dancing all the way

I got back from my mission trip to Haiti on Wednesday at midnight. The whole week was chockful of great conversations and I'm still kinda thinking everything over, so I guess this is just me thinking out loud, but God's been showing me that he's made me sufficient. That I'm not even close to junk and saying that I'm not __ enough is just a lie that I've believed ever since I can remember. That maybe the things I'm not proud of or I think are embarrassing or weird are what he's using to reach his world. Having cancer, needing extra help in school, having to process everything that much slower. I'm learning that maybe I don't give God enough credit. That he's made me a treasure and someone to be proud of. I'm not sure why that's hard for me to understand, but it is. I had some  great conversations with one of my mentors on that trip, and one of the many things that stuck was how gifts are less what we think we're good at and more of what we care about, what God has spent my whole life forming my heart around.  It still amazes me that God cares about my heart more than what I can do for him. His biggest work of art in my life is shaping me into his image and through me other people as well. And that's just crazy!

This week I also found out that my great grandma had died at five o'clock the night before we left to come back home. After a week of having my heart stretched and grown, I come home to have it broken. By the fact that I can't do anything to help those sweet faces I left behind. By my grandpa being left behind in a nursing home with an empty bed. By the fact that life has not stopped and I still have so much to process and think about. My mind feels like a hurricane these days, and no one emotion stands still long enough to show itself. I've found myself wishing I was back in Haiti. In this strangely beautiful country where little huts of wood and tarp are buried into some of the largest mountains I've ever seen and later taper into exquisite beaches and coastlines. Back with scrawny dogs and half naked children with the most beautiful smiles I've ever seen in my life. With animals running wild and toddlers with bare feet and everything else. With tiny hands twined tight around my own and hearts open wide for these clueless white people to walk right into. I only knew them for a few hours and now I can't get them out of my head, in the best way possible. I hope I can go back someday. It was awkward and painful and uncomfortable, but those kids were unforgettable. Though, maybe when I go back, I'll pick up more Creole before I leave. 

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