31 Days of Story {Day 7} When Life Seems Unfair

1987 was a big year.

The year I learned about love.
The year I learned about grace.

The year the wall went up.
Or at least that is what it felt like to me.

photo by ardenstreet

I can remember the day clearly, when these guys, I do not remember who they were exactly brought in this HUGE piece of plywood and boarded up the window to our room that overlooked the main street.

And I went into an outrage.
"It's terrible."
"It's ugly."
"It makes the room so dark." 
{there was another window in the room by the way}
"It looks so stupid."
"I'm not having it in my room!"

But have it I did.
Daddy said.
And Daddy ruled supreme.

I thought he was mean and cruel and oh-so-unkind.
Why would he shut me out from the world? the light? the sun? the people?
To that little girl who fully embraced the artist inside, aesthetics mattered.
A.
LOT.

What did not even hit my radar was the volatile place the nation of Haiti had become at the time. The country, only recently, emerging from the tyranny of the thirty-year Duvalier dictatorship, found itself in the midst of tenuous democracy. Violent factions arose and bloody streets followed in the wake of the history-changing season.

As the nation struggled to find its footing, an election was planned and my parents, supportive of the cause of democracy, opened up the mission as a polling location.

After the first election ended with several massacres at polling booths, where ours was miraculously hidden by one-can-only-say-angels, the leftover Duvalier millitia, Tonton Macoutes, started burning places where there had been voting.

It was then that the dreadful wall went up in our room.
And would stay there for many years.

It is funny how different that day seems through thirty-four year old eyes.
Funny how things change in twenty-five years.
Because at eight, going on nine.
Life just seemed plain unfair.
Plain wrong.
Plain awful.

What my dad had to do that day, despite the dramatic protests of his eldest tender-heart, reminds me a lot of my Heavenly Daddy, and how He makes decisions for me that often feel awful.
And mean.
And horrible.
And unfair.
Terribly, terribly unfair.

I have wondered if he has abandoned me.
Rejected me.
Hated me.
Stopped loving me.

Until I look back, sometimes years and years later, with older-spiritual eyes, and I see the wisdom.
I see the truth shining through so painfully obvious.
And I am stunned.
At His love.
At His grace.
At His kindness.
At His protection.

At how VERY unfair it really is actually.
To the Enemy of our souls,
working so hard to bring us low.

Yet, we have a Covert Operative
consistently working on our behalf
making ready our hearts
our minds
our lives
for treats and treasures beyond compare.

That Adversary will never truly win.
And for that I am thankful.

And while I still rail and fight when things seem unfair,
I am learning.
Slowly.....oh-so-very-slowly
but still surely
that He is there.
Steady and true.
Prepared for every twist and turn
right hook and jab
that I might throw His way
to hold me close
and guide me through.

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