Haiti in Retrospect, pt. 1

For those who may not know, I had the amazing opportunity to spend a short week in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. I went with a group providing medical and dental care to the children of St. Vincent's Center for the handicapped. The trip was an absolutely incredible experience; like many such experiences it was far too wonderful and striking and profound to describe in a short summary. That's why in the next couple days I will be posting a series of reflections as my feeble attempt to relay what God did and what He said during that time.

What follows is my first attempt to describe what I saw. I hope these images are worth a thousand pictures. These are my snapshots of Haiti.

Boys of all nationalities love playing with the camera. (Photocredit: Sonya Yencer)

With extreme care and awareness, an older boy gently navigates the misshapen, concrete, narrow pathway between classes, clearing the way through the chaotic mob of children just released for recess. He doesn't hear the clamor around him; in fact, he has never heard the joyful voices of his classmates playing games in the hot afternoon. But instead, he moves forward like a royal official among his subjects, lovingly leading his blind brother by the elbow. How such a friendship was formed, I cannot guess, but it was at this moment that I realize: I have entered the Kingdom of God.

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Hands and fingers all over my face and arms. Hands and fingers are how the blind see. While I can't for the life of me remember their beautiful French and Hatian names, the blind students seem to remember me the next time they hear my voice. 

"Parlevous France?" the young boy asks us. "Non," we answer in crippled Creole, "Ingles." A wide smile spreads across his face. He is not at all perturbed by our stunted communication, but he takes joy at the chance to express his hard-practiced English. 

"We....Welcome to de Haiti! God Bless You!!" 

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Photo credit: Sonya Yencer

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With only one mishapen hook of an arm, the little boy sits proudly with paintbrush poised between his toes, creating a world where no one can tell him he can't. 

Photo credit: Sonya Yencer

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On a dusty chalk board for example and a few Creole words for guidance, the American art teacher opens the door for creative design and self expression. We begin with a class of six or seven, but curious children slowly trickle in. One arrives just as the rest are finishing and her friend jumps up to get her a paper and pen. She signs an explanation, transposing the creole words into American Sign Language with fluidity and skill. The deaf girl nods and smiles. She too picks up the pen and becomes Queen of her Imagination. 

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Vinette taught me more signs than anyone else. She was a patient, persistent, and creative teacher. If not for her intervention on Day 2, my communication with the deaf children would probably have gone only as far as a smile. But even just the learning gave me confidence to try more. The ability to start a conversation, even if I did not know enough to finish it, helped me come a little closer; helped me find connection when words were lacking. 

Language may indeed be a tremendous barrier, persisting since the days of Babble, but it is not a barrier to Love unless we make it so. I am terribly embarrassed by my own ineptitude among these students who speak Creole, French, Spanish,and ASL as well as some English. The teenagers make every effort to exhaust their bank of English vocabulary in order to make conversation with this awkward American who can only say three phrases in their language. The little ones don't care what you have to say as long as you give them a hug or a soccer ball. But these brilliant minds are locked inside a compound, hidden from society because the world calls them disabled. In reality, I'm the one who feels ashamed before these 5-foot intellectual giants with hearts of gold. 

This Year's Praises

I have a strange confession: I really love airports. I love looking at the giant list of cities I could potentially visit if I walked on this plane instead of that one. I love seeing people as they pass and wondering what brings them to this hub. I especially enjoy the smell of walking onto the terminal. It smells like adventure to me.

I write this on a plane out of O’Hare back to my home town. It will just be a pit stop on my way to a new adventure: a week of ministry in Haiti. Its strange to think that the last time I was on this very same flight, I was in a completely different place spiritually. I was headed to a memorial; saying goodbye to two beautiful people I never got the chance to say hello to. My time at school began veiled in grief, doubt, and anxiety. The adventuresome feeling of being in a new place was short-lived. Getting back on the plane to return and continue building a brand new life was one of the hardest things I had done at that point. My new life felt a little like an exile.

That was August of 2013. Now, less than two years later, my exile has turned into a land of plenty. I want to return the first fruits. I want to share with you the praise of what God has done for me this semester.

God gave me a Community where there was none; brothers and sisters that have quickly become so dear to me. In a local church I found myself in a fellowship of people who know me for who I am and lift me up when I need them. I found people who are quick to love and share their lives.

God clarified a Calling. Now in my internship, my passion for counseling youth has exploded. There are days I walk away from the office just filled to the brim, loving my job, and then remembering that I’m not getting paid to be here! I simply love what I do. Also God has sharpened my vision for teaching mental health in the church. He’s given me a passion for teaching and opportunities to explore these gifts. Funny thing about walking in your giftedness; it makes every previous frustration and disappointment totally worth it. Of course that didn’t work out! as it dawns on you, I never dreamed the alternative would be this good!.

God has Provided for everything I need. It's easy to hopelessly adopt the caricature of the starving grad student, but whether by random jobs that open up or the surprising generosity of others, I have never once been in need. In my mustard-seed faith I often worry, but some amazing provision always comes up.

Most amazing, God has given me Joy and has healed wounds I thought would always define me. He has hulk-smashed mountains of insecurity, freeing me from so much doubt and fear. This semester especially has been one of more peace, breath, and mental space than I’ve experienced for quite some time.

Not to mention, this year I have this amazing person to visit: 

My 6-month niece, Josie Joy

I don’t want to paint the wrong picture…I was not depressed or hopeless last year, far from it. But some struggles are deep, hidden from the public eye and drawn out for so long, you get used to them and expect them to be always present. Some burdens you just get used to carrying until you can’t imagine life without. When the clouds break open and you finally realize that you’ve dropped those burdens off at last, the delight is so overwhelming that you must praise God. There’s nothing else I can do. He has been faithful to me. 

Saying Goodbyes

Have you noticed how our culture has a chronic phobia about goodbyes? I'm not referring to the short and sweet salutations when you know you'll see the person again next week. When it comes to true, sincere, and permanent partings, we avoid them at all possible costs. We make promises we have no intention of keeping in order to soften the blow.  We will slip in a "see you later" before we can let the fact sink in that, no, you won't see me again. We have social media as a topical anesthetic to numb the pain of parting; we'll take even a digital relationship over a severed one.

We may go through life acting like we don't need close relationships, but something in us despises the thought of leaving. Our souls are squeamish at the thought of saying goodbye.

We are about to finish our very last session--my first client and myself. Though constructed in the stiff roles of a client/counselor relationship, the connection that grew over the last semester was authentic and genuine. I cared about this person; outside of therapy I thought about their life and what I could say that could be helpful; I prayed that they might find Christ when my professional position forbade me from speaking His name. My job had been to sit and talk with this person every week, two hours a week, for the past three months. Now in our last five minutes together, I am at a loss for what to say. 

I think we hate goodbyes because our souls are wired for eternity. Death is as natural in this world as breathing, yet still it never ceases to tear our own worlds apart. Divorce ravages families and nations, despite the fact that many would like to claim it is the free choice of two consenting adults. Deep in our souls, we maintain the impression that relationships are supposed to last, even though in our heads we know better. So we dance around goodbyes like a terminal diagnosis because technology gives us an out.

But maybe we are scared of goodbyes because we fail to recognize the opportunities they provide. Without goodbyes we have no room in our lives for new hellos. It is possible for our lives to become so cluttered with dusty, aging acquaintance-ships that there is no room for a deeper friendship to emerge. Having your hands full of connections from a past life keeps you from being present with the people right in front of you, and without fresh perspectives in life, how can you grow?

The only solid goodbye I can remember came from an African woman who was my next door neighbor last year. She had completed her final semester, finished her PhD, and was returning home. We only knew each other for a few months, but we had shared many heart-felt and inspiring conversations and found a sincere connection. I was driving her to the airport. Right before I could open my mouth and ask "do you have a facebook?" she looked at me and, as if reading my mind, said "Oh, Sarah, we will not meet each other again in this life. I will always remember you. May God bless you." And with that she left. What a rare treasure, what a refreshing truth. We won't see each other, not in this life. But the God who placed eternity in our hearts promised a resurrection and a reunion, and we shall see each other then.

That goodbye became a treasure. Now I can can remember my friend without the regret or guilt of "oh, I should reach out to her again..." I'm free to take what I learned in that relationship and invest it fully in those whom God brings my way today. Her impact on the earth is magnified as I allow that memory to shape my current interactions. Sometimes saying goodbye seals the blessing of the relationship in a way that text-message updates never can.

So I watch my client leave with a swell of pride and a tinge of regret. I must have muttered something about how I appreciated our time together or wishing best of luck; I have not prepared myself well or even recognized how I sincerely cared for this person's progress. But constrained by my role as counselor, I know good and well there would be no facebook, no keeping in touch, and hopefully I won't ever "see ya later." My position forces me to stand tall and say the word, which pushes rolls out unpracticed like a foreign language:  goodbye. It feel good to do so, like the completion of a journey, or dusting off the hands after a job well done.

I've learned that it is respectful, honoring, to give a solid and sincere goodbye. You give that person a stepping stone on their journey, and whatever you have invested in them can be passed on. Even so, I believe that in my human need to keep things as they are, I would be unable to let go without the hope of eternity ahead.

green eyes?

I don't like to admit this, but its easy for me to get jealous. 

I for one am an Experience-Chaser. There's rarely something new that I won't try once. There is no country I don't want to visit, and not many ministries I'd be reluctant to dip by toes into (maybe except for Ladies' Quilting--an exceptional love-ministry that's a little too slow paced for me. Sorry, Mom!) In middle school I would read biographies of famous missionaries throughout history and think "That's where I want to be." Front-lines, in the jungles, ready to throw comfort and caution to the wind for the thrill of a new adventure. Such a life would not be a noble sacrifice for me, because the glory and romance of travel is by far more desirable than the security of home. This is the restlessness God wove into my spirit at a young age, and I know its there for a purpose.

I know this restlessness is there for a purpose, even when composing research proposals during my 19th year straight of full-time education. I know it even when bedtime is 10 pm because tomorrow will be a full day of reading text-books. I know that I was made to travel to far-off places even when waiting in the suburban traffic between school and the office for the sixth time that week. Even when I rest my mind with a novel on a Sunday afternoon, part of my heart is still yearning for battle. Perhaps I know it especially because of where I am right now.

Often I can live in this tension, knowing that I'll have my moment one day. But waiting for that one day is hard when it seems like others around you are living the dream right now. Pictures and blog posts of glorious destinations and missionary journeys clutter my face book wall, and instead of reminding me to pray for my friends in those remote places, they tend to whisper "look where you're not...".

...As if in this awesome adventure following the Creator of the Universe, we could actually miss out on anything! 

Read that line again, and notice the pride involved with imagining I am missing out on ANYTHING when I have fellowship with the Living God. 

There's something more beautiful, more lasting, than standing on the mountain top. Something that makes a bigger difference than bushwhacking new trails, something more enriching than learning to commune with someone in another language. I'm of course talking about Walking with God. Walking in obedience, growing closer day by day, learning to communicate with God on a personal level: there can be nothing greater. I may not know what my friends in those remote places have sacrificed to be obedient to God's call on their lives. I do know that if I were to ditch this season to pursue the life I want, I would be foregoing an essential period of growth and development necessary for effective work. But worse than that, I would be just plain disobedient. 

My life does not belong to me!

 And that is a freeing and delightful thing to confess. Let that truth sink in, and I no longer am harnessed with the responsibility to ensure I make all the right choices for my maximal happiness. Instead I am motivated to put my everything into whatever is immediately before me, knowing that God will not waste a single drop of sweat. It's all good work. Souls here in suburbia are just as precious in the eyes of our Father as souls on the other side of the world. Oh, that I may have eyes to see the thrill of the spiritual battle right in front of me. I would be too energized with purpose and urgency to feel envious of anyone else's calling.

God and sin

I am no apologist. I may pretend to be one, but I don't have the credentials. So please take everything I say through my ever-present counseling lens. Know that I am also working from the assumption that the Bible is the authoritative Word of God. We can debate the dependability of Scripture later, but for now let us assume that everything it says is true, in that it accurately depicts Reality.

The Question

The other day someone asked me an insightful question. "Sure," they said, "I guess I can see how God is good for sacrificing Himself for us, but is He really good to allow sin in the first place? He made us sinful, so doesn't he have only Himself to blame?" Essentially this is a slightly more sophisticated version of the Problem of Evil. We answer, "Evil exists because of our sinful choices; we live in a broken world because of our sin." Most people stop there, short of the logical follow-up: "Why then would God allow sin? If He is all-powerful, couldn't He make free beings who are also inherently good? Couldn't He design human hearts to freely choose His will?" And we can't answer, "good cannot exist without evil," because we know in fact that it can. That is in fact the Hope that we yearn for, the completion of our sanctification, when indeed we will finally freely choose what is good instead of what is bent and broken.

Is God so needy that He had to test our love? Is He so egocentric that He condemns those who don't worship Him? Lewis would say that there's no true love unless risk is involved, and since Love is the highest good, all the evil in the world is worth its pure existence. Calvin would say that God intended the Fall from the beginning to exemplify His Holiness and Grace. I think these are both worthy answers and not mutually exclusive. Still, it does seem trite when you've been hurt by the sins of loved ones, or grappling hopelessly with the sin in your own heart. God seems cruel to make your pain into an object lesson highlighting His goodness.

We just don't know what we just don't know

At this point the only real answer is, 'I don't know; God is God and I'm not, so I can't expect to understand what He does.' Yes, that does feel like a cheap answer, an excuse for not-knowing. (I wish that worked in class! "Sorry, Professor, I haven't studied this material before, so how would you expect me to know? You're the teacher, I am not, so I can't be expected to understand why you gave me a C instead of an A. It's not fair to give me this hard assignment; you're setting me up for failure!) Indeed, it would be a cheap answer if we used it as an excuse to never inquire into difficult matters. And it would be cheap if it wasn't absolutely true. So let's camp on this one for a second.

Why am I so confident in relying on the gap between God's understanding and my own? First of all, because it is an enormous gap. Wisdom, or understanding, comes from God, and not from me. Read what the writer of Proverbs says, personifying Wisdom:

"The Lord possessed me at the beginning of his work, the first of his acts of old. Ages ago I was set up, at the first, before the beginning of the earth....Before the mountains had been shaped, before the hills, I was brought forth...When He established the heavens, I was there; when He drew a circle on the face o the deep, when He made firm the skies above, when He established the fountains of the deep, When He assigned to the sea its limit, so that the waters might not transgress His command, When He marked out the foundations of the earth, then I was beside Him...and I was daily His delight, rejoicing before Him always, rejoicing in His inhabited world, and delighting in humanity." 

Prov 8:22-31

 God understands how the world works, both the natural and metaphysical laws governing it. I do not. And it is incredibly prideful of me to suppose that I know better than He does. Or to call Him a liar because I don't understand something. My mental faculties are not properly equipped for the task. You see how we can't expect to arrive at a right answer when we are using the wrong tools. Its like trying to measure light with a ruler, or sound with a scale. Its like standing on top of the Sears Tower and with my naked eye claiming there are no rats in the alley underneath. Its like trying to do advanced trigonometry while only counting on my fingers and toes. Its like trying to change a tire when all I have is a pair of scissors. We don't have the right tools for the task.

Is it possible that one of the purposes of this life is so that God can give us the right tools? That maybe in time we will learn how to do advanced metaphysics correctly? Admitting that you don't know what you don't know is not a cop-out answer. It is in fact the only essential foundation if you intend to get anywhere with your reasoning.

I don't know a lot, but as a good counselor should, we'll work from our strengths. Let's take a look at what we do know.

What we can know...

God exists in Trinity, complete fellowship and perfect love. God is not lonely that He needs our love, nor is He insecure that He needs our worship. But nonetheless He created humanity in His image for the purpose of fellowship with Him. I for one am glad He made that choice. He said that creation was Very Good. I can trust that He's telling the truth.

And I don't know where evil or temptation came from, or how we can be morally culpable for a nature we are unable to overcome. Like Lewis describes in Perelandra, I wonder what would have been if we could have skipped the sections between Genesis 2 and Revelation 21, if we could just have gone from Paradise to Paradise without all this nasty rebelling and killings and yearning and famine and hatred and enmity. I can't know that part. But what can I see come from it all?

I see that God is astoundingly merciful. 

I see that God is forgiving. He takes the cost of all this on Himself. 

I see that God is patient. He forgives again and again and again and again...

I see that in my stubbornness He doesn't leave me to fend for myself. 

I see what it means to be Holy. 

I see my complete dependence on Him to make me Holy. 

I rejoice to see Him faithfully making me so. 

I know what suffering is, and obedience and perseverance, courage and meekness.

I crave God like my infant niece screams for milk. 

I've tasted the joy of seeing Him come through again and again. 

I have Hope. 

I know that when I mess up or decide I've had enough, He's never had enough of me. 

Face-to-face with the sin in my own heart, I see that my identity is not in what I do or how I perform or even what I think about. My identity is completely in Who God says I am.

So I can't know all the answers, but that's not a cop-out. Its a starting place, by which I end up experiencing God in ways I never would have if I were hung up on an answer I could understand.

From where we've come and where we're going.

At the moment I am on a train rolling north through Illinois.
 I love train rides. At the cost of submitting your day to another's time table, you get to cut across forested hills and creek beds hidden from the highway in the otherwise-flat Midwestern farmland. Today I'm feeling especially hipster in my light brown top, side braid and striped red Toms. Add a fountain pen and leather green journal and I'm all set. Today I'm in tune with the part of my heart I left in the Southern Missouri Ozarks...pick-up jam sessions involving banjo and harmonica, cowboy boots and flannel, hay fields and rolling acres of pastureland dotted with sleepy towns with just a touch of drawl. Southern Missouri, where my spirit grew wings.

I just left an all-too-brief visit home. I grew up in a suburban college-town, a different world yet not far from my precious Ozarks. I come from a family with that rare kind of solidarity, where every visit home is an overflow of love and laughter, and every place holds gallons of nostalgia; memories of my childhood and adolescence which formed my faith, my passions, my direction. I'm blessed every time I go home by people with whom I am perfectly safe to share my heart: the good, bad, and the ugly. This last visit included arguing over finer points of the application of faith, of laughing till we cried over stupid Youtube videos, and of cuddling the most beautiful 4-month old this world knows. (Nothing is as delightful or rewarding as being the recipient of my niece's coy smiles!) Every visit home as I drift off to sleep in the same bedroom I slept in as a 6th-grader, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude. My parents, by the grace of God, have passed down a strong and solid legacy of faith. This is the place of my roots.

But now I'm headed North again, into a world I once referred to as my own personal Siberia. Out of what I once thought was a wintery wasteland of suburban life, God lifted up a family for me, a mission and a purpose. This life moves forward with a different kind of joy, one fueled more by the work itself than by the atmosphere. Here the farmer sows the seed between highways and office suits, coffee shops and synagogues,  and by His Grace some find good soil. I came face-to-face with God's enduring faithfulness here in a wilderness of business and buildings, and I recognize that there is so much work to do. And that work is good.

Columbia filled up my soul, Bolivar set free my spirit, and now Chicago is nurturing my mind. Without the previous seasons I would be completely unprepared for this new task. If I had stayed in those places that I've come to love so deeply, I'd be missing out on something else so good.

But I guess this is really what I want to say, dear faithful reader (and if you've stuck with me this far, props to you!): Ultimately this is all about chasing God. If I intended to chase after my own happiness or satisfaction, I'd surely have settled in my beloved Ozarks, never far from my roots. But then what benefit would these blessings have been? Having no true outlet, this river would have turned stagnant. Blessings are meant to be shared. Strong foundations are meant to be built upon. I am reminded instead that we all are seeking a higher country, a heavenly one. In a new place I discover the One who made those wide plains; who is more mysterious and beautiful than the Ozarks; who is wilder than my forrested hills;  who hand-crafted each person running through Chicago streets. In Him there is no greater Inheritance; without Him, no lasting peace, no vast or joyful freedom, no security or adventure. Aslan, take me up on your back, that we can run further in and further up with each new day.

The need to be challenged

I'm generally a very happy person, so when I wake up with a vague sense of inexplicable sadness, I know something's off. Some wispy, sneaky force has crept into my life, surprising me with its sinking presence. That something is boredom.

As a graduate student, daily life mandates that I don't have time to be bored. I think the last time I was bored might have been freshman year of high school, before AP classes and part time jobs began demanding more and more of my time. Throughout college I made it my habit to fill every spare inch of life with SOMETHING, always preferring industry over rest, falling into stress rather than idleness nine times out of ten. What keeps me driven? My identity is far too rooted in my accomplishments, of course. But it takes far more to overcome an identity issue than just the ability to articulate it.

So this year I've taken some intentional steps to create more space in my life. A regular bedtime routine gets me up at a consistent hour, so I have plenty of time in the morning to pray, eat, and work out. I've blocked out specific times for homework so I'm no longer filling every gap with reading assignments, and now I can actually have a social life. I quit my job, found a more restful one, and picked up a second instrument. I intentionally took one class less than I have room for so that I could get the most out of my internship experience. So far this has been the best semester yet. I am rested, I am focused, I am at peace.......I am becoming bored. And for someone whose concept of self-worth is derived largely from the number of checks on her to-do list, boredom does not feel good.

Ironic, isn't it, that having recently emerged from one of the most difficult seasons of my life, I now crave challenge more than anything. I appreciate the rest in between, but now I'm off the mat and ready for another round.

So what exactly is my problem? Do I need to learn how to rest? Or, having had my rest, do I need to learn to reach farther to challenge myself?

In the boys club I help out with as part of my internship, I saw an amazing thing. Put 13 rowdy elementary and middle-school-aged boys in a gym, and six adult women can have some understandable difficulty keeping them quite and in line. Our primary concern is their safety, and everything we do is geared toward providing an atmosphere of safety which they may or may not experience at home. Then yesterday I saw a truly inspiring thing. One man led the group, and instantly commanded their complete attention with these words: "If you don't work as team in this activity, I promise you, someone will get hurt." 

Challenge accepted. Against all of our maternal instincts, the children were led through activities and drills without the security of cushy floor mats and helmets. And these were indeed risky drills; activities which made us hold our breath and cross our fingers, worse-case-scenarios running through our minds. And you know what? No one got hurt. The boys rose to the occasion because the risk involved was real. As a result, they were a more cohesive group than I've ever seen them, and each and every one of them was lifted up and encouraged by the group in a way six women probably wouldn't have been able to recreate.

If I'm honest with myself, in the absence of an overwhelming class load and work schedule, I have forgotten how and why I need to challenge myself. In my professional development, as I rub shoulders with people who are different than me, in my free time, am I making choices that intentionally put myself in the zone of good and necessary risk?

Am I intentionally reaching out to people? That's a risk, because then they might suck me dry, or worse, not like me. Am I willing to lead my client into that important topic of conversation? That's a risk, because it's going to be uncomfortable! But I'm not going to be helpful if I play it safe.

Cutting down the business on my life has been essential. It's been restful. Most importantly, it has revealed to me the ways I fill up life so I don't have to be challenged. Rest is important, but challenge is equally as vital. There's no real excuse for boredom.