open.edu
Note: I really don’t know how to begin. I want to write down everything from every possible viewpoint, but that simply is not possible. So, this is more of a what-went-inside-my-head-during-the-earthquake-and-how-God-helped-me post than a critical analysis of the events.
“And now, we will begin our Bible lesson!” Eagerly, I flipped open my laptop and selected the picture of blind Bartimaeus sitting by the wayside. Through this lesson, I want my class to learn that Jesus is ready and able to hear us, help us, and answer our prayers. “What do you want me to do for you?” He is asking each of us. Oh, that each child would ask of Him the greatest thing possible!
But a strange noise, a strange feeling . . . my mind is clouded over, I try to think. See. I’m looking, but I really don’t see the children before me. But I can feel ten pairs of eyes staring at me. I am confused.
Just a tenth of a second . . . Oh, an earthquake. . .
My mind cleared. Still, there was no fear. I think it was like the time the 12-ton truck hit our van about a year ago. I knew I was about to die, but there hadn’t been enough time to be afraid. Maybe. Maybe not. I think God gave me the grace — He gave us all the grace, so that looking back, we can say as the Psalmist did,’
“My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed.”
But the house was still rocking. My class — I’m responsible! What shall I do? If this shaking stops and the children are all over the hall, it will be troublesome. . . Why isn’t this stopping? It’s been a while now. Should I really tell them to go outside the class? Where will we go anyway? We are three stories up, no way can we handle the steps while this is going on . . .
Eight seconds, maybe. The ground was shifting, slipping, this way and that . . . and the sound was horrifying — the building sounded something like a train’s engine at full throttle. I saw my little brother open the door, and the children starting to pouring out.
“Okay,” I resigned. “Let’s go.”
Perhaps it was better that way.
The last one slipped outside, and I looked around at the room — oh, Ashish! The two-year old was standing right where another girl had left him. The floor was rocking too hard for him to walk.
I picked him up and followed the line of kids.
Being with the adults will calm them down, I thought. At least everybody will be together. It’s still rocking . . . .
Did I expect everybody to be seated and the preaching still going on? I don’t know, really. It was all so bewildering. All I know, I wasn’t expecting to hear my father telling everybody to stand under the doorway . . . or to see 20-30 people trying to follow his instructions and trying to stand under the one and only doorway of the hall.
Oh, is this earthquake that bad? The children!
Without another thought, I started shooing my little brood toward the kitchen.
“Come on! We’re going under the table.”
Though the shaking was still going on with deadly intensity, I somehow yanked the chairs aside, shoved the kids under the big dining room table, and sat down with them.
I’d never imagined this — not even, as is said, in my wildest dreams. Sitting under the dining room table, the clean linoleum floor jerking, shuddering, quivering under me. Dozens of little fingers clutching the table’s wooden legs. Thankful for a little ‘roof’ over our heads.
30 seconds? 1 minute? I’d lost track of time. It felt like eternity. The water on the water filter looked as if a tsunami was going on. Something crashed down. Glassware shattered somewhere.
Some of the kids started whimpering, “Ke bhayeko yasto? Kasto bhayeko yo aja!” What’s going on? What’s this happening today?
Uh-oh. What if the cement starts breaking off the ceiling and the kids start screaming? I can’t just sit here. The Moravians. . . Sing. Yes, that’s it. We’ll sing. But first . . .
“It seems,” I said matter-of-factly, “that you’re all on one side of the table (there is a length of wood down its middle). Samir, you come around to my side.”
Obediently, the little boy got up (in a crouched sort of way) and began to come over to my side. I could feel the ground tilting this way and that. . .
Don’t bang your head on the wooden ‘ceiling’; don’t bash your knee on the wooden ‘beam.’ Ah, that’s the way. Is this earthquake never going to stop? Okay, which song? Maybe the people in the hall will hear . . . suppose everybody starts singing? That would be good. I’d rather die singing than —
“Come on, we’re going outside.”
I looked up to see one of the brothers in our church beckoning us.
“Oh? Where?”
“Take them out. Take the kids out and go stand in the road. In the road, hear me?”
“Okay.”
The kids didn’t need to be told twice. Rather unsteadily, we headed towards the stairs. The ‘corridor’ was full of people.
Now how am I supposed to get them outside? But, Oh! It has stopped!!
It felt like getting off a boat into firm ground again. Oh, the blessed quietness when the building ceased its rumbling!
Everyone got back into the hall again, and we sang. It was an indescribable experience to sing while the aftershocks began to hit, one after another.
“You are Creator, You are all in all! Yours is the power, Yours is the glory. Yours is the majesty, You are God!”
I will treasure that moment for ever. I could feel His power in that earthquake. In a way, I was afraid. But in a way I could not explain, I was smiling.
Back to the classroom, and I had a once-in-a-life-time opportunity to share the Gospel with the children. Their eyes would dart back and forth at every aftershock, but their hearts were wide open. The uncertainty of life they had learned in a never-to-be-forgotten lesson, and I was blessed to be able to share with them the Way to settle that for ever. I pray with my whole heart that each of them will see his need for eternal life and ask of Him the greatest thing possible . . . before it is too late.
* * * * *
That day, my Omnipotent God strengthened me with His own power. Truly, He had encircled me with His arms. How else can I explain why I did not go wild with panic?
Three years ago, in another earthquake, I had been terrified for my life. But now, in an earthquake more than a 100 times greater, I had no fear of death. God was in control, and He reminded me about the Moravians that John Wesley had recounted in his journal.
And for this I thank Him.
This was an experience that I will never forget. However, in my experience, the aftershocks that followed for days, weeks, and months had a greater impact on me than the first great shaking.
I hope to share more in later posts.
