Transitions, Sharing, and Belonging
“You just came back from … wherever … you deserve a candy.”
“Do you have a job yet?”
“Don’t put that food in front of her. She’ll think about starving people and then she’ll have to eat it.”
The things that people think are appropriate to say to a girl who just got back from three years of foreign mission are rather astounding sometimes.
Mostly, I enjoy talking about Haiti. I enjoy when people ask me about it because it’s the only thing that I really know how to talk about right now. It’s the most recent passion on my heart. Haiti is what makes me lean in during a conversation. Talking about Haiti may be the only way to get me to say anything significant that I have been thinking. I may even talk about my feelings about it if you are special enough – if I think you can handle it. Mostly, the people who ask enough questions are the ones who are willing and ready to hear it.
Other people ask and after a few sentences seemed to be overwhelmed and I feel like I shouldn’t go further – for their own sake. Maybe they aren’t ready yet. Maybe they don’t have much hope in their lives and so hearing about suffering, even if it’s just one sentence, is difficult for them.
No, I don’t know what I am doing yet. No, I don’t have a job. And no, I am not spending every waking moment looking. Because I’m realizing that I have to spend many waking moments learning how to breathe this air-conditioned air, learning how not to scroll through my newsfeed on Facebook just because the wireless is amazing, learning how to remember what I have seen enough to feel a sense of moral okay-ness, while forgetting enough to not make having fun difficult.
And while I take my time trying to discern what I really am supposed to be doing next, I can’t help but think of all the people who don’t have a family who will feed and house them, a little bit of money that will help them get by until they find a job. I can’t help thinking about those who need money and work to survive, while I am taking my sweet time because I have food to eat every day and no major physical worries.
I had dinner at a friend’s house the other night and took home the leftover, slightly over-cooked spaghetti because he was about to throw it in the trash. “I hate to do this in front of you,” he said. I wished he would have just said, “I hate to do this.” I notice that some people are slightly more conscious of their choices when I am there, but I wish it wouldn’t be only when I am there, but a change that I could help to initiate in their lives.
But I don’t know how to share yet. I don’t know how to tell people about the poor, about the people who are not just “the poor” but who have names and faces and hearts and lives – people who I have laughed with, talked with, hurt with. People who I have held and known and loved and still love very deeply. These are not a category of people. They are not just “the majority of the world,” although they are the majority of the world. These are families and teens that I have walked with.
If you “put the food in front of me,” I won’t think about starving people. In those moments, I think about Pierre. I think about Chaina. I think about Caina. Nickla. Taina. Linda. Andre-Louis. Islan. Wendi. Mari Carmel. Medjina. Jorgens. Gran Se. Ti Se. Marleine. Deborah. Ferbie. Farah. I think about real people, not starving ones. There may be days when they are hungry. There may be days when their families or their children are hungry. But they are not “starving people.” They are not “the poor.” They are people with real names and real lives and real hurts and real faces.
And they are our people. They belong to you and me, just as we belong to them. We are family. We are community. We are the Body of Christ. Our hearts beat together. Our bellies are hungry together. We provide for one another. So when one of us is lacking, it is probably because another is not sharing. I belong to you and you belong to me. And then we won’t forget one another. Then we may not forget a category of people because it hurts to think about them. So we don’t click that article to read, and we don’t click that video to watch, and we don’t want to listen to this person talk, and we don’t want to go and see for ourselves because that would hurt and we don’t have enough hope for it. But if I belong to you and you belong to me, then none of that matters and we just share.
“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other”, Blessed Mother Teresa says. So let us remember that we belong to each other, and then we will find our peace.
“Do you have a job yet?”
“Don’t put that food in front of her. She’ll think about starving people and then she’ll have to eat it.”
The things that people think are appropriate to say to a girl who just got back from three years of foreign mission are rather astounding sometimes.
Mostly, I enjoy talking about Haiti. I enjoy when people ask me about it because it’s the only thing that I really know how to talk about right now. It’s the most recent passion on my heart. Haiti is what makes me lean in during a conversation. Talking about Haiti may be the only way to get me to say anything significant that I have been thinking. I may even talk about my feelings about it if you are special enough – if I think you can handle it. Mostly, the people who ask enough questions are the ones who are willing and ready to hear it.
Other people ask and after a few sentences seemed to be overwhelmed and I feel like I shouldn’t go further – for their own sake. Maybe they aren’t ready yet. Maybe they don’t have much hope in their lives and so hearing about suffering, even if it’s just one sentence, is difficult for them.
No, I don’t know what I am doing yet. No, I don’t have a job. And no, I am not spending every waking moment looking. Because I’m realizing that I have to spend many waking moments learning how to breathe this air-conditioned air, learning how not to scroll through my newsfeed on Facebook just because the wireless is amazing, learning how to remember what I have seen enough to feel a sense of moral okay-ness, while forgetting enough to not make having fun difficult.
And while I take my time trying to discern what I really am supposed to be doing next, I can’t help but think of all the people who don’t have a family who will feed and house them, a little bit of money that will help them get by until they find a job. I can’t help thinking about those who need money and work to survive, while I am taking my sweet time because I have food to eat every day and no major physical worries.
I had dinner at a friend’s house the other night and took home the leftover, slightly over-cooked spaghetti because he was about to throw it in the trash. “I hate to do this in front of you,” he said. I wished he would have just said, “I hate to do this.” I notice that some people are slightly more conscious of their choices when I am there, but I wish it wouldn’t be only when I am there, but a change that I could help to initiate in their lives.
But I don’t know how to share yet. I don’t know how to tell people about the poor, about the people who are not just “the poor” but who have names and faces and hearts and lives – people who I have laughed with, talked with, hurt with. People who I have held and known and loved and still love very deeply. These are not a category of people. They are not just “the majority of the world,” although they are the majority of the world. These are families and teens that I have walked with.
If you “put the food in front of me,” I won’t think about starving people. In those moments, I think about Pierre. I think about Chaina. I think about Caina. Nickla. Taina. Linda. Andre-Louis. Islan. Wendi. Mari Carmel. Medjina. Jorgens. Gran Se. Ti Se. Marleine. Deborah. Ferbie. Farah. I think about real people, not starving ones. There may be days when they are hungry. There may be days when their families or their children are hungry. But they are not “starving people.” They are not “the poor.” They are people with real names and real lives and real hurts and real faces.
And they are our people. They belong to you and me, just as we belong to them. We are family. We are community. We are the Body of Christ. Our hearts beat together. Our bellies are hungry together. We provide for one another. So when one of us is lacking, it is probably because another is not sharing. I belong to you and you belong to me. And then we won’t forget one another. Then we may not forget a category of people because it hurts to think about them. So we don’t click that article to read, and we don’t click that video to watch, and we don’t want to listen to this person talk, and we don’t want to go and see for ourselves because that would hurt and we don’t have enough hope for it. But if I belong to you and you belong to me, then none of that matters and we just share.
“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other”, Blessed Mother Teresa says. So let us remember that we belong to each other, and then we will find our peace.
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