There's just something.

A journal entry from February 3, 2013

There's just something.
There's just something about the way it's not too hot in the months of January and February.
There's something about the way the faint breeze sways the palm trees.
There's something about sitting on the balcony and watching the street's activity.
There's something about the tiny street shops.
And there's something about the three little girls with newly braided hair and bare feet skipping by.
There's something about the Mama's that walk by.
There's the little boy carrying a red bucket to fill with water.
There's the family of four holding hands and the mom of two carrying one and watching the other closely.
Right now, it's quiet.
Not many motorcycles and few cars.
There's the woman carrying a large basket of fruit on top of her head.
There's the mountains in the distance, whispering of His glory and wonder.
The sky so blue and the clouds sparse and fluffy.
There's the guy listening to music and walking as if he were the best in Haiti.
Two men with a wheel barrow full of who knows, taking turns pushing.
Tap-taps and trucks passing by, some empty, some full past the maximum.
Backpacks, purses, baskets, packages.
Flip-flops, sandals, tennis shoes, boots, heels, and bare feet.
Feet, feet, feet. Feet coming and feet going.
All day long.
Running, skipping, driving, walking.
And I'm left wondering.
Who, what, when where, why?
What is their story?
And there's the distant chatter.
And there's the beauty of flowers in bloom.
There's a thousand bugs.
And there's dust.
And there's a rocky road and piles of gravel.
There's a rickety car, a motorcycle, a nice vehicle,  tinted black windows, a van without a door.
There's the loud beep of a car horn, the car is turning the corner and letting us know.
The breeze that gently lifts strands of my hair.
The sound of others speaking a language that I barely know.
A two year old baby girl with orange and yellow beads in her hair, matching her bright, clean skirt, holding the hand of what must be her mother.
From where I sit, I'm amazed.
I'm amazed by the beauty.
I'm amazed by the routine.
I'm amazed by the fact that the dozens of people that have passed by, are all intimately known by our Creator.
I'm amazed by the fact that He knows their every move, their very names, and every last hair on their heads.
I'm baffled and in awe.
And I'm humbled and I'm blessed to catch even a single glimpse of His masterpiece.