Oh Haiti

I feel so powerless. At the same time I feel awe. I'm in awe of the beauty of our earth, of humanity. We sometimes act like we don't care about each other, then something heartbreaking unites people and nations and brings us together as we do our part to help out our fellow people. People are no longer French, or American, but are a helping hand, a caring soul, a strong arm to grab onto, someone who removes the debris and reaches in to lift you out of suffering. And it's beautiful -- the tears, the dirt, the pain, the hope after the storm.
What can I do to help? There is one thing I am sure of, the most powerful thing I know how to do, the thing that breaks walls and gives hope and heals wounds and rescues souls. I can pray.
It may seem like a small thing, but prayer is the best way we can help Haiti. I believe that God has a plan for these people. Buildings will be rebuilt. Lives will be rebuilt. Right now, it's hard, but what about tomorrow?


I Wish I Could Be Better

Last week, I went on a cruise. On that cruise, I met some people. Of those people, there were Jamaicans.

On my balcony, looking out at the glassy open sea, I closed my eyes.
I made a wish.
Most of my wishes have something to do with a million dollars, perfect skin, or Nick Jonas.
This one was different.
I wished for the Jamaicans. I wished for the basket-weaver who was screaming at my mom. I wished for the security guard with his two daughters. I wished for the manager of Margarita Ville who I figured could use some Jesus. I wished for the bus driver who told us he was trying to be a good person. I wished for the women who begged me to buy their jewelry so they could have money for food.
I wished things were different for them. I wished they weren’t so impoverished. I wished they could have a safe home, good food, and nice clothes.
Most of all, I wished I could hug them. I wished I could tell them I cared. I wished I could tell them that Jesus loves them. I wished I could help them somehow.
But I didn’t.
I smiled. I bought tanzanite rings. I complained of the heat. I refused water offered to me.  I did nothing. I am a tourist. A shopper. I am part of a crowd -- a herd -- of cheap people with money. That is all. Am I just money to them? Am I just a ticket to get through the day? Is that all I am?
Then I realized I wasn’t wishing just for the Jamaicans.
I was wishing for myself.
I wish I could be different. Stronger. Better. I wish I had lent a hand in some way, no matter how small. I wish I had loved them enough, cared for them enough, to tell them that Jesus loved them.
But I didn’t.