I woke up this morning burdened for Haiti.
I sat and did my 750 words and the only thing that came out was how I missed it and how the orphans were calling out to me and how I felt absolutely helpless to do anything except pray for their freedom.
And then I forgot.
I mean, I forgot. I got so busy with my day-to-day life and making copies for my seniors and clicking buttons during students’ presentations and grading papers before the deadline, Haiti was the furthest from my memory. I hate this. I hate the fact it’s not weighty on my soul. I want to be so taken with the plight of the orphan that I can’t go very long without letting my heart’s knees bow before my Creator on these precious childrens’ behalf. Something has to be done. The rains are coming. Shoot – the rains are already here, wiping out tent cities – and here I am. Safe. Protected. The only frustration being that I can’t crawl into my warm bed and take a nap.
I’m spoiled.
It’s no secret there are thousands – thousands – of orphans in Haiti. Even before the earthquake the crisis with orphans was staggering compared to other parts of the world. When the earthquake hit, so many people suddenly became passionate about these orphans.
“Where will they go?”
“Can we adopt them?”
“What steps need to be taken?”
Words like humanitarian parole became common in our vocabulary – replacing, just for a moment – our fascination with the latest reality TV show. Haiti was our reality – 0ur neighbor in distress. I wonder how many of these people once so passionate and focused on adopting are still intent on following through with this thought of expanding their family? The truth: Haitian adoptions have completely closed. The hope: those feeling the pull two months ago will continue to research. Continue to pray. Continue to believe the call to love the orphan isn’t a suggestion but an expectation.
Whenever Russ & I talk about adoption, we always have Haiti in the background. Even though we know the country has closed adoptions now, we believe eventually it will open. Haiti, for the past ten years, settled itself deep in my bones. The people haunt me. The smells tease me. I know my story with Haiti is not complete, and the pull of adopting from this country is more than intense.
So this morning, when I woke up with this burden to pray for the orphan, I had this incredible, sinking feeling.
My child is waiting for me.
My child. It is my future waiting in the rain. It is my future dealing with loneliness and abandonment and hurt and anger and fear. My daughter is crying with no one to cuddle with her. My son is looking for someone to feed him.
My child is waiting for me.
This broke me. Suddenly, my prayers took on a different hue. I’ve always felt attached to Haiti. My prayers have never been distant – but this, this is different. This is my family. And as I sat there on my knees, praying and crying and seeking His face, I never thought I would forget the feeling.
But I did.
I’m praying dangerous prayers now. I don’t want to forget those who the Lord is close to – and His scripture says He’s close to the brokenhearted. I want to be where He is, and if you’ve stayed up to date with what’s gone on in Haiti, you know despite the devastation, God is certainly moving within the church there. It’s beautiful. I want to be desperate for Him to save these orphans as if it were my own child. I pray He haunts our dreams and whispers names in our ears until we pay attention. For a couple weeks, He had us by the chin – forcing us to look. But He won’t do that forever.
For me, I’m praying He will.
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