By | 7:29 AM 1 comment

Recently, my eyes have been quick to leak tears with sudden notice.

The thing is (and for those of you who really know me well, you know this is true) I've never been a "crier." Ever.

Yet, lately, it takes the bare minimum to elicit a lump in my throat and wet eyes and my careful composure is gone.

I'm pretty sure  it is a way of expressing a response to certain sights I see here in Haiti...emotions I repress in the moment that come out later in response to an unrelated interaction with a facebook video or something I read.

You see, living here, exposed to numerous sights and stories that are sad at best, horrific at worst...on a weekly, sometimes daily basis, you have to close your emotions off just a bit...if merely to survive. One cannot walk around in a puddle of pity and truly see the people. Reigning in the emotions is a necessity to remain faithful and effective.

But then sometimes you have those moments, those interactions that...BAM! They wallop you right in the heart and gut and you can't help but feel BIG feelings that can't be repressed.

We were one our way up to Petionville one afternoon, driving up the main road Delmas, when I saw a beggar on the side of the road.

Not an uncommon sight at all.

But this beggar was blind. And his arm was being held out for him by a younger healthy man. The posturing of the two clearly revealed a servitude relationship with one mans handicap being exploited by the other.

There was something about the blind man that reminded my of my brother, Abraham, who is blind also.

I was flooded with emotions...


Why does one man get born in one place and one another?
Why does one blind boy grow up with a loving family and opportunity and another not?
The apparent unfairness of it all sometimes is overwhelming.

I didn't cry at all in that moment. But I did feel my stomach tighten up and my heart hurt. And then later that night I was organizing pictures on my computer and I glanced upon a picture of my Zoe as a baby...who wasn't a baby anymore...and would never be a baby again...and suddenly I was in the ugly cry.

But I wasn't crying for her,
I was crying for him.

I was crying to release all those big feelings that don't necessarily have a fix or an answer.

And I've decided I'm not going to fight the tears.
There is a clearness that comes after a good cry.
An opportunity to be comforted by the Comforter.

An an even greater opportunity to use those feelings to fuel my action, my love, my faithfulness on those days I just want to give in.

As for you, brothers and sisters, never tire of doing what is right. 2 Thess. 3:13

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Beautifully written. I know exactly what you mean. I, too, was not a crier before living in Haiti. It is a part of my growth while living there that I cherish most now. I always say that it is a sign of my love leaking from my eyes. For love is the place where compassion grows, and compassion is the place where that great sadness over the unfair doling out of privilege comes from. Take heart, He has you in his arms.