Re-entry

Isaiah 51: 12-14
"I, even I, am he who comforts you. Who are you that you fear mortal men, the sons of men, who are but grass, that you forget the Lord your Maker, who stretched out the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth, that you live in constant terror every day because of the wrath the oppressor, who is bent on destruction? For where is the wrath of the oppressor? The cowering prisoners will soon be set free; they will not die in their dungeon, nor will they lack bread.

Adam tried to warn our group about "re-entry" during our last nightly debriefing meeting in Haiti. I did not understand how to heed his warning. As he was talking, I was crying about leaving. Perhaps, I should have known returning would be difficult.

It's been difficult in ways I did not expect. The other night I went out to dinner with a group of people: some I knew, others I met for the first time. We talked about places to go in San Diego, and a girl discussed her past month in Monterey, CA. I had nothing to add to the conversation. I felt trapped in my thoughts. I don't know how to describe the depth of my experience to others, and I don't know how to re-acclimate myself to daily conversations.

Two different friends used the metaphor of coming down from a mountain to describe returning from a missions trip. I was on such a God-high during my 5 days in Haiti that now it's time to descend. I keep telling myself that there are ways for me to serve here in San Diego. God always intended me to descend from the mountain; perhaps with plans for me to return and to see Dorly, Zick, Wilbert, and others again in Haiti. On Wednesday, a friend mentioned that I may never see Zick again. The thought had not crossed my mind. I had assumed that if I returned to Haiti, I'd automatically see Zick and Dorly. Not seeing my friends in Haiti ever again is a thought I refused to entertain in my mind.

How do I live my life in San Diego while remembering the circumstances in Haiti? The two places are on opposite ends of the spectrum: America's economic wealth, Haiti's spiritual welath.

I enjoy writing about my time in Haiti, but I know I'll be sad when I write my last blog. I know I'll be sad when the last of my photos from the trip are posted on facebook. Yet, there are so many books I want to read and blog about. I have future projects to feed my spiritual life as well as access my inner-writer.

Life goes on. The Haitians are living life; they don't let the earthquake keep them in bed in the morning. Sometimes I feel like hiding in my thoughts, listening to Zick's French worship music. Sure, I enjoyed meeting with my group of teens; I enjoyed meeting with Amy and Kristen to walk; I enjoyed jogging with K.D.; I enjoyed spending half the day with a co-worker; I enjoyed jogging by myself around my neighborhood. I'm beginning to enjoy San Diego again, but I feel alienated from other people.

And then I pray, because I know these sad thoughts aren't God's. I don't want to be dwelling. So, today I tried a Bollywood dance class. Tomorrow morning I want to pick up trash in Normal Heights with Adams Avenue Crossing; later I want to go to a Haitian church service in my neighborhood, of all places!

Despite my sorrow, my time in Haiti has inspired me to serve my own community. So, is that what I'm supposed to do: feel inspired by the people I met and act upon such inspiration? Yes, the simplicity of the answer seems to fit God's style. I'm looking for something complex and grandiose when the answer is much more of a reflection of Jesus. Love your neighbors: whether they're in Haiti or San Diego. Look around you, those people are your neighbors. Love them and put your faith in God.

Today I played the "bon soir" game in English. In Haiti, Adam and I joked about counting how many people greeted us in French. "Bon soir" sounds like a song; it sounds so happy and its joy is contagious to all you greet. "bon jour" just doesn't have that same sing-song quality. This morning, while jogging I'd wish people a "good morning." I received at least 6 responses plus one "hello." Perhaps I can add some of the Haitian hospitality in my daily interactions with people. Perhaps, merging Haiti and San Diego will 1. be much easier than I realized and 2. be a much happier experience than I anticipated.