In Haiti, the newness and extremes of everything we were
seeing, learning, and doing made it difficult to keep everything straight in my
mind. So much ran together in my
brain. Who said what. Where we went. What day it was. Names of people we met and places we visited.
But there are also images and situations that are ingrained
in my brain. Carved into my heart. Embedded in my soul. Moments that I can still see and feel so
vividly.
One of those moments was the feel of a little boy sitting on
my lap.
On our last evening in Haiti our group got to attend the
worship service at the Love A Child orphanage.
Just like kids at my church, many of the kids at the orphanage struggled
to stay focused and sit still. They
whispered to each other. They wiggled in
their seats. Two girls across from me
temporarily switched sandals with each other.
Their eyes drifted around the room when they should have been praying or singing.
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| (Thanks to Alyssa for capturing the moment!) |
One little boy wandered over near where I was sitting and he
climbed up on my lap.
I don’t know his name.
I don’t know his story. I don’t
know how old he is. The only thing I do
know is that I was given the privilege of holding that sweet little boy for a
few minutes.
He settled in, leaned against me, and started sucking his
thumb. As he sat on my lap I was so
aware of all that was around me. The
warm but cooling breeze coming in the open windows. The quickly fading light of the setting sun. The warm colors of the sky framing the
mountains in the distance. The wind
rustling the leaves of the palm trees just outside the window. The faces of the beautiful children of all
ages throughout the room. The
compassionate “moms” seated with the children.
The sound of foreign and familiar words being sung and spoken. How comfortable this little boy was sitting
on the lap of a complete stranger. The
warmth of his body.
I can describe it no other way than to say it just felt
right. To be there in that room,
surrounded by those people, with that little boy on my lap, praising God and
praying. So much had come together to
make that moment possible and I knew there was nowhere else I was supposed to
be. There were no other people I should
have been with. There was nothing
different that I should have been doing.
The assurance and peace I felt were unambiguous.
I am more than familiar with uncertainty and feeling like I
have no idea what I’m doing in life. For
all the days and months when I have felt so unsure of the next step to take, I
have grown used to the feeling but still wish and pray I didn’t have to feel it
so often.
As I considered that certainty I felt in that moment in
Haiti, I thought back over everything that brought me there. Things I said “yes” to. Opportunities I said “no” to. Relationships I carefully nurtured. Relationships I had to let go.
It’s not to say that I managed to get myself to the one
“right” place. There may have an
infinite number of “right” moments like that I could have taken a path to. But in that moment God reassured me that all
I need to do is continue to take the next step and trust. God will take care of the rest.
And then someone or something at the other end of the room
caught the little boy’s attention and he slid down off my lap. The acute certainly and peace faded, but it
left a remnant that I hope to hold on to even when the uncertainly overwhelms
me.
