I don't understand why the the poorest nation in the Western hemisphere was left powerless as the ground shook. I don't understand why those who already struggled to stand were knocked into the dirt again. I don't understand why hundreds of thousands of people had to be crushed, or why millions are left to mourn for the loved ones that lie beneath the dust and rubble, while more millions sleep under sheets at the feet of their neighbours. I don't understand why a country with so little dignity has been stripped as they are forced to bare everything to bathe on the sides of the streets. I don't understand why parents cannot keep their children, or the love it takes to give a child up for a better life with someone else. I don't understand the struggle to go days without food. I don't understand why such a beautiful people must endure these things.
But I found this verse, and I can't even begin to explain how cool this is to me.
1 Kings 19:11-12
The LORD said, "Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by. Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.
Haiti endured a 7.0 earthquake, countless more aftershocks, and now it endures the rains. But God has come upon Haiti in a gentle whisper.
There are so many things I don't understand. But I saw God using the earthquake. I saw the most resilient nation stand up, brush themselves off, let the tears slide down their face, raise their hands, and open their mouths to praise the King of Kings, the God of their country, and the Savior of their hearts.
God whispers to them. He whispers of comfort, and hope, and peace, and love, and strength, and of His glory. And He is with those beautiful Haitians as they cry, and as they sleep under sheets, and as they wonder where their next meal will come from.
He whispers.
Isaiah 54;10
Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed," says the LORD, who has compassion on you
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Saturday, February 13, 2010
one month ago today i would have been...
One month ago, I would have started the morning changing 15 diapers. There would be a beautiful kind of chaos about the balcony as each volunteer went about dividing their attention between three children, watching the smiles and laughter erupt from their faces. The ground shook still, reminding us all of what had changed in forty seconds, a testament to the reality that all of Haiti faced. A reality that we could escape from by looking into the eyes of a child, by kissing their cheeks and watching them giggle, or by pushing them in toy cars and swings.
They didn't need to know why the news was on constantly downstairs. That the death toll climbed with every hour, that the streets of Port au Prince and everywhere else had been left unrecognizable. They didn't have to worry that water might not come or that food might be scarce. They just had to be kids - and thankfully, we just had to let them.
That day, after the 7.0 earthquake that devastated the beautiful nation of Haiti, I felt my Lord wrapping His arms around my heart and mind, whispering peace into my ears, filling me with energy and love to pour on those kids. I wasn't feeling all that strong, but then again, God doesn't say "You are too emotional, I can't use you" or "Work out for a few weeks, then we'll talk". No - He see's you when you are tired and weak and ready to fully submit to Him, and He says "NOW we're talking!" And then, He uses you for the coolest things!
I remember attempting to help the nannies feed the kids. They have it down to an exact art you see, and I am no Picasso, let me tell you. But as we struggled to get kids in chairs and to figure out which mouth to feed next, or how to get that one stubborn little guy to swallow, Rhyan, one of the volunteers said "You know what? Earthquakes are fun!" I remember looking at her like "Are you crazy?" and wondering what could possibly be fun about them, when she elaborated. "I was here for nine months last year, and I NEVER got to be a part of feeding the kids. We get to see how things usually are around here. It's fun!"
I'll be, She was right.
Explosive diapers? Bring it on. Kids who won't swallow? Sure, we'll take those too. Because those kids were the reason we were there, were the reason behind every smile, the reason we didn't keel over in exhaustion. Those kids were our hope.
And after those long days, laying on the bunks in the toddler house, the unashamed voices from the nannies at the toddler house would raise to the sky glorifying our unshaken God, and we knew everything would be alright. That the ground might tremble, but our faith didn't have to, because He's got the whole world in His hands.
Maybe it took an earthquake for me to realize that.
They didn't need to know why the news was on constantly downstairs. That the death toll climbed with every hour, that the streets of Port au Prince and everywhere else had been left unrecognizable. They didn't have to worry that water might not come or that food might be scarce. They just had to be kids - and thankfully, we just had to let them.
That day, after the 7.0 earthquake that devastated the beautiful nation of Haiti, I felt my Lord wrapping His arms around my heart and mind, whispering peace into my ears, filling me with energy and love to pour on those kids. I wasn't feeling all that strong, but then again, God doesn't say "You are too emotional, I can't use you" or "Work out for a few weeks, then we'll talk". No - He see's you when you are tired and weak and ready to fully submit to Him, and He says "NOW we're talking!" And then, He uses you for the coolest things!
I remember attempting to help the nannies feed the kids. They have it down to an exact art you see, and I am no Picasso, let me tell you. But as we struggled to get kids in chairs and to figure out which mouth to feed next, or how to get that one stubborn little guy to swallow, Rhyan, one of the volunteers said "You know what? Earthquakes are fun!" I remember looking at her like "Are you crazy?" and wondering what could possibly be fun about them, when she elaborated. "I was here for nine months last year, and I NEVER got to be a part of feeding the kids. We get to see how things usually are around here. It's fun!"
I'll be, She was right.
Explosive diapers? Bring it on. Kids who won't swallow? Sure, we'll take those too. Because those kids were the reason we were there, were the reason behind every smile, the reason we didn't keel over in exhaustion. Those kids were our hope.
And after those long days, laying on the bunks in the toddler house, the unashamed voices from the nannies at the toddler house would raise to the sky glorifying our unshaken God, and we knew everything would be alright. That the ground might tremble, but our faith didn't have to, because He's got the whole world in His hands.
Maybe it took an earthquake for me to realize that.
Monday, February 8, 2010
FAITH
The other day, I was driving home from Lethbridge through some serious fog. It was night, and I could barely see 10 meters in front of me. I did not know when the road curved or dipped, nor if I was even close to the lights of the place I called home.
As I drove, hunched white knuckled over the steering wheel, I began to think... isn't faith so much like driving through fog? At times, there is such a haze around us that we can't see where we are going, and we have to follow blindly. Even though we don't know we are getting any closer, even though we don't feel like we are gaining any ground, we just have to trust that the road we are on is taking us home. That God is still there in the darkness.
And then, maybe sometimes you can't follow blindly, maybe sometimes you need a reason, a something to follow. As I drove along the dark, foggy roads, at the times I was most afraid, I would be passed by one vehicle. Not ten, not five, not two, just one. And then I would follow the car as it curved with the road, much more at ease because someone had drove the road before me. And isn't that what Jesus does for us? When we are fearful and afraid, when we have abandoned hope and lost faith, He is there, in front of us, headlights lighting the way, assuring us that we WILL make it home... that He will lead us there.
Just something to think about.
As I drove, hunched white knuckled over the steering wheel, I began to think... isn't faith so much like driving through fog? At times, there is such a haze around us that we can't see where we are going, and we have to follow blindly. Even though we don't know we are getting any closer, even though we don't feel like we are gaining any ground, we just have to trust that the road we are on is taking us home. That God is still there in the darkness.
And then, maybe sometimes you can't follow blindly, maybe sometimes you need a reason, a something to follow. As I drove along the dark, foggy roads, at the times I was most afraid, I would be passed by one vehicle. Not ten, not five, not two, just one. And then I would follow the car as it curved with the road, much more at ease because someone had drove the road before me. And isn't that what Jesus does for us? When we are fearful and afraid, when we have abandoned hope and lost faith, He is there, in front of us, headlights lighting the way, assuring us that we WILL make it home... that He will lead us there.
Just something to think about.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
for a beautiful girl.
I remember her eyes. They told a story, almost like a mystery just begging to be pulled off the shelf and read. She was guarded, reserving her smile only if I drew it out of her, but it was the most beautiful of smiles when I finally did. Her laugh was like a fresh breath of air, and I would find new life in myself just because I heard it.
She knew people came and didn't stay long, so when I held her, she would hold tight as if to never let go. When I had to put her down, she would desperately cling to me, fighting whatever obstacles were in the way of her and her being loved. Her tears prompted my own, because it was hard to know they fell for my abandonment, however brief it may have been.
She was tempermental, and not halfheartedly so. Her stubbornness made her all the more appealing to love, and value, and hold. Maybe she will never know of the piece of my heart she took with her, and maybe she won't ever know that somewhere, on the other side of the globe, there is someone praying that she finds a love to smile about all the time. But maybe, just maybe, for the short time I spent with her, she knew that she was loved, and thats all I could ever hope for.
I remember her eyes.
She knew people came and didn't stay long, so when I held her, she would hold tight as if to never let go. When I had to put her down, she would desperately cling to me, fighting whatever obstacles were in the way of her and her being loved. Her tears prompted my own, because it was hard to know they fell for my abandonment, however brief it may have been.
She was tempermental, and not halfheartedly so. Her stubbornness made her all the more appealing to love, and value, and hold. Maybe she will never know of the piece of my heart she took with her, and maybe she won't ever know that somewhere, on the other side of the globe, there is someone praying that she finds a love to smile about all the time. But maybe, just maybe, for the short time I spent with her, she knew that she was loved, and thats all I could ever hope for.
I remember her eyes.
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