When “Oy Eevwa” is Hard to Say

 “I know the power of the cross. Forgiven and free, forever You’ll be my God. All that you’ve done is so overwhelming.”

    
They raise their hands in worship. We are diverse in demographics to say the least. The people in the guest house living room tonight range from teenagers with instruments to Haitian senior adults and goodness…everything in between. 

They’re people crammed into every space of this cozy room. A Haitian teenager sits beside a middle-aged American couple. Behind the American nurse is a piano bench with a Haitian nursing student.   A little boy and his mother are across the room from a Haitian couple expecting their first baby. The beauty of it all takes my breath away and I can’t squeak out a sound for an entire verse. I’m pondering who I am in this collaboration of eternal souls. I fall into the mix as somewhat of an unlikely missionary (only if by definition a “missionary” is someone who seeks to follow Jesus and to tell of the gospel…because yeah. That’s me, I think.) Basically, I’m just an ordinary soccer mom attempting to live counter-culturally, while carrying little bottles of hand sanitizer and small doses of anxiety medication.   My wedding ring is swapped out for a pink silicone ring from my groom, my thick curls are pulled tightly into a bun that I call my “Haiti hairdo,” and the generous use of Deet has worn the coral polish off my toes. My stories are too long, my harmonies are awkward (but in the chord, mind you) in this weird vocal range tonight, and apparently I use my flashlight an excessive amount in the middle of the night. That’s what I hear.  I’m a far cry from brave, adventurous, or well-traveled.   And yet, my God saw it fitting that I could be a part of this beauty in this very place. These people…they are my brothers and sisters in Christ.

 We sit together, lives intertwined in community with the common bond of a Holy Savior.  Words can’t express my love for this…all of this. It’s a miracle, really. God rescued me from the naive ways of the rat race, competition, and shiny lies of materialism. I still have so far to go. God is at work. He is still rescuing me, pursuing my heart, and pointing me to the truth of His commands. He loves us like this. I am humbled to be a part of this and the tears build in my eyes again. (I’d cry…but my tear ducts are a bit dysfunctional…and maybe I’m a tad dehydrated too.)  I say it again and again, quietly in my heart as I scan the room. “Thank you, Lord. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for letting me be here for this.”  Most of my prayers have been some version of this very prayer throughout the past week. It’s overwhelming.

Thank you God for wrecking me, for loving me enough to pursue me even in my fear and oblivion and allowing me to see. I see it, God.

  
“I delight myself in you in the glory of Your presence, I’m overwhelmed. I’m overwhelmed by You. God, I run into your arms, unashamed because of mercy. I’m overwhelmed. I’m overwhelmed by You.”
We call them “short-term mission trips.” Traditionally speaking, they are a week or two long.  Sometimes they last a month or longer.  When you can’t shake what you have learned? When God reminds you of a place every single day?  When everyone around you hears about this “trip” for the next year?   I should have seen it coming.  On this second trip, I’m worshipping Jesus when the Holy Spirit speaks to my heart.   It isn’t a trip anymore.  If it was ever just a “trip,”….it isn’t a trip anymore.   The lump in my throat has taken over the world at this point and when I try to speak tonight, my words trail off into clumsy tears. The poor young kids in the room.  Bless their hearts. They must be making a mental note that this woman…this is what crazy looks like.  

Then I say something so profound like, “I don’t usually cry, so this is so weird!” Classy. I keep it real.

In a room of my Haitian zanmis (a Haitian Creole word meaning “friends” and pronounced incorrectly by yours truly at least 90% of the time) my words are insufficient but I’m compelled to tell them how much I will remember them until we meet again. I tell them of the past year and the way church music has never been the same now that I know they are simultaneously worshipping the same God (as myself) in their part of the world. I tell them that my heart aches a bit and my throat gets all lumpy when we sing their favorite worship songs.   It’s so true.  The beginning chords of, “Lord, I Need You,” and, “10,000 Reasons,” take my breath away now.  {I may or may not have asked our worship pastor, that guy I married, if we could omit those songs for…say…ever because they make me think too much. My request was declined. The songs are good.  I get it. Whatev.} My words get fast and jumbled up and my palms are all sweaty as I squeak out the words I have to say.  
  
“Just know that I will think of you. I thought of you every day for the past year. I’m nervous to say goodbye because I know what this feels like. And when we sing your songs, I will be remembering you and will be thinking of you because we are worshipping the same God. I will try to come back again, but I can’t be sure that I ever will.   If God, wants me to come back, I will be back.”

I thank my God every time I remember you. In my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” ~Philippians 1:3-6

Later, Guerold says it as the room is filled with my team members hugging our Haitian friends. More than a dozen necks are hugged around us as he tries to find the English and says, “I hope you will try to come back.”  

“Guerold, if God is willing for me to come back, I promise that I will come. I can only be here if God helps me come back.   It is whatever He wants, but I do want to come back.   I will try. I promise to try, but it is up to God.”
My kind friend, the one who once called my Creole “very interesting” replies quickly, “Well, then I will pray that you can come back.” …and I’ve seen a Haitian person talk to God before. They mean business. I immediately wonder how many times, how many trips, and for what purpose my heart will be connected to Haiti. Emotionally, I just throw in the towel with believing this is a “trip.” It’s something else.  God has called me to something more.  I can’t imagine. I can’t wrap my mind around the purpose of His plan, but I can feel it unfolding. Patience isn’t my strong suit, but I have a peace about surrendering this whole Haiti-thing to Him.  Sometimes we just wait.
Our far-away friends drive us to the airport and there are more hugs and more goodbyes. If we ever return, we’ll meet the baby boy of this precious Haitian couple dropping our team off at the entrance.  As a team member hugs her, I hear her say, “I love you. Come back soon.” It’s not just a nice thing to say. The friendships are real.   

The love for one another is genuine. They’re our true brothers and sisters in the family of God. Our God is the same. These friends are just like me. We were just born across an ocean. Period. That is the big difference.

As we roll our suitcases away from them, our eyes catch and we all wave one last time. “Oy Eevwa, Laura,” I say. And I simply can’t be sure if we will ever meet again on this side of Heaven. 

 Still, we have every reason to praise God!  Without a shadow of doubt in my mind, I know that I will worship God again at His literal throne with these sisters and brothers. To God be the glory! Goodbye is never the last word in the family of God.

  “I see the works of your hands, galaxies spin in a Heavenly dance. Oh God, all that You are is so overwhelming.”

From my heart to yours,
~Courtney