We would do well to pray for the people in Haiti. The Lord has blessed us with lips to pray, hands, to give. Do what you can, but do something. What I have done is take 4 images and written what they say to me. In hope that my heart would be steered for the Haitian people. God help us.
An old woman sits patiently. The dust, mixed with the grey hair, which covers her scalp, is the only palette of colour. Perhaps last night she was sitting with her nephew. He stands overpowering her-dumpling was served for dinner. But now all she sees is rubble. The house she once lived in, the roof that covered her, gone.
Her eyes utter words her lips do not. They speak of her pain, her impoverished lifestyle. Her nephew does what he can; she just sits there. Not aimlessly. We Westerners would think that, but her position shows her discretion. Her intelligence is shown without the greys on her head. She knows she is old, so she helps by sitting on shattered wood, her walking stick perhaps, and broken windows, the kitchen glass.
Next are a group of men, some in army gear, and others, civilians. They do what they can do. What stands out here is not the figure who is being carried on the backs of these men. Neither is it the crumbling house in the background. It resembles an old abandoned building, as old as the woman, but she has life; this is standing on its last leg. What stands out is the Caucasian man pointing his camera; he feels it is innocuous to point it. That is his job right? It is not his duty to his fellow man to put his gloves on and help. How foolish of me to think such a preposterous thing.
What he feels as important is the constant prodding of his expensive piece of equipment, even as they carry, what could be a dead friend, to his early grave. He sees nothing wrong with carrying a camera that cost more than the house behind him. He is using wisdom. Whilst they hang their head in shame, he moves surreptitiously, as a child does, and remains hidden in the corner. He is a ‘man’, in the lowest sense of the word.
The penultimate image is a morbid one. A grimace face, a forlorn child. Holes in his worn-out tee. We take for granted the joys the Lord has given us. His face is filled with muck, ghost-like in his appearance; he looks away from the camera. His eyes say what my mind feels, “get those cameras away!” Nobody wonders who he is, or where he comes from. His parents do not seem to be around, in a matter of hours this lad might have become an orphan. Now all that is seen is an image of a boy who a fortnight ago, could have been playing football with his peers. Now what was once his front lawn-if his rural working father could afford one-resembles a building site. Ironically, like every other child growing up, he wanted to play with Lego, now is his chance. What is left, at least what his eyes tell me, is incorrigibleness. But even the Lord can change the chief of sinners, ask Paul.
Lastly is the literal collapse of the power structure. At least man sees it that way; God on the other hand does not. Taken from a distance, you see the juxtaposition between the firm standing tree. It does not stand on its own. Something, or rather, someone is holding it up. Those free flowing branches are not behaving in such a graceful manner unattended, only fools think that. What should be seen is the following: destruction on one hand, showing the magnitude of the earthquake, preservation on the other; uniquely inviting one to see the magnanimous attribute of a great God.
Seeing is believing. What I see is a tumultuous building crashing. It is as though I am there physically seeing the death of this white place. Coveted by so many, now destroyed. What will the Haitians do? Who will they turn to? May they turn to you oh Lord. You are the solid rock, the wind may blow, indeed the earth may shake, but you will never subside.
