EDIT:
Because of some of the questions raised in the comments, I thought I’d clarify a few things.
I am going with a respected organization that has been on the ground in many countries, including on the island of Hispaniola prior to the earthquake, for many years.
This organization has a track record of responding holistically to crises like this.
There is a strategy and there are specific things we will be doing that are needed, otherwise we would not have been invited.
There is intention behind each person who is going on this trip at the time we are going.
I will share more details next week as we finalize the trip.
Thanks.
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A couple of days ago, I was driving somewhere and thinking about Haiti.
It may have been around the same time they released the “estimated 200,000 dead” statistic because I remember thinking how impossible it would be to imagine what 200,000 dead actually looks like in person. And my mind just couldn’t go there.
One reason is because I’ve never quite seen a real dead body before. I did see my aunt in her casket at her funeral but that doesn’t really count. Every other funeral I’ve attended has been closed-casket or the body had been cremated.
I saw a picture of a mass grave in Haiti (it’s graphic but it’s here if you choose to click it) that gave me a taste of what 50 bodies looked like. I sat and stared at it for a good five minutes with tears rolling down my face.
And as I was staring at this picture I simply felt the nudge:
Go.
I laughed a little bit because surely God knows that February is really busy and I have to raise $5000 for my Ride:Well trip and he knows I’ve never slept anywhere but my bed or a bed in a hotel room and my sense of smell is really overactive so there’s no way I could possibly handle what Haiti must smell like, and oh yeah, did you see all the pictures of random people with guns?
That’s funny. Real funny.
Go.
Maybe God meant “go to Starbucks to get a skinny latte.”
A couple of hours later, I got an email from a friend of mine who asked me if I’d like to go to Haiti with his organization in a few weeks.
Without hesitation, I responded “100% yes.”
And so I’m going to Haiti.
I tweeted this yesterday, and it’s been interesting to see the variety of responses. Some people say they’re flat out jealous. They want to go to Haiti and please hear me when I say I understand your heart and your desire to help in such a desperate time. I really, really do.
But jealous?
Frankly, I have to say I would side with the other group of people that are saying, “I”m so glad it’s you going and not me.”
A week and a half ago I had no idea I’d be spending the last week of my 20’s (I turn 30 on February 19) in a country that wasn’t exactly safe to visit before the earthquake. And now I know I’m supposed to go and help and share with you what is happening and how, long term, Haiti is going to need our help.
Here’s the thing I want to leave you with:
I tend to believe that when fear, or comfort, or some other little obstacle pops in our head the correct response is to do the exact opposite.
Fear says, “Haiti is dangerous. You have to take those malaria pills that make your stomach hurt and what if there’s another earthquake while you’re there? What if you get shot at? ”
Comfort says, “You won’t have your choice of firm or soft pillows and it very well will smell like the rotting stench of death. You might be sleeping in a tent on the ground.”
Some people have said going to Haiti right now is like entering into a war zone. A war zone without any knowledge about what may or may not happen from one moment to the next. I am positive the moment my mother reads this post she will be calling me and likely ordering me to stay home.
I love you mom, but I’m sorry. I have to go.
You know what? I don’t have to go. I could email my friend and pull out right now.
A phrase my friend Jamie likes to use is “I get to.”
I get to go.
I don’t know what’s going to happen on this trip. I have no idea what to expect and I even asked the trip organizers to leave out most of the details except the things I simply need to know. Don’t tell me how we’re driving to Haiti or where we’ll sleep or what we’ll eat.
I don’t think I can fully process that yet.
I get to go. And I’m sticking with that.
The people of Haiti didn’t plan to have their lives interrupted (or ended) a week ago.
This is a whole new part of their story.
As I spoke to my friend a couple of days ago when we were working on some of the details, we realized Haiti is never going to be restored.
Haiti is going to be reborn.
We all get to be a part of that story – whether it’s by donating money or supplies or by taking a couple of Valium and getting on a plane.
I’m grateful that it’s not only Haiti’s story, and it’s not only yours and mine, either.
I’m grateful there’s a sovereign God who has a plan and purpose beyond anything we can imagine. And I’m grateful his breath is woven through each and every letter of each and every word of this new story as it is being written.
(To make sure you get my updates from Haiti, you can subscribe to my blog via RSS, get updates by email, or follow me on Twitter.)
It had been a really long day.
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