we see that you are suffering and our hearts are breaking.
I watched a video this morning of one your daughters, trapped underneath the rubble.
She was 11 years old and moaning as her tiny body was damaged - and though she was able to get out, she cried as her last words, “Momma, don’t let me die…”

And so I sat there and saw in this girl’s eyes a hope to live; undeserving of this pain. they were all undeserving of this pain - regardless of what Pat Robertson said [and with pity we apologize for some who have turned it into a good/evil discussion and finding any moral reason for this disaster is absolutely irreverent].

The journalist spoke that she had died from internal wounds in the hospital with her family.
A shortness of breath came upon me and I buried my head into my hands. I prayed for some sort of dignity…that she was at least able to be with her father and other family members. But sometimes I get sick of that — of trying to glorify it with terms that I’ve yet to know fully its depth. 

She was in pain and she was scared. It’s not beautiful - it’s haunting. The reporter broke into tears as though all joy gets sucked out of your body and the room feels like the oxygen is escaping. Things grow dark and somber as we are left feeling hopeless and abandoned.

To feel almost ridiculous for writing about it…especially…sitting in this comfortable space.
But I can’t find the energy to hold any of this in - with as much sadness as these words carry. Dear God - I can’t hold that in. 

I listened to an author speak last night at Powell’s in which the aftermath of this catastrophe was first on his mind. 
It’s interesting to see this universal sense of prayer, as he asked for a moment of silence and for us to send good energy to Haiti - and so I sat and knew people were praying - though the term was “sending good energy and thoughts”, I believe God was hearing our cries…our thoughts…our prayers and “energy”.

I’ll be one to admit that prayer is something that has nearly ceased in my everyday life. And though I feel connected to the Spirit daily through the Beloved and Creation, I have truly missed out on the intimacy of quietness and prayer. So, these past few days I have been praying.
I pray to God using words like, “dignity” and “peace” hoping they’ll translate into the hearts of the ones who need it most. 
I pray for my wife; for peace in her heart and for her health.
I pray for my stepfather and his family and the violence that still haunts their dreams.

I pray that I may speak peace into violence and learn how to love others in ways that sustain and encourage and give hope.

Because sometimes, when I do this…things get a little less heavy.
I weep, but my tears dry and my breath returns and I get the courage to imagine things I don’t feel like I’m qualified to even think about.

When I wept, I moaned in sadness. For her.
For your people. For the mass graves. For relief and for food, water and shelter. 

For her…no more tears. no more sadness. no more pain. reunited with her mother. eternally reconciled. we pray for you.

…we pray.



[If you’re feeling overwhelmed with organizations that are accepting donations, I understand. I’ll be sending a relief donation through Word Made Flesh soon. I trust WMF will put this donation to the most grassroots organization on the ground in Haiti and who will help others in the most sustainable ways. Thankyou for this, WMF staff for the hopes that our donations will be used relationally and throughout this community proclaiming that God is good…even in the midst of suffering.]
You can donate through WMF by going here: http://www.wordmadeflesh.org/updates/the-justice-fund-haiti/