The Day the Earth was Shaking

This past week has been full of eventful news the world over, it seems.  On Friday night I was chatting with a friend of mine that grew up near Boston.  She quickly reassured me that her friends and family were all safe, even those who'd been at the marathon.  Considering a mutual friend of ours just recently relocated to Waco - near the small town of West - she admonished me before I was (unintentionally) disconnected with a sweet, "You be careful, you hear me??"  I had (and still have!) every intention of honoring that request.  I did not, however, expect it to be challenged quite so soon.

Saturday morning, my alarm went off at 6:30, as usual.  I turned it off and drifted back to sleep, as usual.  (I think it's now official that despite all my hopes, jet lag failed - yet again - to make me a morning person.)  Some time later I grew a little perplexed at the construction going on outside my window.  Wait, not outside my window, perhaps on my porch....or...in my bed.  What?!  In my dreary state of semi-consciousness, I slowly realized that construction, early morning calisthenics, the upstairs neighbors chopping their vegetables, or any of the normal things here that might disturb my restful slumber could not possibly be responsible for the jostling my bed was undergoing.  A single word flashed through my head, "earthquake."

Not fully trusting my-not-quite-cognitive-self's conclusion, I decided to seek out my roommate's opinion on the matter in order to determine if we were, indeed, experiencing our first earthquake here.  I opened my bedroom door and saw her standing directly across from me, excitedly bracing herself in her own bedroom doorframe.  "Isn't this what you're supposed to do in an earthquake?" she queried.  I still couldn't form complete thoughts, but flashes of other things danced across my mind - Japan, tsunami, earthquake - hadn't that been what proved so deadly a couple of years ago, that everyone calmly walked outside to protect themselves from potential debris/collapsing structures only to be caught off guard by the approaching waves?  "I don't think it will help if the building falls in on us," I replied.  Right.

She headed to the front door and noticed several of the aunties rushing down the stairs with babies in their arms, confirming that going outside would be our best course of action, while I quickly grabbed jackets to make our pajamas more...presentable.  Good thing, too - most of the others we joined outside were also in their sleepwear, but a few early risers were raring to go, namely, one lady with an elaborate updo, shiny leggings, and dangerously high heels.

We checked to make sure the other foreign teachers were safe (some opted not to even get out of bed) and all waited out in the parking lot until everyone seemed to reach the consensus it was safe to return inside.  As news of the day's events unfolded, we learned that the magnitude was estimated to be 7.0 and we were (fortunately) a few hundred kilometers from the epicenter.  Sadly, current estimates are that about 200 have lost their lives to this disaster, and more than 11,000 are injured.  Last I heard, aftershocks are still happening and even the lives of some emergency personnel have been lost due to continuing hazardous conditions.  For many in our area, it's been a tragic reminder of the 2008 earthquake that claimed nearly 90,000 lives.

I believe the foundations already established for Boston survivors and the fact that officials in West had to turn away help and supplies because they were offered more than could be used is an indication of how Americans, at least in general, have a tradition of being generous when lending a hand to those experiencing disaster.  It makes my heart swell for the people who truly live out the idea of being "blessed to be a blessing."  Sunday afternoon, a group of us decided to try and get our students involved, even in some small way, in offering relief to their neighbors suffering in just the next province over.  We're still not entirely sure how all the details will be coordinated yet, but already I've been touched by the eagerness of my students, some who don't have much themselves, to provide a new toothbrush or a pair of socks to those currently experiencing a greater need.

I know there are terrible things that are happening in so many places, and so many people that are badly  hurting.  Yet, I can't help but be encouraged by the love outpoured by/to perfect strangers in the face of so much pain.

A Tale of Two Heroes

As I prepared to return to Texas for the long winter break, my mind was filled with thoughts of catching up on everything I'd been missing, everything from favorite foods to favorite friends and, of course, time with family.  Far from my mind was the thought of attending any funerals and although it saddens me, I'm also grateful not to add that to the list of things I've missed while overseas.

Last week, as I joined thousands of others for the memorial service of a man who willingly sacrificed so much for his country and fellow warriors, I felt privileged to have the opportunity to pay tribute to his memory, even just by attending, so that his family might further glimpse the impact of his life and feel the support of others mourning their loss.  As I listened to those closest to him talk about the way he lived his life, the depth of his faith, his love for others, and his commitment to family, I couldn't help but think of another man.  A man who shared the same values, though perhaps it looked a bit different.

As I heard about how the young man had time and again placed himself in danger to protect his comrades from enemy fire, I thought of another war, a much earlier one in a much different time, where another brave man also placed himself in danger to protect those he fought alongside.  In my mind I saw him, about seventy years ago, as he climbed out onto the bomb that was still stuck in the plane's belly because it had failed to release over enemy territory.  I remembered the story of how his efforts, rife with selfless risk, allowed his crew to land safely back in England, thereby allowing them all to complete other missions as the war drew on...a story I'd never even heard until about a year ago when his mind was no longer able to keep his most haunting memories of war at bay.  I remember how he told me that wars don't ever really end, but they send you home all the same.  In that moment I saw how his war, so carefully hidden for so many years, had indeed continued on for so long even after victory had been proclaimed in the streets.

But the fact that he acted bravely in the face of danger or that he was able to do so well while battling such dark memories weren't what, in my opinion, made this man a true hero.  No, like the one mentioned above, it was more - it was in the way he lived his life, the depth of his faith, his love for others, and his commitment to family.  Most of all, I remember a man who was patient enough to take a restless little girl with him fishing (knowing full well that meant he wouldn't catch anything!) or to check the ag fields for pests, a man who put great stock in academic achievements, a man who promoted generosity by ensuring I never let an offering plate pass me by without tossing in at least a dime and a nickel, a man who laughed whenever he had the chance, and a man who loved his family so fiercely that at times it was even almost intimidating.  I am so proud that I was able to call this man "Granddad" and I can't help but look forward to the day when he'll lead me through the heavenly gardens, put on his boyish grin, and proudly tell me there haven't been any of those dadburned aphids since he arrived.