If I Die Young
We are only given today, and never promised tomorrow.
This past February, Haiti’s political and economic instability erupted with a countrywide lockdown. We were trapped in our homes and required to shelter in place for fourteen days. Various warnings of violence, fires, barricades, and protests circulated our media. The US Embassy increased the travel advisory to the highest level which reads “Do Not Travel”. One morning I woke up to read a statement posted on a US Government website that stated anyone who does not heed the travel advisory should have a will prepared and arrangements planned for their death. Here I sat, with two young children, smelling smoke and hearing gunfire, and totally unprepared to write a will. The day the US Embassy notified American citizens that they had left and evacuated all nonessential personnel along with all children and spouses of employees, we knew it was time to get our boys to safety too. The next morning at sun rise, we made a tense journey to the airport, praying along the way that we would be sheltered from any violence, and that the roads would be clear for us to make it to the airport safely. We sought refuge with friends in Florida. We just couldn’t bring ourselves to go all the way home to Michigan. Our hearts were still in Haiti, and our minds didn’t want our bodies to wait that far away. When we left Haiti, we had no idea how long it would be before we could return, or what we would return to. Would it be days, weeks, or months? Would we be looted? Would we return to our belongings still in our home? Would our loved ones be safe? Would our dogs die defending our property? Since these days just a few months ago, so much has changed. It feels like an explosion went off and we are still trying gather up the pieces, but they no longer look the same.
The lockdown began a season of loss in my life. I have lost my sense of life as we knew it. I have lost friendships as people have made the difficult decision to end their time in Haiti. I have lost some of the security I felt when we travel out on the streets. I have lost pieces of my mental health to anxiety and stress. I have lost vision for aspects of our ministry because I just can’t see how working so hard to constantly be set back is worth all of the struggle.
One day as I was feeling particularly lost, I read a question that sparked a bit of hope. “What if you woke up tomorrow and all you had left were the things you thanked God for today?” I immediately began thinking of all of the blessings I have today that are still mine: my kids, my husband, my home, my health. My five-year-old son, Jayvan, and I started a habit at bedtime to pray prayers of thankfulness for the many blessings God gives us each day. We thank Jesus that we are alive today, and that we are alive in Him.
Two weeks ago the thought of death came up again when Jayvan asked me when I was going to die. “Will it be when you turn 100?” I explained we do not know the day or hour when we will die, we only know it is certain to happen at some point. I quickly saw how my words were putting fear in his heart, and his eyes began swelling with tears. I added to my explanation that most people go from being babies, to being children, and then onto teenagers, like his foster sister Naika. Then teenagers turn into adults like mommies and daddies, and then into grandparents, all the way until their hair turns grey, and their skin gets wrinkly. Maybe they will even be great grandparents. That is when most people die. “So when you die, I won’t be little?” “No buddy, I sure hope not, I hope you are old like Grams and Bopee, and I will be old like Great Grandma and Great Grandpa.” He hugged me and said, “Thanks Mom”, as if I had determined our lifespan, and it was settled. We would die with wrinkles after a long, full life.
I know this is not a guarantee. I am aware that God could call me home to His side at any time. I have heard all of the sayings like: we are on borrowed time, and we only have one life to live. Life is short, we don’t know what tomorrow holds. We all know these sayings and clichés, but then there are moments when those clichés are our truth, it takes our breath away.
This past weekend our missionary community here in Haiti has been in shock after losing one of our own. Dani Troyer was well known and loved for her heart for Jesus, fierce passion for keeping babies in their mother’s arms, and unending love for her husband and two young sons. I did not have the privilege of knowing Dani as anything more than an acquaintance, but I have friends who knew her deeply. I know we had a lot in common like our passion for Jesus, Haiti, writing, family preservation, orphan prevention, and love for our husbands and sons who are nearly the same ages. Saturday her life was unexpectedly taken away by a sudden illness, leaving behind her husband, and 4-year-old and 19 month old sons. To my knowledge she is the third American missionary death in Haiti within the last five months. Each one of these tragic and sudden deaths have left young children without their father or mother - the very thing that so many of us are here, trying to preserve. It doesn’t seem fair that a mother who works tirelessly in the field of family prevention so that mothers in poverty can raise their children, will not be able to raise her own. In fact, it seems just ruthless. There should be an unspoken rule that mothers who are still breastfeeding cannot be taken from this earth.
Today I am writing from a place of pain and tears. I have been asking myself and God a lot of questions these past few days. Why? How can this happen? What if I die young? Would my children remember me? Would they remember how much I love them? Would they be okay?
My mind cannot comprehend it, but earthly death is our reality. I don’t want to die young. I don’t want to miss a single giggle, snuggle, story time, or bed time kiss. I don’t want to miss sports games, or report cards, or first dates. But if I do:
Will you kiss their boo-boos and tell them it’s okay to cry?
Will you hug them and hold them if my arms cannot?
Will you show up for their soccer games with obnoxious signs and cow bells, and be their biggest fans?
Will you remind them that they had my whole heart? That becoming their mom was my absolute best gift?
Will you remind them on their birthdays how blessed I felt to be chosen to bring them into this world?
Will you tell them that the thing that would make me more proud than anything else, is that they grow up to walk with God, and trust Jesus with their life?
Will you tell them that if I loved them one ounce more, my heart would have burst? That after Jesus, there is nothing else I loved more than them?
I fully realize I am not promised tomorrow. I am living with a raw recognition of that right now. I have been revisiting my priorities, my prayers, and my attitudes. There is such power and purpose in reflection and being willing to change.
Today is such a precious gift. I am so very grateful for the moments I am given. Whenever they end, I am also so very grateful to know eternity awaits me.
His Kingdom come, His Will be done,
On earth as it is in heaven.
