This post is going to be a little more vulnerable than any prior. I told myself at the start of this blogging journey that I would stay true to who I am and practice a different sort of adventure: The adventure of opening my mind to whoever reads this.
It was a day before the trip and I was getting final things in order when Paul and I got into an argument that revealed something much deeper in him. He told me his feelings for me had been growing more distant and that he could no longer see himself with me. He respectfully allowed me my space and didn't put up a fight or release any frustrations when I asked him not to come on this trip with me. I knew I needed to be alone and I was terrified by it. Learning to be alone without feeling lonely was always a trial for me.
The intention of this post is not to bad mouth Paul, I truly think he did exactly what he thought was best by us. Although I was hurt and confused, I have immense respect and love for him, regardless. The purpose of telling that rather unsavory part of this otherwise gentle and rewarding trip was purely to be honest about my struggles during it. Being completely alone was something new and stomach twisting for me. So I dove in head first...
I am consistently enamored by the beauty and excitement buzzing in this village. After coming back for four years now, the changes I've seen are mind blowing, breath taking, and soul filling--basically all of the good feelings.
One of the things of change that filled me with praise and hope was the size of the Haitian babies throughout the mountain. These babies were FAT! Praise Jesus. Their mama's breasts continue to be a supple form of nutrition, despite all odds. Women are mind blowing.
The views from the crystal clear sea are often hard to comprehend. Just on the other side of the road holds some of the most incredible poverty I've ever seen, yet some of the most love and joy.
Spending my afternoons on the beach after serving the people of our little village was replenishing to my soul. I reignited old relationships with the missionaries who serve there day in and day out, and created new ones with the few coming for the first time.
I got to give and receive love from my favorite people, young and old.
I decided to take my pain and attention off of myself and re-energize it toward the reasons I was there. I came there to pour out. I came there to give love. I in turn was filled up with the fearless, slobbery love that came from within every child who grabbed my hand, sat in my lap, kissed me right on the mouth... etc. I was no longer pouring from and empty cup. I wasn't full of fear. I was full of capability and bravery for the first time in a long time. I intend to continue to feel this way.