Today was Saturday, the day before the Sabbath, and our final day of serving in Haiti.
We are ready to rest.
It never gets easier to enter into Cite Soleil for a water truck day; the smell of garbage and urine is overpowering as the children in dirty, torn clothing climb our bodies, desperate for affection. Mud cakes to the bottoms of keens and we walk through the labyrinth of mud and steel, delivering buckets of water to one-room houses that have nothing inside them, and yet are a precious home to someone. It hurts the heart to confront such severe lacking and consider our own excess.
We are worn out today, but through divine intervention, we're able to keep up with holding multiple children at once and carrying buckets of water to where they need to be. It's chaotic, it's wet, it's joyful, it's intimate, it's so very hot, and it's familiar. We know we can do this today because we've this before. We know how critical is for this community to receive water and how priceless it is to make people feel loved.
Two water truck stops and a playdate with the children later, we are sunburned, dehydrated, and exhausted. But it's good. We did what we came to do, and we did it well. We say heartfelt goodbyes to Cite Soleil and those that we have come to love (missing you already, Alex) and board for the next adventure.
We disembark at Fleri farm, a lush garden of fruit trees that is a mere 1.5 miles away from the barren desolation of Cite Soleil. The contrast is a striking, yet hopeful reminder that roses can and do grow in concrete. Our tour guide, Kenny, is the only American on this Haitian run-farm. He walks us through the impressive cultivation of plants that are able to provide both jobs and food to the Haitains. It's still hot, we've gone from mildly sunburned to bright red, but we're grateful to see another example of how the Creator is providing for His people.
We are beginning the process of preparing to re-enter the United States. Tonight, it looks like salsa dancing at the Elite Hotel. Tomorrow, it will be laying on a private beach. In every moment, it looks like an internal conversation with the Creator about what He wants us to bring home and how He wants us to reach the least of these in our own neighborhoods and communities. This is a difficult question to wrestle with, especially when we consider how very different our American life looks compared to Haiti, but when has following Him ever been easy? This is a welcome challenge, and we pray it is one that we will see through to the end.
But for now, we will dance, and sing, and laugh with joy in the Lord for all that he has done.
Our work is finished, and the Sabbath is here; we will rest.