I don't cry in public. My family would laugh at this statement. As a child, my nickname, which is still obnoxiously used too much, was "Julianne Whiner". I was constantly followed around with my family quoting my most diva-like moments as a child wanting my mother, my blanket, or red gumballs. But now, I don't cry in public. As I've grown older, my independence and pride just won't allow me to wear my emotions on my sleeve. Only those close to me can tell when I'm frustrated, sad or uncomfortable. It's said around my office that nothing can shake me. My demeanor and actions would confirm that statement more and more everyday. This Christmas was a different story.
Two weeks before Christmas 2011 was life changing for me. I got on a plane as an adult leader of 22 college students at age 22 destined for Haiti. Fresh out of college myself, and only a stateside traveler, I was slightly nervous. Once again, not much shakes me anymore, but being responsible for 21 other people was slightly nerve-racking. Despite my minor reservations of my own abilites to be a world traveler, the trip was nothing short of awe-inspiring. We returned with 22 healthy bodies, hamburger-hungry bellies, and without our hearts. We left those with 74 of the most precious, loving, joyful Haitian orphans.
We spent the week popping JiffyPop, watching the Polar Express on a sheet in a pavillion, decorating the kids' first Christmas tree, and paying a visit to Papa Nowel's lap. I had heard over and over again how much I would want to bring at least 8 of them home with me. The reality of these warnings hit me like a brick when I burst into tears at the meer sight of children jumping up and down on a rock wall when our bus first saw their smiling faces through the windows for the first time. I tried once again not to let anyone see my tears start to flow, but I'm sure everyone that saw my eyes well up with water thought I was the biggest baby. When an 11 year old girl named Lumise grabbed my hand before I even made it off the bus, I didn't care who saw my tears. This little girl had no idea who I was, where I came from, where I'd been, but she wanted to hold my hand, and only my hand.
An emotional attachment greater than I've ever had developed for these kids in only 3 short days. The day we left, I saw grown men break down in tears thinking about having to sit in the bus as it rolled away from these kids unsure of when we'd get to hear the word "mèsi" spoken in true appreciation of something as small as a water bottle from some of the sweetest little mouths.
When I returned home, everyone wanted to ask me about my trip. I literally was at a loss for how to explain what I had just experienced. The only statement that could even skim the surface of how much I missed the children was, "I know now that I'll most likely never have biological children." This was only because I never saw myself doing anything, but showing love to an orphan the way they showed me love.
Agape love. Or unconditional love. I was an alien to these children, and somehow they still found it in themselves to show me a love like nothing I've ever felt before. I was white, first of all. They had no idea where I had come from, or how I had come to be in Haiti with them. I spoke a different language than them. They could never have understood me. I wanted to do weird things like wash their feet when they just wanted to play. I'm sure that was as frustrating to them as it was to me to think that they might not follow through. But when they did, and were ectstatic to clean other's feet after theirs had been cleaned even if they didn't understand why, I had another tearing moment at the sight of the kids washing their "mothers'" feet.
This kind of love is the purest example of Christ's love for us that I have ever seen. Even when we come from a place where we feel like God has no idea where we could have come from, or how we came to be in a certain situation, He loves us. Even when we don't understand Him or what He's trying to tell us, He loves us. When we try to reason with Him, it probably sounds like a different language, and He wonders why we just don't see that He knows what's going on and will provide for us. Even when we want to do things that are so weird to God, because His weird ways don't make sense to us and vice versa, He loves us. I'm sure God has the same feeling when we comply with His will as we did when the kids jumped at the opportunity to show His love to their mothers. Agape love. Unconditional love.
I still can't full describe the love I was shown, and how my life was changed by those kids. I wish I could so that everyone could see that extreme joy and trust that comes with agape love.
On Christmas day, I realized once again how much I missed those kids. A friend and I had talked about how coming back from a trip like the one we took, we needed to go through some kind of "assimiliation back in to our real lives and away from the kids" program, because for a while they're all you can think about: What are they doing? How'd they sleep? Who's playing with them? Are they feeling okay, today? What's going to happen to them tomorrow? Will I ever hear if something goes wrong? A million questions race through your mind about the children's present and future. We had brought the kids stockings full of gifts that they opened while we were there, but also left them gifts to open on Christmas day. Talk about thinking about what they're doing...you wouldn't believe the amount of tweets and facebook statuses from the students that went that were talking about how grateful they were to be with family, but how much they wished they could be with the orphans, and watch them tear through their Christmas gifts.
An opportunity arose on Christmas night for me to go to the county prison with my boyfriend's family to hand out goody bags for the men spending their Christmas locked up away from their families. Immediately, my Haitian trip had leaked into this experience before I had even made it through security when I forgot my license in my backpack with my passport from my Haiti trip, and wasn't going to be allowed to go through security. Luckily, Jordan's uncle talked to the guard, and she let me go through with my Student ID from UT. We went to two different cells with about 50 men in each giving them goodie bags, singing "Silent Night", and reading the Christmas story from Luke 2. The second cell we went to we prayed for the children of the men that were fathers. Cue tears.
As the men stated their children's names as we prayed, I couldn't help but think of what I've been refering to "my kids" in Haiti. I thought about how much I missed them, and wished I could still be with them. These men had all messed up in some way, but I couldn't help to pray for redemption in their lives for the sake of their children. I am a failure that is only redeemed by the sacrifice of my Savior. I mess up. Even when I am a parent, I'll feel I am unfit for that job in so many ways. I'm not a parent, though. I spent 3 days with children that had the ability to break down any prideful wall I had by kicking a soccer ball my way. I couldn't imagine what these men were going through. They messed up. Honestly, they weren't good fathers. But there they were praying for their children behind bars on Christmas day. They, just like me, wanted nothing more but to see their kids on the day that celebrated the forming of a family with the birth of a King. I can't speak for how the families felt about their loved ones spending the holiday in prison, because I don't know all of their stories, but if they would have seen that moment, they couldn't help but believe the Holy Spirit was working in the hearts of that love one.
Family despite mistake. Family without tangible closeness. Family in times of ultimate need. That's agape love.
The only thing that will make me cry in public is an outward display of unconditional love. That's what I learned this Christmas. Agape love is the only thing that has broken through my prideful wall. I hope that never changes. Because I will always remember this Christmas of true joy through love as we celebrated the birth of my Savior. Jwaye Nowel, or Merry Christmas.
