On August 27 I said goodbye to Haiti. This was my last view of the most beloved place that morning.

I remember the rise of pain in my chest as I sat on the electrical box with some of the security guards and interpreters, watching the truck come to pick me up. I remember the relief when it was Billy and Costa in the truck, as they would be the perfect people to escort me into the city. I remember looking at the team, laughing away at their breakfast table. It just didn't seem right. They just didn't get it. How could they not look at this sunrise and have their heart break? And why weren't they broken? Why was I the only one who seemed to feel such an incredible weight of despair?

I left pained, but not so much with leaving as with returning. I carried home a heaviness that will never go away completely. I carried home a broken heart. And the Lord, in His way, rebuilt me. He put me back together, scarred but stronger.

It wasn't so much about poverty. Poverty definitely was the catalyst, but it wasn't the reason I returned ripped apart. It was because my world was shattered, and everything that made sense about my life didn't really fit anymore. It was because who I was before looked different from the person returning. And the Lord wasn't going to let me go back to that life - because who I was on the other side was more of who He wanted to see.

Today I began to anticipate my return. I feel like the Lord has been so good in reminding me to "be here" while I am here, and be there when I get there. But for a few minutes today I remembered the smell and the feeling of falling asleep in the hot air and the refreshment of waking up with the sun cresting those mountains, once again reminded of how this life I live has nothing to do with me.

He makes, and is making, all things new.