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Saturday, 25 April 2015. 12 Noon. It was a typical sultry day in Narayangarh, Central Nepal. As every other Saturday, in the third story of a building in Lions Chowk, 30 to 40 people gathered for church. As always, outside the busy city hummed underneath the scorching sun, while inside, the ceiling fans whirred monotonously. Everything was normal as it could be; nothing could possibly go wrong.
Sitting cross-legged in the front row, I was listening to my Dad preach from the podium when a low frequency rumble approached from somewhere outside. Our assumption that it was just a heavy vehicle passing by proved to be wrong when the sound persisted on growing louder and coming nearer and nearer instead, gradually shaking the earth. Why! the whole house itself started vibrating, as if it had suddenly turned on its engine.
“It’s an earthquake.” The preaching stopped, “Don’t panic. Just stay calm in your places.” Baba sounded as calm as if he had known all morning that an earthquake was going to interrupt his sermon today. The windows began to clatter loudly. “Let’s pray.”
The building shuddered. The walls shook angrily. Mysterious strange noises like groans and resonating sounds seemed to rise up from the earth. Three stories high above the now frantic city, our church bowed our heads and talked with Him who was shaking us in His powerful grip. Glasses splintered in the kitchen. I found myself trying to fit under the doorpost while my sister, Sophia, had put the children under a table; one little girl rushed around crying for her aunty, “Fupu! Fupu! Mero Fupu kaha ccha?”
The building staggered. People were standing around in a daze, some still remained in their place. Everybody was waiting for the return of stable ground. As the earthquake continued on for a long time, we began realizing that this was no small earthquake. It impressed on me that today might be the day to meet Jesus. All the same, the quake stopped.
“Be still!” God seemed to command the world. “Be still, and know that I am God.”
We were all safe and sound, just shaken. Returning to our places, we sang a hymn in joyful uplifted voices.
“Almighty Father, You alone are holy.
You are my refuge, I will trust in You.
You are a tower, a mighty fortress,
You are my strength and shield.
You are God.”
The big aftershock hit then; the congregation sang on, yet the more dynamically.
“Almighty Father, You alone are holy.
You are Creator, You are all in all!
Yours is the power, Yours is the glory.
Yours is the majesty.
You are God”
I never heard our small church sing so well.
Later, in the evening at our home, our family browsed through the news. Emails pinged, the phone would be up at intervals, – in fact, so many people were checking on each other that the whole cellular network system was disrupted. What devastations the moments shaking had brought forth in our country was shocking.
“Nepal’s Historic Dharahara Tower Collapses In Kathmandu after 7.9 Earthquake.”
Photographs showed that our famous royal watchtower had been destined to lie in shambles as a mass grave today. The headline rolled out.
“Massive Earthquake Hits Nepal. At least 445 dead.”
The death toll rose higher every few minutes. Having to suffer such a setback, our impoverished small nation wept. People had lost homes, lost family members, lost friends, some lost their own lives. Timetables and plans were to be adjusted; some to be surrendered. In a matter of moments, for some people the whole world had turned black. Human life proved so fragile, knowledge so confined, power – limited.
It struck me suddenly that life never carries on as you think it will. April 25, 2013- exactly two years ago, 22 year old Sharan Dai had slipped off into eternity with Jesus unexpectedly. The notable date recollection dramatized the event yet the more for me. If I too had died today, how would I have met Jesus? What would have my speech of thanks been to Him? How familiar would He have appeared to me? Would there be anything with me to give Him, who gave His all for me?
Words etched by Martha Snell Nicholson ran through my mind:
When I stand at the judgment seat of Christ
And He shows me His plan for me;
The plan of my life as it might have been
Had He had His way, and I see
How I blocked Him here and I checked Him there
And I would not yield my will,
Shall I see grief in my Savior’s eyes;
Grief, though He loves me still?’Oh, He’d have me rich, but I stand there poor,
Stripped of all but His grace,
While memory runs like a hunted thing
Down the paths I can’t retrace.
Then my desolate heart will well-nigh break
With tears that I cannot shed.
I’ll cover my face with my empty hands
And bow my uncrowned head.No. Lord of the years that are left to me
I yield them to Thy hand.
Take me, make me, mould me
To the pattern Thou hast planned.
Lord, when I stand before Thee, I want to stand with no regrets. It was a dramatic day, an experience never to be forgotten and lessons branded in the heart – to be prepared to meet the Lord, anytime. As Jim Eliot once put it, “When it comes time to die, make sure that all you have to do is to die.”
