Mine Eye Affecteth Mine Heart

Craziness, I call it.

It starts from the moment a footie-jammie clad little boy climbs onto my side of the bed in the wee hours of the morning.

“Mama? Snuggle?” he whispers. “I need you.” I push back the quilt, scoot closer to my husband’s side of the bed, and wrap both arms around this warm bundle of preschooler.

She wakes, opening her eyes quickly. She’s unsure of where she is. She sits. It hits her.

The tragedy. The horror. The chaos. How did she even manage to fall asleep in the midst of all of this? On this cold, hard ground?

“Oh. Man. I need to get up.”

I think I’ve barely dozed before John’s voice stirs me awake. A glance at the clock shows otherwise. 6:30. He needs to leave by 7:00. The past two weeks of 7-days-a-week, dawn to 10:00pm or midnight military training are starting to catch up with my Marine. And with his family.

She stands, her panic growing. The aftershocks haven’t ended. The rumblings and groanings of the earth shake her soul as well. Her head feels clouded. She scans the people, the masses of people, searching for faces. She doesn’t even dare hope to see the his face. The one she loves. She hasn’t seen him in months. But, frantic now, she begins to hurry through the horde of wounded, scraped, bleeding, muddy people. There are other faces, tiny faces, that she hasn’t been able to locate. The memory of where they were before the terrifying jolts began is clouded in fog. Was she with them? Were they with her sister? The thoughts fill her mother-heart with terror. She breaks into a run.

Within a half hour John has (thankfully) started his old temperamental classic car and left for work; I’ve given morning cuddles, fed two hungry boys, done a sink full of left-overnight dishes, fielded a phone call for a rental in Colorado, refereed brotherly wrestling matches, dealt with the dog and the rain, and emptied a full trashcan. Chaos, in only thirty minutes.

Groups of people huddle together, tending to wounds as they are able. Others climb atop piles of mortar and plaster, tossing back chunks of crumbled brick. Men carry bodies from the rubble. The sound of weeping fills the air.

I pour my coffee and settle into a quiet spot to spend some time with Jesus. Only a few interruptions later, we proceed to get cleaned up, dressed and ready… and then we hit full speed.

She feels ill. Standing still amid the spinning disaster, she looks to one side, then the other. She doesn’t know where to start. Her eyes spill over, muddy rivulets on her dirt-caked face. She sees a woman walking slowly, hoisting a small child higher on her hip.

A cry, sharp and painful, echoes from her lips.

She doesn’t recognize the faces. She keeps searching.

Tidying, vacuuming, checking in on the world via the computer, phones ringing off the hook, emails for Craigslist, phone calls from realtors, packing, snacks, feed the dog, feed the cat, mop the floor, more emails, checking Twitter, checking Facebook, mother’s helpers here for the afternoon, lunch time, nap time, packing moving boxes, sorting through old craft supplies, skim old journals, more emails, more realtors, listening to cupcake baking going on downstairs, another box, realize I haven’t eaten all day–something I’m trying not to do anymore–scramble a couple eggs to be breakfast and lunch, sort papers while talking with the girls about life at 15, snuggle waking two year old, finish packing office, take girls home, call my Marine, whom I haven’t heard from since he left this morning, can’t reach him while they’re training, dinner, sleeping children, finally hear from Craigslist buyers, load up Craiglist bike, carry sleeping and sleepy little boys to the truck, get text from that hard working Marine, meet bike buying lady, drive home, put two crashed out boys in bed, realize I still never ate dinner and get mad at myself, eat a cupcake, feel gross, shiver a little from the cold, turn up the heat, grab a blanket and my computer, open a window and click on a link to a news website.

Coverage of the earthquake in Haiti. I scroll slowly through the pictures. My eyes well up.

She thinks her heart might be gone. Perhaps it crumbled along with the houses around her? She is numb. She doesn’t feel her feet walking, running, scurrying beneath her. She doesn’t know the extent of her injuries. She doesn’t care. Dust hangs in the air and fills her mouth, her nostrils. She tries to spit it out but realizes she is so parched she can’t spit. Water. Where is water?

She walks for hours. The fog in her mind keeps her from knowing where she’s heading.

She nearly trips and looks down to see the wrinkled leg of an old man. He’s sitting against a car tire, head tipped slightly toward his shoulder. He reaches toward her. She steps closer and touches his hand, glancing at the blood on his arm and his head. He stares into her eyes, begging for help with a look. His clothes are torn and he has no shoes.

She catches the glimmer of moisture in his eyes and holds his hand tighter.

“My wife,” he says. His eyes fill and begin to overflow. “My wife.”

She looks at the sunken roof of the house behind him. She understands. Her eyelids shut and she tries to breathe through the smoky air. The tiny faces, one a little more mature than the other, flash before her. It becomes clear. She remembers where they were before the shaking began. She lets go of his hand and she runs again.

“My little ones,” she screams. “My little ones!”

I pull up Twitter and click on links to a few more sets of pictures. My heart aches. The tear streams become rivers on my cheeks.

I see messages typed about things that seem so trivial. Complaints, snark-filled comments, jokes. I think of my day, my crazy busy day, and suddenly it seems… perfect.

Then I see this:

I realize I’m no longer hungry. The only feeling filling me is a gut-wrenching horror. I wish I could help.

Then I remember…

I can.

I wrote this for myself. If nobody else reads it, it still served its purpose. Because sometimes I can get so caught up in myself, in my own craziness, that I think of a great tragedy like the Haiti earthquake in far away, disconnected terms. I feel bad… and then go on with my “busy” life. I figure someone else will help. I did this with the tsunami in Asia and even with Hurricane Katrina, in my own country–and I’m ashamed of it now. I’m not going to do it again.

Is your life crazy today? Are you overwhelmed by all the details of the busy worlds we create for ourselves? Perhaps taking a moment to contemplate the tragedies being suffered by precious people in a hurting nation, loved by Jesus, would help to put it all in perspective. And perhaps the knowledge of how much God has blessed you and a desire to share His love would prompt you to help.

“Mine eye affecteth mine heart…”

Lamentations 3:51