Last night was rough. If I’m honest, this whole trip has been rough for me. I’ve witnessed so many hard things—so many people hurting. I’ve been wrestling with trying to reconcile the head-truth I know that God is good, while at the same time, my heart is breaking under the weight of what many of these people have to go through. None of it seems fair. None of it seems just, much less the plan of a God who is good and only does good. Last night, the disconnect felt like more than I could bear. I weakly prayed a psalm into my pillow: “Let me hear in the morning of your steadfast love, for in you I trust” (Psalm 43:8). I woke to the sound of rain.
God is good…He has been proven that in countless ways. He reminded me at Church on New Years Eve in the pounding and praising of my brothers and sisters, He showed us in providing for KB, He even made me feel it in the great-heart love of the staff for the Haitian people. He shows His goodness in the fullest moon. He pours His goodness on the earth in the falling rain.
Hope deferred and sorrow and pain in this life are real…but they are not in vain, all because of Jesus. He has the victory over sin and death. He made a way for even the most broken lives and stories to be made whole. He is a God of redemption. He came to bind up the broken-hearted (Isaiah 61). I realized in the sound of rain that my God is able, His arm is not shortened, He is always good. And He has us here to tell and be conduits of His goodness. The doubt I’ve let take root in my heart has eaten away at me all week. Today God reminded me that He is good…even if I can’t see it. I’m thankful He is also a God whose mercies are new every morning. He helps my unbelief. God’s okay with questions. I’m still processing all this…very slowly…but from now on, I’m going to ask God my questions with an intention to trust in His goodness.
Today we hosted a clinic for the people in our community. We saw around forty-five patients. People came from all around: small ones and big ones, grandma ones and kid ones, and everyone in between. Many got help and medicine, not to mention a bucket load of prayer and even some preaching (shout out to James). I sat in several consultations with the doctor. Before any patients came in, I prayed that God would give me eyes to see these people the way He sees them. A little, strong lady walked in with a solemn smile and a hot pink hat. The hat immediately pulled me back to being home with my mom. My mom wears a hat just like it (only gray) whenever she works in her garden…she folds the front up the same way too. The whole time the doctor talked with the little lady, I kept thinking, “what if this was my mom, sitting here next to me.” My heart went out to her. After the hat lady, a quiet old man shuffled in, his hand trembling as he clutched his call number. It was a sure sign of Parkinson’s disease. I saw in the man an elderly friend I know who has Parkinson’s too. Suddenly, he was more than a stranger from a different culture, a different country, a different life. I looked into his wrinkled face and saw my brother. I felt such a connection to the people we served. Today was a good day to be human.
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