I remember.

From December 4th, 2011

Day 1 in Haiti. (5/13/11)

We’re getting ready to go to bed and my mind is just overwhelmed. I’ve seen so much already and we haven’t even started the work.  The flights were pretty good. I like flying besides the pressure during take-off and when landing. The pressure in my ears has just left after having been off the plane since probably 3 or 3:30 today. 

Already, I’ve heard statistics, seen the destruction the earthquake caused, seen the poverty.  As soon as I was leaving the airport in Haiti to meet Roody, a man with only one arm started talking to me.  He waved and said, “I was sick,” and pointed to the place where his left arm used to be.  I’m guessing he was going to ask for money, but I was rushed away before I could talk to him any more.  It’s so hard not to want to help every single person I see and give them money or just let them tell me about their lives.

I hate that, as an American, I’m so spoiled and desensitized to the reality that people really live like this.  I pray that God will tenderize my heart and help me to have compassion and to be broken for these people—even when my selfish nature wants to crawl inside my comfortable shell and not believe that this is real, and it very well could’ve been me.  I could’ve been the one living in a makeshift tent.  I could’ve been the one earning only $6 a day—not even enough to buy 2 meals for one person. I could be one of the estimated 90% who live unemployed and don’t know how I’m going to make it from day to day.  I very well could’ve been the kid running alongside cars as they drive, tapping the windows, begging for just 1 dollar. 

But I wasn’t. And I’m asking God why.  He loves these people just as much as he loves me.  Why am I seemingly so much more blessed? I don’t know the answer. All I can say right now is thank you, Jesus. You’re always good.