Living in caves.

Every time I walk down the streets of Haiti I try to picture God’s kingdom come.
Beauty is here – I see it radiant in the eyes of children, hidden in the kindness of the elderly. I see it pounding through the breath of nature and hear its cry in songs of praise.
But what will it look like? I constantly ask myself.
I picture a Haiti where no one comes with begging hands. Where no men angrily scream on the streets. Where the price doesn’t change whether you are black or white. Where children don’t know of the evils of the world before they know the colours of the rainbow. Where  young girls are romanced by the love of the God of the universe before they are hurt by the twisted lust of broken men.

I turned to my friend Jesselyn, while walking to the tank we were building, and asked her if she ever thought about it.
All the time, she said. She said that God gave her a vision about the future of Haiti. It was like paradise, like Kona, she said. The nature was beautiful. Beautiful, good roads. Houses on beaches. People walked in righteousness and justice.
The white house became a museum – people would come and see the rapid change of history that happened in Haiti. And they would so desire it for their own country. The white house would also be a house of prayer – leaders and people would come from all nations and spend hours in prayer – asking God to transform their nation the way Haiti was transformed.
And this would all happen in less than 25 years.

That’s in my lifetime, I thought.

I wondered if God would call me here for the next 25 years… to leave my brothers, sisters, mother, father, and land… to follow Him.
I could see the change in my lifetime, I thought.
I’d only be 45 then. Still so young. But what if you sent me away from Haiti before then, I thought.
Would I still be willing? Willing to sow everything I am into a nation, if I were to never see the fruit?
What if you sent me to another broken nation, to hold hands with the needy and walk through the darkness in search for light. And when the light was ready to transform every living thing, what if you called me away again? To another nation rising out of ashes?
What if I were only to walk in broken lands with broken people?
What if I never saw everything I lived for?
It’s not about me. It was never about me.
Faith. I will run after You, look into your eyes and forget about myself.
I want to live a life worth living.

If you call me to live here in the difficulty, I will praise you.
If you allow me to see your glory transform this place, I will praise you.
If you call me away before I see any change, I will praise you.
If these are the last seeds I sow, I will praise you.

Hebrews 11.32-40

And what more shall I say? I do not have time to tell about Gideon, Barak, Samson and Jephthah, about David and Samuel and the prophets, who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained what was promised; who shut the mouths of lions, quenched the fury of the flames, and escaped the edge of the sword; whose weakness was turned to strength; and who became powerful in battle and routed foreign armies. Women received back their dead, raised to life again. There were others who were tortured, refusing to be released so that they might gain an even better resurrection. Some faced jeers and flogging, and even chains and imprisonment. They were put to death by stoning; they were sawed in two; they were killed by the sword. They went about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, persecuted and mistreated— the world was not worthy of them. They wandered in deserts and mountains, living in caves and in holes in the ground.

These were all commended for their faith, yet none of them received what had been promised, since God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect.

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