we are family

I haven't left my apartment all day... haven't put on a stitch of makeup or even looked in the mirror for that matter. I slept much later than I should have, cleaned, and crafted. Oh, and I cooked a little. One of my absolute favorite things to do is make my own sweet tea, mostly because when I say sweet tea, I mean SWEET tea. Not even McDonalds or Milos can compare with this girls sugary deliciousness. Anyway... after I make it it's warm from the water being boiled so I have to wait a little while before I can drink it. I made some fresh tea today and so for dinner tonight [a frozen pizza], I was able to open the fridge and pour me a glass. When I did, I also opened the freezer to get some ice [gotta have ice, even if its already cold]. One of the few amenities this precious little apartment doesn't offer is an icemaker. Therefore I have 3 ice trays and an ice bucket in the freezer... not a big deal at all for just 1 person.

But when I reached into the bucket and felt the bottom of it empty, I was instantly and momentarily taken back to the spacious kitchen of my former living quarters in Haiti... to opening the freezer and seemingly ALWAYS feeling the bottom of the bucket... to living with a family not my own, and friends I didn't choose, and people who didn't even speak my language. And I wanted to cry from missing it so much.

Was it hard? People always want to know that... of course it was hard. One of the hardest things I've ever done perhaps. Most of the time it felt like God was teaching me and molding me and testing me and allowing me to do ministry more inside the walls of our property with Americans than outside in the community of the third world. There were nights the house was silent in anger and frustration. And nights that it felt like the place would literally explode from the incredible tension in the air. And there were times [mostly on the porch... oh, the porch...] where tears of frustration and hurt were cried to, with, and for each other.

But it was also beautiful. We were different people from all different backgrounds and situations and with completely different gifts and talents and things to contribute.. different ideas and perspectives and life experiences. Yet we were united in that we had all abandoned our former lives and were living in Haiti because we were called, because we love the people, and most importantly because we love the Lord. And boy, did we LOVE. We loved each other like family, because we were and are a family.. the kind that only God can be credited with putting together.

I remember one Sunday we went to a church in Port au Prince called Port au Prince Fellowship. The pastor was Australian, the message was in English, the worship was contemporary and in English also, the congregation was about 50% white and 50% Haitian. I had never seen so many white people in one place in Haiti before. It was refreshing and overwhelming and beautiful. At the beginning of the service, the pastor commented that basically all the white people there were likely missionaries [whether short term or longer term]. He then asked any missionary who had had a particularly challenging and impossible and discouraging week to come to the altar. As it is not at all uncommon in Haiti to have frustrating and impossible days, weeks, or months, many people poured forward. He then asked all the other missionaries who of course were familiar with the way these brothers and sisters were feeling to come forward to lay a hand on the discouraged and offer prayers on their behalf. And so we did. It was such an amazing picture of what life is supposed to be like. Brothers and sisters coming together, not in competition or in judgement or in anything other than unity before the Throne. Praying to their Father for each other. Those in the valleys being held up by those on the mountain tops. Sharing the hurt of this world and crying together tears of sorrow for heartbroken family. And thats what we were.... family.

Most of those people I have not and probably will never see again this side of Heaven. But we are family. We all belong to the family of Jesus. In that moment at the altar, I felt that. I felt like we were family. I don't feel it often, and I think it gets lost really quickly in our western world of bigger and better and we're-the-best and us-against-them and look-what-we-can-do perspectives. But let's step back and look at the bigger picture. Your small group, your Sunday school class, your pastor and his wife, your choir, your congregation... if they belong to Jesus, they are your family. There should be no need to save face or pretend you're okay or hide your hurts. We should be able to laugh with each other and cry with each other... to live with each other and share the burden of the world. It is too much to carry alone.

We are family. Lets act like it, church.