perspective

It was one o'clock in the morning and the door was broken.

The handle broken from the inside leaving no way to remove it except for going up a ladder in the dark and through a window. (And maybe there was a forgotten screwdriver that led to a tossing of tools in the dark up the ladder ;)

Normally this experience at the end of an emotionally draining and physically exhausting day would leave me a whiny puddle on the floor. But anger and frustration were nowhere to be found; in fact, laughter almost erupted.

Maybe it was the dodging of fallen screwdrivers, but I blame perspective.

An hour before this ordeal, they arrived and they arrived  s a f e l y. 
A month of trying to get them out of Port au Prince. A month of constant gang attacks, murders, and horrible news for our old neighborhood. An entire month of not knowing if this little fam would make it out safely, dreaming they didn't over and over. 

This family, oh so precious to us, made it out of Port with their lives and some incredibly traumatic stories- hard and horrific but still a grace walked out.

As they left the gate, gangsters stood with guns drawn noting they would be entering the premises and declared it a base. 

Hiding in the back of an enclosed truck with their dog as they passed through various gang check points, to a ferry where they were threatened with guns for having the dog, to us in the south and a long car ride... at midnight they finally made it to our home.

I bet they felt they lived an entire lifetime in those 18 hours. 
Surviving Santo in the months passed.
Passing through active gang zones to get their son to school. Or going to ultrasounds for the baby that is coming. Paying gang tax to & fro so the gangsters could buy beer. Getting shot at when the very young gangster slipped and accidentally pulled the trigger on his automatic weapon, just missing their feet.

The stories came pouring out upon arrival. 

The trauma still spilling out sideways in one refusing to eat or leave the room or speak days later.

All this horrendous experience leads to massive grief. Heaviness hard to imagine. 

Words bring no comfort, only Holy Spirit can do that.
Living in safety does not erase the sadness of what should have been.

I feel I am falling short to express the gravity of the situation in our beloved Port au Prince. A guilt I bear often as my friends and family there suffer through human depravity day after day.

I wish I could skip the grieving for them. Take away the pain and the heartache of leaving behind a life that should have been. Unfortunately, that would require expunging all of the memories and love lived out.

Perspective has me grateful AND aching for their pain. There is room for both in this household as we walk through the ambiguous together.

It was one o'clock in the morning and the door was broken- and so I laughed.

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