:19-20)

No, I didn’t know that.  I wish I had.

I thought that as long as no one else knew what I was doing, I was the only one being hurt by cutting myself.  I didn’t realize that I was also hurting God and hurting my relationship with Him.  I didn’t even realize how deeply I was being hurt by my cutting.  Or maybe I just didn’t care.

Like any other addiction, I found that once I started I couldn’t stop.  I needed the feel of a razor pressing against my skin.  At least, I thought That was what I needed.

What I really needed was Jesus.

“And He Himself bore our sins in His body on the cross so that we might die to sin and live to righteousness; for by His wounds you were healed.” (1 Peter 2:24-25)

I didn’t want help.  I thought that getting help meant that I would be forced to do things I didn’t want to do…like stop cutting myself.  But I couldn’t stop.  I wouldn’t.  (If you think I’m stubborn now, you should have seen me in high school.)  So I stubbornly refused the help that I so desperately needed.

At 16, I didn’t understand that God’s healing isn’t about being forced to do things you don’t want to do.  It’s about turning away from who you used to be - sinful, stubborn, broken - and turning into the person God designed you to be.  Healed.  Redeemed.  Complete.

That’s what Peter meant when he wrote about dying to sin and living to righteousness.

When Jesus died, He paid the ultimate price so that we could live in righteousness and glorify Him.  It’s not easy to turn away from everything that used to define you.  But when you let God heal you and learn to find your identity in Him alone, it is worth it.

So what are you waiting for?

Pursue righteousness.

Embrace redemption.

Find your identity.

Be healed.

(Drew this years ago when I first got the chance to use my testimony to reach out to a young girl struggling with cutting.  Not a great drawing, but it reminds me of how God uses His healing in my life to heal others as well.)

Saying goodbye to Ana

            She was my best friend.  I spent all day everyday with her.  We were practically inseparable.  She understood me in a way no one else did.

            Her name was Ana.

            Nobody told me that giving up an eating disorder would be like losing a best friend. Nobody told me that without Ana, I would often feel empty, abandoned, and alone.

            After four years of struggling with anorexia, I didn’t think that freedom was possible…or at least not realistic.  It felt like Ana was a part of who I was.  Although I longed desperately for freedom, Ana was familiar and I didn’t know if I could survive without her.  Even after I stopped exercising obsessively and started eating regularly, freedom was an abstract concept to me.

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.  Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.

            This verse talks about freedom – freedom that is true, complete, and worth fighting for.  It wasn’t until I finally found this freedom that I realized the extent of slavery I had been living in.  Pursuing freedom in Christ and fighting against the slavery of my eating disorder took blood, sweat, and tears.  But I can now tell you that every tear, every sleepless night, and every silent battle was worth it.  Because freedom is worth it – if it weren’t, God wouldn’t have died to bring it to us.

            This week has been an incredible time for me as I have opened up with you, sharing my story and my testimony.  I have seen God answer my prayer that this would be a time to glorify Him and bless others.

            I am reminded of 2 Corinthians 1:4, which says that God “comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”  It is because of the comfort and freedom I have found after my eating disorder that I can now comfort others and point them toward the same freedom.

            So tonight, as National Eating Disorder Awareness week comes to a close, I just want to leave you with that one word. Freedom.

In Christ, I have the freedom to be me – the woman God created me to be.  The freedom to be real.  To be honest.  To be happy.

            If you are reading this post and feeling like that is something you desperately want but haven’t found, turn your eyes to the cross.  As Jesus was raised on Calvary, he spoke three final words.  It is finished.

Let that be true of your struggle and slavery.  Bring it to the foot of the cross and let God speak His healing freedom over it.

            It is finished.