In the hinterlands of Haiti

An injured person is seen in the street after an earthquake hit Port-au-Prince, Haiti, Tuesday, Jan. 12, 2010. (AP Photo/Jorge Cruz) #

Just when I think my life is the pits, something like the earthquake in Haiti comes along to   
thwack some much needed perspective into my pathetically self-absorbed brain.    

In case you’ve missed the news lately, Haiti was rocked by what news sources are calling the largest quake to ever hit the area: a whopping 7.0-magnitude.    

Massive chaos. 

Devastating destruction and death.    

Terrified people trapped.    

Hospitals, schools, humanitarian organizations in ruins.    

All this and too much more to tell.    

In a spot on the globe with more than their fair share of poverty.    

A father carries his duaghter after a major earthquake on January 12, 2010 in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. (Frederic Dupoux/Getty Images) #

Stories will continue to emerge for days, even months . . . stories which will rip our hearts out (if we’re human); dissolve some of the corroding cynicism encircling our hearts (if we let it); and motivate us to go (if we’re capable).    

But go where?    

Go when?

Go how?

Each person will answer and respond to those questions differently. Some may not bother to answer them at all.    

As for me–and as for now–one story caught my attention today. An AP news report out of New York said:   

A Haitian woman is covered in rubble on January 12, 2010 in Port-au-Prince after a huge earthquake rocked the impoverished Caribbean nation of Haiti, toppling buildings and causing widespread damage and panic, officials and AFP witnesses said. A tsunami alert was immediately issued for the Caribbean region after the earthquake struck at 2153 GMT. (DANIEL MOREL/AFP/Getty Images)

“a young American aid worker — trapped for about 10 hours under the rubble of her mission house that was destroyed in Haiti’s earthquake — was rescued by her husband. Frank Thorp . . . drove 100 miles to Port-au-Prince once he learned of the quake, and dug for over an hour to free his wife, Jillian, and her co-worker Charles Dietsch. The two were trapped under about a foot of concrete, he said . . .  he saw his wife’s hand from under the rubble . . .  ’We had to pull bricks and bricks and bricks and wood and doors and metal away for at least an hour before we were able to get her and her co-worker out,’ he said . . . Jillian Thorp’s father, Clay Cook of Old Saybrook, Conn., describes his daughter and son-in-law as ‘a strong couple’ who each had their own trial to endure. ‘Jill was pinned in the rubble and Frank was driving through the darkness, not sure what was waiting for him at the end of the drive,’ he said.”  

Right now,  

 all eyes  

 all hands

and all hearts

must be on Haiti.  

But after the dust settles and we get back to our routine lives . . . when the sound bites are silenced  . . . when the photos grow dim . . .  

That is when the proverbs of Haiti will arise.  

Because eventually we all face an earthquake of some kind. Rubble of life rains down in torrents. Slabs of concrete pain crush our souls.   

My husband has already driven miles of emotional highway–in the darkness of doubt, not knowing what he’d find at the end–to pull my flaccid arm up out of the wreckage of my pitiful past.   

Someday you may be called to sift through the remains of your life–or of someone you love. To throw the  

bricks   

and bricks  

and bricks 

of anguish out of the way so you can grasp hold of the outstretched hand 

of Him.   

Pray for Haiti.  

Look for God in the midst.  

He will appear.  

For He is there.

He’s always there. 

Elie Isaac, left, and Caleb Roseme, both of Norwich, Connecticut, pray for the people of the Caribbean Islands, at the First Haitian Baptist Church of Norwich, Tuesday, Jan. 12, 2010. Both men have family and friends in Haiti, one of the countries hit by the largest earthquake to ever hit the Caribbean Islands. (AP Photo/The Day, Abigail Pheiffer) #