It was Tuesday, about 4:30pm. My boys were finally feeling better, the sun was shining, and my laundry was drying! My husband Matt took the boys over to the central park across the street while I caught up on a few e-mails. I quickly wrapped up my work and hurried outside to join them, anxious to get some fresh air. After about 20 minutes the boys and I headed back to the house. As we were climbing the stairs, the house began to shake. Having grown up in California, I knew the drill. I snatched up Luke in one arm, Silas in the other and hurried to get under the nearest doorway. As we stood there for what felt like a long time, I second-guessed myself, “Hmmm, the rules might not apply in Haiti. Maybe this doorway wasn’t such a good idea.” Thankfully, the shaking slowed, we were safe, and there was no apparent damage.

I started on dinner and called a friend who lives about an hour away. The phones were down. Matt tried to get online—internet was down too. Little did we know that family and friends back home were listening to breaking news of a 7.0 earthquake that leveled Port-au-Prince, and were now trying to contact us to no avail.

After dinner, Matt ran out to an Internet cafe with a satellite connection to see if he could find out any news. I bathed the boys, got them in bed, and waited for Matt to get back—I was anxious to hear. The look in his eyes when he walked in the door said it all. His face was pale and he blinked back the tears that filled his eyes. “It’s bad, Pam. It’s really bad.” We talked for a bit and then he headed back outside to talk with neighbors and friends. I retreated to our quiet bedroom, picked up my Bible and read Psalm 46—how perfectly fitting.

The next morning it became apparent just how deeply our community was hurting. In Haiti, Port-au-Prince is not just the nation’s capitol; it’s the nation’s heartbeat. Wipe it out, and it’s only a matter of time before the entire country goes down. Water, gas, food…Port-au-Prince supplies the population with nearly everything. Furthermore, everyone has family and friends in Port-au-Prince. Outside, groups of people huddled around small radios to hear the latest news reports. The few that have television made it available for others to watch. Neighbors were desperately trying to call loved ones—still no word.

Helpless. So much need; yet feeling so helpless. Our neighbors were feeling the same way. We are connected to resources that could help, but how? Matt and I sat down that evening and racked our brains for ideas. We wanted to help our community, but as we continued to hear reports from Port-au-Prince, it became apparent that loading up a vehicle and heading there was probably not the best idea. So, we began coordinating an effort to get much needed supplies to those who are in Port-au-Prince and who are in a much better position to help than we are. Supplies will be gathered in the Dominican Republic and distributed to organizations (orphanages, hospitals, etc.) so that they can stay on the ground and keep their doors open to help. (For more info on this you can see our website: www.highwaytohaiti.com)

I took the boys next door to see how our neighbors were doing. They brought me a chair, as they always do. No one was really in the mood to talk—I was glad because I wasn’t either. So I just sat with them. The matriarch of the family (affectionately known as “Big Mama”) was trying to call her son in Port-au-Prince as I watched my two play in the dirt. I knew she knew that I understood.

“Bondye pa renmen Ayiti” (God doesn’t like Haiti) is the word on the street. And though I know it is the furthest from the truth, I can’t blame them for feeling like that. From its beginnings as a slave colony, the people of Haiti have suffered and endured unimaginable tragedy, abuse and injustice. When you think things just couldn’t possibly get any worse in Haiti, they do. Time and time again, Haitians display their iron resilience, and somehow find a way to press forward.

These are the days they don’t prepare you for in Bible College. These are challenges I don’t remember hearing about in my missions classes. It was all so fun back then—translating the book of Jonah from the Hebrew text, studying the historical backdrop of Jeremiah, and understanding the literary structures in the Psalms. And yet, what do I say to my neighbor who believes that God has forgotten about them? And even if I knew what to say, who am I to say it? After all, I have a roof over my head, food to eat, clean water to drink, and…at the drop of a hat, I can get out of this mess and go back to the comfort of the US if I want to. If I offer them myself, I offer nothing. But if I offer them Jesus, I offer everything. For who better to understand their pain and suffering than He who endured the pain and suffering of the cross. Who better to comfort than the Father who watched his own son as he was crushed under the weight of the sins of mankind. Why He allowed it to happen? I don’t know. But in times like these, I can only cling to what I do know. And I know that He is good, and that His thoughts are higher than my thoughts, His ways higher than my ways.