I’m not afraid of doing a project with the children in Haiti and they don’t speak English and I don’t speak French.
I’m not afraid of being without American luxuries for a few days.
I don’t think I’m even afraid of the whole appearance thing. You know, the one that comes from not being able to properly dry the hair so it’s partly being held up by clips and a hair band and most of it falling out by the end of the day? Clothes looking rumpled because they keep telling me how hot it will be and who cares if my shirt matches the pants when we’re painting shelves or playing a game with the kids?
Part of me looks forward to, what I expect, might be freeing.
No, what I’m afraid of the most is what if this isn’t the biggest thing in my life? What if I’m not changed forever after?
That’s what people keep telling me. This is going to be life-changing. I won’t be the same.
My heart already aches for their need, for any I see in desperate need. I can’t watch an old person shuffle across the street in America without wondering if they have enough to eat. How can it hurt more? What difference will my being there make?
That’s my fear. My real fear.
I know God is big and maybe that’s the whole thing. He’s bigger than I have or ever will conceive. I don’t understand his greatness. CAN NOT wrap my head around what he does in spite of me.
The greatness of this trip has me trembling. I am working on changing it from a fearful trembling to an awesome trembling. The kind where my soul stirs at God’s awesome presence. I am breathing that in now. And will aim to continue in the knowledge that He goes before me, marking the way. He is the I AM. Not me. not me.