Real talk? Sometimes it feels like the world has gone mad.
Disease, national disasters, war, and right now in America, the political climate too often feels like some kind of joke gone wrong.
It’s Good Friday in America.
In a few hours I’ll sit in a darkened room and sing songs about the death of the One I love most. I’ll gather with friends and strangers alike, brothers and sisters in Christ, all there to remember, to mourn, to sit in the silence of sorrow.
It’s Good Friday in America and all I can think about is Haiti.
I was there yesterday. I walked the dusty roads, held little hands that slipped into mine, sang along to familiar songs in a different language, and told the hard truth about . It’s true, we served 600+ people in medical clinics, took thousands of photos, gave piggy-back rides, climbed mountains and stood in awe of the sunset each evening. It’s also true that we witnessed pain and suffering, brokenness and darkness and sometimes bravery meant choosing not to look away.
Sometimes it meant laughing hard and dancing next to a soccer field and holding on even when you could just fall to the ground with the weight of it all.
We saw darkness and we saw light and now we’re back here once again.
It’s Good Friday in America and in Haiti and all over the world, millions are weeping and wailing, mourning as night falls and praying for the light of morning.
Hope feels lost.
Sadness seems to suffocate.
Despair appears to reign and darkness descends.
There are more questions than answers, too many in hospital beds or praying for their next meal. It is real, spiritual warfare, and it leaves us breathless.
We have only one source of hope, one way to push through, one comfort in the storm and one reason to press on: Today is the very worst day in history that led to the best day we couldn’t even fathom.
May we grieve for all that seemed hopeless and weep for all that felt unredeemed, knowing the story wasn’t over.
May we whisper our questions to Jesus and lay our burdens at His feet, knowing He Himself will be the answer.
May we cry over His death and His faithfulness, knowing our sadness will turn to joyful singing.
May we not shy from mourning because we know that death has been defeated by love and Light has pierced the darkness.
P.s. In the past, I’ve always waited a few weeks after returning from Haiti before I post anything about my time there. It’s important to me that I process and pray through the stories before sharing. And yet, today on Good Friday, I feel the tug to write and tell you that God is moving. The story is not over. Your story, no matter how broken, is not over. So let’s not deny the darkness and let’s look for the light. It will break through, as surely as the sun will set, night will fall, and the sun will rise again.
P.p.s. Going back to the place I wrote an entire chapter about in Even If Not, my book that released last month? It was wonderful and heart-breaking and I can’t wait to tell you more about it. Stayed tuned to the blog for stories and Instagram for pictures!
