For almost a decade now, I have been believing a lie. That God did not stay with me. Saint Padre Pio used to pray, “stay with me, Lord, for You know how easily I abandon You.” This has been my prayer. Stay. A constant whisper, a desperate pleading, always, stay. It started before I left Haiti. When I was so lost I couldn’t recognize myself. When my hands and lips would move and I wouldn’t know what they were saying, doing. I’d go to the nearby church, the one with the dirt f

6:07am. My phone lights up on my nightstand. I roll over, ignore it. It buzzes, lights up again. I ignore it. The third time, I turn back over and grab it. “Johnna. My sister’s been kidnapped.” I rub my eyes, I must be reading the Creole wrong. I look again. Same thing. Frantic words, panic. I get out of bed, walk to the kitchen, pour myself coffee. I take a deep breath. Look outside at the sun rising, the yellow glow, warm and welcoming. I look down at my phone in my han