Merry Christmas

Weary. If I had to pick one word to describe how this year has made me feel, this would probably be it. I’ve struggled to write this letter, because honestly, Christmas letters are supposed to be about cheer and joy and happiness. Perhaps we’ll work our way there by the end, but for now let’s sit in the weariness for a minute. 

Weary. I guess I could say 2020 and you all could relate. Covid-19 has changed the game in so many ways. The reality for us in Haiti is that we also lived much of 2019 the way everyone has lived 2020 - limited outings, less travel, extreme uncertainty, etc. It’s wearying.

Weary. None of my kids’ adoption statuses have really changed this year. No one has gone home, no referrals, no possible families stepping forward for the kids with special needs, no becoming “unstuck.” The mountains that need moved, still haven’t moved. It’s wearying. 

Weary. Regular friends haven’t come to visit. Regular trips to Canada haven’t occurred. People that bring refreshment, relief and, let’s be honest, cheese, haven’t much been a part of this year. It’s wearying.

Weary. We’ve been working with reduced staffing to help save money. I also have nannies who are sick or missing work for other reasons. This means fewer adults to help wrangle toddlers, regulate tantrums and feed, change and love my kids who need complete care. Early mornings, rare breaks, late nights. It’s wearying. 

Weary. So many details of little lives that are theirs to tell, but for now, ours to bear. Heartbreaking realities with no easy solutions and just a lot of heaviness. It’s wearying.

Weary. Certainly this describes so many prophets of the Old Testament, speaking to people over and over, with no one listening. The burden had to be wearying.

Weary. I suppose this is how the world felt, waiting for Jesus. They knew he was coming, but when and how? The wait had to be wearying.

Weary. This had to describe Mary after that long trip to Bethlehem, pregnant with the Savior, obedient, but wondering when the details would start to make sense. The uncertainty had to be wearying. 

“A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.” 

It was into this weary world that Jesus was born. The prophets had known, the people had waited and his mother had prayed. And, finally, the weary world rejoiced! 

I am guessing that a lot of you feel a weariness similar to mine. In so many ways, it feels like we are still waiting for Jesus to break through this weariness. And he has promised that he will. First, he came to us as a babe in a manger, and then he said to us, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” 

May this Christmas be one where we lean into him in our weariness. May we rejoice at the hope he brings. May we know that even when we can’t find the words, he is good. And may we remember that even in the weariness, there is cheer, there is joy and there is happiness. See below for photographic evidence from the Peace House crew that I am blessed to call mine, and Merry Christmas, friends!

Love,

Carla 

(and W, J, D, W, S and E)

Children of the Promise has given explicit permission for the posting of photos on this site.  Photos taken of children in the care of Children of the Promise are not be posted publicly without explicit permission given by Children of the Promise.

 

What An Opportunity

So there’s this game - “Never Have I Ever.” People play it to get to know each other better. You complete the sentence with something you haven’t done and then everyone has to say if they’ve done it or not. I think sometimes there are points involved, but honestly the game confuses me a bit so I’m not sure if you want points or if they are to be avoided. The reason I bring it up, though, will hopefully become clear. I suspect that, before COVID 19, many of my (and many of my friends) “Never Have I Ever” answers may have looked a little different than some of yours. 

Maybe someone would have said “Never have I ever…”

Gone to the grocery store and not know when I could go again. 

Spent weeks in a row without leaving my neighborhood.

Not known when my kids would go back to school.

Looked at the food on my shelves and wondered if it would last long enough.

Wondered if I or my kids could get healthcare if we needed it.

Tried to explain to little souls, without scaring them, that it isn't safe to go somewhere fun and it won't be for awhile.

Read government alerts telling me to travel while I still can, because soon, the option may not exist.

Realized so fully that I am definitely not in control. 

At some point in the last couple of years, I have lived each of these experiences. My friends here have lived each of these experiences. Our Haitian coworkers have lived many of these experiences and So. Much. More. 

And now, what an opportunity, friends, because so many more of you have now lived these experiences too. What an opportunity for all of us to see how similar we are. What an opportunity for compassion and empathy. What an opportunity to see more clearly into how many around the world live. What an opportunity to realize our weakness and trust in God’s strength. What an opportunity to learn and grown. What an opportunity to change for the better.

I know that it’s scary right now. It’s overwhelming. It’s unknown. 

But God is sovereign. He is not surprised. He will bring us through.

This will end eventually. And when it does, may we understand each other better. May we remember. May we be better.