when there's a rat in your bathroom

The past week has felt like a settling in of sorts, becoming reacquainted with the days here, falling back into old patterns. Familiarity becoming my friend as I remember a life of water filters and laundry lines and powerless nights. Even the simplest of things are done differently, like teeth-brushing. I've caught myself several times near-ready to immerse my toothbrush in water running from the tap that has who-knows-what in it. There's always an adjustment, on either side of the ocean, that has to take place.

Within the past week, I've spent countless hours with hands locked tight around my waist, or fingers combing through my hair, or contorting my arm backs and upside down so that someone can look at my watch and practice telling time (that has been all the rage recently, it seems). There have been dinners and movie nights and sweet conversations that have left me so thankful to be back here. It's hard to believe it's been over a week already. Somedays it feels like the chill of Chicago winters just left me yesterday, and other days I feel like it's been weeks since my last real shower.

Last Wednesday Maxson and I spent the morning cleaning out the classroom. We walked into a room of complete disarray-- desks piled high with papers, books falling from the shelves, chalk-dust in every crevice and corner. Madness. We sorted and organized, our papers for the burn pile growing with each desk we tackled. We removed the unnecessary papers, the random kitchen utensils (I mean, who doesn't need a spoon when they're working on math problems. Am I right?), the toys, the pairs of underwear under the chairs, and the good ole trusty rat poop. Once we finished that, I brought down the folders and the name tags and other fun school things I had packed away in my bags and now everybody has a folder, and every desk has a name tag, and nobody should be missing a pencil or an eraser tomorrow morning (I know, I even laughed writing that. But a girl can dream for a day, can't she?)

The kid's most recent project has been digging a hole for the construction that's happening on the compound. They spent a good part of last week digging a 6-foot, septic tank hole, and being that they haven't had school for the past week because of Haitian craziness holidays, they've accomplished quite a bit. Their newest endeavor has been digging around on the other end of the compound, filling the wheelbarrow with dirt, rolling it across the yard (and losing half the dirt in the process) and dumping it to build up and level out the dirt so that the next team that comes in can hopefully pour cement for the foundation of the house. More often than not, if you were to look out through the upstairs window, or walk outside at just about any moment, you will find a small handful of boys shoveling and digging away, covered head-to-toe in dirt. Or you'll see Carl -in all his energy and volume- pushing another child in the wheelbarrow that is on its way back from just being poured out. These kids are hard workers, that's for certain.

Last night I stayed awake reading before the power went out [this book is a great read, if you haven't already heard of it or read it]. Head in my hands, propped on my elbows and feet tangled in the mosquito net dangling up above my bed, I was entirely absorbed in my reading. After quite some time, I paused to check my watch and realized two things: the power was about to go out any minute now, and coming from the bathroom I suddenly became aware of the very distinctive sound of a rat pitter-pattering through the drawers of the bathroom sink. No sooner do I have this realization when the power goes out leaving me sitting in the pitch black, can't-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face darkness.

And all I can think is: there's a rat a mere few feet away from the foot of my bed.

Oh, and there's also this: I have to pee.

Now rats are hardly an uncommon thing here in Haiti. I've woken up to the sound of rats in the ceiling or the sound of things rustling in the kitchen more times than I can count. I'd like to tell you I wasn't fazed by it, that I grabbed my flashlight and walked into the bathroom like this was totally normal (let's get real, this is Haiti, it is fairly typical). But for whatever the reason, last night the idea of this rat in my bathroom was a little too much. Reality is that I eventually fell asleep, knees to my chest, listening to the sounds of this rat, terrified. Let's just say I've never claimed bravery as one of my strong suits.

The night was a bit of a restless one, even though the rat eventually quieted and (I'm assuming) moved onto a new adventure that didn't take place in the bathroom cupboards. Despite the sensation of oh-crap-I-really-really-have-to-pee, my half-asleep self still could not put my feet to the floor. And so I cowered in the darkness.

I do this a lot.

Usually it's not from rats though. In the dark of the night, when the single beam of a flashlight is all there is, I cower from His plans. Be it the feeling of inadequacy, fear of the unknown, a sense of defeat because the situation looks so overwhelming, or just my plain stubbornness because I currently want to do things my way and not His.. I sit in the dark. All the while, I listen the thumping of the cabinets and stare at the shadows in the room, letting the fear rush in like a flood and overtake me. I cower on the bed, clinging to the false hope that being 6 inches off the floor is going to keep me safe.

I don't want to live life hiding in fear of the rats.

There's much to be scared of when all there is is a rustling in the dark and the light beneath your feet that shows you just one more step. There are seasons where that simply doesn't feel like enough to go on. But sometimes that's all He gives. At His name, the waves still and the thunder falls silent and the darkness flees. And He is the same One who is waiting to hear the sound of His child, calling out for Him in the dark of the night. So shout it into the void, or whisper it with a hum that barely passes your lips. Because He longs to meet us here.

(Incase you're wondering how the story ends, and for fear of it sounding as though I wet the bed, allow me to clarify-- the electric eventually came on in the middle of the night and I decided to brave the bathroom where I found no signs of the rat. I'm currently taking name suggestions so that, if my dear little friend returns tonight, I can call him by name in hopes that will make him a little less intimidating).