In Transit

We are in a motel room in Florida, waiting to leave for Haiti. We are surrounded by luggage - it's hard to walk around in the room because there's so much of it. I can't find anything I want to wear, or read, or use, without digging through piles of other belongings. I'm very tired of living out of suitcases and ready to be home.

And yet I'm afraid.

For months I have obsessively read everything published on the internet about Haiti. Now, I can't read any of it. On TV they showed the footage from the security cameras at the Palais National, taken during the earthquake. (That video was making the rounds on Facebook months ago, but somehow the US media is just now getting hold of it?) I have watched the video many times, but I couldn't watch it now; I left the room.

I'm sick, too. A friend wrote and asked, "Are you sick sick or stress sick?" Definitely sick sick, with whatever bug has been going through our family for the last week, but my physical condition does match my emotional one pretty accurately. I'm feeling fragile.

And I'm afraid.

I keep thinking about flying into the airport that I left six months ago, where rebar was hanging down from the ceiling and groups of us huddled, talking about what we had seen and heard. I think about driving through the streets of the city as we did that day, seeing destruction on an enormous scale, buildings pancaked on themselves. I think about all those people everywhere.

A woman at church the other day said to me, "I admire you so much. You are such a strong person to do what you do."

I feel uncomfortable being put on a pedestal, especially when I know so very well how inaccurate the sentiment is. Strong? Uh, no. So I replied immediately, "When all of this happened, I realized how weak I really am."

She kept smiling brightly and assuring me of how strong I am.

Believe me, I'm not. I'm weak and sick and terrified.

Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians: But He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.

It's still hard for me to boast in my weakness. I want to be strong and self-sufficient. I don't want to be the person who ran away from all of it six months ago, and is now cautiously creeping back. I want to be bold and courageous, perhaps riding a white horse. (OK, the horse might be taking things too far.)

Let's just hope His grace really is sufficient for me, and for all of us.