The Lord is close to the brokenhearted

Today was the hardest day, by far. This morning, we went to Camp Corail for the last time, which is the camp with over 5,000 people. The craziest thing is that we met the camp manager who was my TA in my Economic Development class! He was the one who pretty much enabled me to ace my class. So anyway, we invited people to accept Christ and about ten youth did. Afterwards, the oldest girl who was 13, asked that I go pray at her tent for her grandmother who was sick. As we were walking back from praying, I asked her if she had any questions. She asked where she should go to church. We get those questions a lot because the camp is so isolated, but I asked her which churches were around. Without skipping a beat, she said that her dad had killed her mom, her brother, and her sister, and she couldn't leave the camp because her grandma was afraid that he would try to kill her as well. While I was still shell-shocked, my friend Daniel shared that a church was anywhere where believers gathered. We introduced her to the pastor who plans on returning and following up with people. As we were about to leave, she asked me for my name, and after I told her, she says, "My sister's name was Gabrielle." And at that point, I'm not sure how I didn't just break down in tears--I was frustrated that I couldn't do more than tear up though. I didn't know how to make the reality sink in.

My former TA invited us to go to a different part of the camp that afternoon, where another 1,000 people had been placed just that past weekend. I had another flurry of emotions, far more intense than the morning. We went to share the Gospel and invite people to a service. We didn't get past one tent. We had almost finished sharing with the owners of the tent, when a man practically ran to us and asked if we were Christians. I said yes, and he said he wanted to pray right now to accept Christ--it kinda took us aback but we gladly prayed with him. While we were praying a bunch of guys (his construction worker friends) came over and started laughing and making fun of him; after we finished praying, he explained that they were laughing because they didn't believe he was for real because he drank a lot but he told them he was for real. So then we asked the six or seven young men who had come over if they wanted to hear the Gospel. They agreed, and there was one young man named Jude, who was particularly vocal and stopped us to discuss a bunch of different points. I was grateful for that. But while I was sharing with them, some guys came up and started trying to talk to the two girls I was with. And by "talk to", I mean hit on. So I tried to stop it by telling them that they didn't speak Kreyol. The two guys just started cursing me out, saying I presumed that they only spoke Kreyol, and called me every curse word in the book. Didn't expect that--thankfully, Jude, tried to get them to calm down and they finally left. The toughest part was that they thought I was trying to demean them, but they were so angry and hateful that I couldn't really explain myself.
So I went back to sharing the Gospel and this one guy (not Jude) was being really responsive, but as we shared about Jesus suffering with us, and I shared about how the people in Haiti weren't alone during the earthquake because Christ was there and had suffered, Jude got really upset. He said, "You mean, Jesus was there when my mom and dad were crushed in the earthquake? When babies, 1 day old, were dying and their brains were spilled onto the floor? He was there? Now I'm all alone. I should have died too. What kind of God is that? He's a mean God." After that, he just walked away and said I can't accept that. It just broke my heart. Because I can totally understand where he's coming from, in the sense that I can understand how that would push you away from being able to believe that God was so sovereign and loving at the same time. And I don't know why I was so surprised by his reaction, but no one had ever been that honest about their loss with us yet. Most people have remained joyful and that's what surprised most of the students. But I'm grateful God gave us a glimpse of this reality before we left. Because yes, Haitians are resilient and strong and joyful. But Haitians are also suffering tremendously, and God cares about that reality just the same. I'm still trying to process everything. I don't really know how to do so, so I'd appreciate prayer for that.