Richard Stearns could have his feet up in some cabana in the Bahamas instead of sweating in mosquito-infested jungles. Having served as CEO in two prosperous countries, he has lived the “American Dream”. But after searching his heart, he cashed it in for God’s dream and now heads up World Vision. Why talk about the author first instead of the content of his book? I don’t know about you, but I find it much more palatable to get the hard stuff of life and tough criticisms thrown at me if the guy who does it is authentic and knows what he is talking about. The Hole in our Gospel is replete with statistics, shocking facts, and heart-wrenching stories. But there’s actually something to it. And what is even better, the author seems not to have any other agenda than to wake up the Church in America to what is missing in the watered-down, bleached out “good news” we spoon-feed people and to recruit Christians to follow Jesus’ commands. Quoting his own words on page 243 “. . .I have also attempted to make clear from Scripture that the whole gospel—the very social revolution Jesus intended as His kingdom unfolded “in earth as it is in heaven”—has been entrusted to us, those who claim to follow Christ. Jesus seeks a new world order in which this whole gospel, hallmarked by compassion, justice, and  proclamation of the good news, becomes a reality, first in our hearts and minds, and then in the wider world through our influence.”

You can’t read this book without feeling touched and convicted, stirred to doing something concrete, not just entertaining rhetoric in an ivory tower. I have worked as a missionary in South America for almost thirty-five years and consider myself a generous person. Yet, this book was a wake-up call for me. How can we preach the gospel of Jesus and ignore the issues that Jesus was so concerned with? How can we preach the redemption of a soul and disregard the salvation of an entire society?

The Hole in our Gospel includes a study guide to get down to the important issues and help, after receiving a wealth of information and encouragement, to answer the barebones question, “What will you do?”

If you don’t want to know what God expects of you or how to patch up the hole in the gospel we proclaim, then don’t read this book. But if you want to glimpse the heart of God, capture a vision of how he sees the world and what He longs for us to do while in it . . . this is the book for you.

Imprisoned in Beijing for her faith, Zhen Li possesses a courage we only dream of. Her husband, Chi, while striving to provide for his small son and widowed sister, struggles with his personal convictions and longs to take his wife’s place. The weak and guilt-ridden Mei reveals to their captors that her cellmate, Zhen Li, continues to tell stories and sing songs of Zhu Yesu. The terrifying guard, Tai Tong, has one goal—to destroy Zhen-Li and the faith she will not give up. In California, teenage Maggie almost destroys her life to attain the love and acceptance she yearns for, while her grandmother, Margaret, spews resentment and vengeance. And the elderly Julia, a resident of River View Manor, prays for them all.

Red Ink is one of those of books—the kind you don’t want to end and will never forget, what every author wishes he or she would have written. No one can turn the last page and come away the same. This heart-stirring testimony of valor and compassion will change you forever.

Earthquake or no, life goes on. That has never been clearer to me than now. I read the posts on Facebook and other loops where I participate and nothing is said. I don’t expect it, by the way, but it just illustrates to me how “relative” things are in a human being’s life, even though we share the same planet. What totally rocks my world isn’t even a blip on your radar, and vice versa.

I had the privilege, however, of receiving an e-mail yesterday from someone who has been reading my blog and became concerned because I had stopped mid-point during my story…that perhaps something bad had occurred. Thank you, J. Thank you for recognizing my blip. You will never know how much that means to me. So, today I will sum up things and bring it up to date. Otherwise, it could drag on forever. I love to tell stories.

We had lights, water, cable, and even Internet—amazing, all things considered. By the time I got online, I had already received frantic e-mails from friends, my sister, and my son, Josh, whose family had returned to Chile before him. I began to send notes out to calm everyone’s nerves (while trying to do the same with mine) and assure them we had not been hurt. Even though at that time, I had no idea about Steve. A lot of people prayed.

Steve finally got through to us sometime that evening. He had decided to stop at a hotel in Chillan and stay the night instead of going to Concepcion or Talcahuano (where, by now, total chaos reigned).  Obviously, he cancelled his meetings and would come home as soon as possible. The main problem was that since they had no television or radio in the hotel, he had no idea of road conditions. I knew by then that parts of the highway had buckled and bridges had gone down. We would just have to trust that he could get home. Somehow. . .

I promised to bring you up to date, and I will. Steve made it home. And we have not had a moment of rest, since. Well, that is probably an exaggeration, because we do sleep at night. But you know what that saying means. Besides picking up where we left off in our regular activities, we have working as liaisons to get relief down south. I have included a link to some pictures of Dichato, a town we have kind of “adopted.” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6hE1BZ7CTqE. It gives you a good idea of what kind of damage you can expect in other seaside towns down south, seaside or not, hit by the tsunami/earthquake. And what they continue to deal with.

My daughter, April, has not even returned to school, yet, as she continues to distribute food and clothing to more remote pueblos, as well as helping people who are suffering from PTSS. She is no psychologist, but she is an awesome listener and encourager, and will share from her heart with those in pain.

Since the earthquake, we have had more than 200 aftershocks registering over 4.9 on the Richter scale, several of them making earthquake category. Just day before yesterday one of 6.7 hit Concepcion. Again. So, buildings continue to crumble. But what is as devastating is the affect this is having on people’s emotions and spirits. One friend who went to Concepcion told us what most stood out to him—the looks on people’s faces. As if they were zombies.

I have been paying attention to the posts Chileans are putting on their Facebook profiles. Posts of hope and “Come on, Chile, get on your feet.” But what caught my eye yesterday was a post from someone I know who has never been overt about any Christian faith or religious beliefs or even given an opinion when I share mine. It was a call to remember why Jesus came to earth and for Chile to invite God back into the equation (my words, loose translation from Spanish). I gave a thumbs-up on that one.

Thank you for reading my musings, and I welcome any and all comments.

Sitting in that same chair, I stared at April while she slept on the couch. Numb. The electricity returned and with it, the news. More numbness. We discovered that the epicenter had been on hour from where Steve had spent the night. The next day his plan had been to have two important university meetings—in Concepción and Talcahuano. The first pictures on TV were precisely of those two cities, as they were the largest conglomerations of population hit. I’m sure I didn’t blink while I peered at the screen. This was so much worse than the earthquake of ’85. My mind reeled with the implications of it all, while at the same time thanking God that it had struck at 3:34 a.m. and not in the middle of the day. The same as the horror when a terrorist sets a bomb in a building, but then gratitude because it went off in the middle of the night, rather than when full of people.

Electricity was on, but all telecommunications were down. No way to talk to Steve.

National channels broadcasted images of a big fishing boat sitting in the plaza in Talcahuano—reminiscent of Noah’s ark resting on Mt. Ararat. Not only had the country suffered an 8.8 seism on the Richter scale, but an unannounced tsunami (which would prove to be a source of biting criticism toward government organizations) had washed up onto and across much of the populated Central-South coast in the Maule and Bio Bio Regions.

The images of the crumbled buildings, cars crushed inside parking garages, buckled roads, fallen bridges, and Tower of Pisa-like edifices teetering on foundations left me speechless. But when an earthquake of this magnitude hits what stands out even more is the look on people’s faces. The loss—of lives, livelihood, memorabilia, irreplaceable pictures etc. The horror. The shock. The angst.  Women mourned their homes—often the source of their self-worth, while men declared that being alive was important and that the material could be restored.

April and I spent a good part of the day assimilating the tragedy. We didn’t even eat. We stared and waited. And still the telephone lines remained silent.

What’s happening in the country today: Hundreds of aftershocks, some of 6+on the Richter scale, continue to ravage the nation, adding to the emotional instability.

Yesterday I traveled down to Curicó. Hard-it, but still the proverbial tip of the devastation iceberg, the city is busy scooping debris and getting on its feet. As adobe was the major construction material in centuries past, important old buildings no longer stand. Although it is not “business as usual,” the Ministry of Education is gathering school principals and administrators to solve immediate problems. A whole generation of children is shell-shocked and in desperate need of some kind of normalcy.

In the towns we have kind of “adopted”—Tomé and Dichato, the picture is grimmer. Everything was wiped out on the coast by the tsunami in Dichato, except one lone hotel. People took to the hills, but they aren’t going anywhere. This is their home and their source of livelihood. If they leave, they will truly lose everything. Plans are being made to hold classes for the some 2,000 children.

And today Sebastian Piñera will be sworn in as president of the Republic of Chile. The outgoing president, Michelle Bachelet, steps down with a whopping 84% approval of her time in office. People love her. And even with mistakes she made, no one doubted her abilities, intentions, or loyalty. What a way to start a new president’s administration. Regardless of political color, everyone is rooting for him to lead this country as it rebuilds itself.

I slid the window open and peered out. My heart pounded in my chest, while my voice remained calm and low. “Where have you been?”

The scene seemed to unfold in slow motion, even her blinking, while everything else but her face went fuzzy. Like a sudden attack of tunnel vision. “In Viña. Mom.”

“I know that. But where?”

What a ludicrous interrogation. What did it really matter where she had been? She stood before me—whole.  I should have been jumping up and down yelling hallelujah. And not with that glass barrier between us. Instead . . . “It’s been two hours.” What I should have said was: “Oh, honey. I’m so glad you’re safe—you and your friends. Now, why don’t you take them all home? Their parents will be frantic. Then you come back and we’ll just talk, have a cup of tea, and keep each other company until the electricity comes back on.”

Instead I grilled her, wanting to know why she didn’t come right back. And then she told me the part that I said wouldn’t make me happy: “We were outside, taking a walk along the ocean. After the earthquake hit, which we hardly felt, we decided to just hang out for a while longer until everybody else and the screaming calmed down. Until Javier pointed toward the water and said, ‘Hey, guys, the water’s receding!’” Her eyelids fluttered. “We bolted for the car, Mom. And then we took the long way home because we figured there’d be a lot of traffic.”

They took the long way home. “How long did you ‘hang out’ until you came back?”

She gazed toward the ground and dug the toe of her tennis shoe into the dirt. “A while.”

“A while.” Shaking my head, I wanted to throttle her and hug her at the same time.

About an hour later she returned. By then, I had the whole house pretty well scoped out and the piles of debris ready to scoop into the dust pan. She didn’t want to talk. Or drink tea. She just wanted to go to sack out. My mouth probably hung open when she trudged upstairs to do just that. She’d return soon—it gave her the creeps.

I angled the dining room chair, ready for a quick escape, and drew the pencil and paper toward me once again. Are Nate and his family all right? My daughter-in-law and her children? My other son is in the United States and probably frantic with worry. Who knows how long the phones will be down?  And how about my husband? He had gone south, but where exactly? Questions, just questions. And at that moment I had no idea he had spent the night in the epicenter.

Each aftershock tied the knot in my stomach even tighter. It became impossible to discern between replicas and the involuntary quaking of my body from inside out. I sat there. Waiting. Waiting for the sun to rise over the Andes just like it did every morning.

What’s going on in the country: A friend, Fernando, took food down to Concepción, a disaster zone. He reported that although he had expected find people needy, he had not prepared for the desperation on people’s faces. The load of supplies they carried in the truck was to be divided between Concepción and the coastal town, Tomé. But when they got done distributing the food in Concepción and determined to leave and move on to Tomé, they were almost unsuccessful. I got no details, but desperation makes people do crazy things. When Fernando handed two cans of dry milk to a man for his children, the man broke down in gratitude. What can be more heart-wrenching than your children crying from hunger?

April arrived at Curicó yesterday and went immediately out to the farm areas, where there tends to be more a spirit of solidarity. The people received what was offered with thankfulness, but if they thought a neighbor needed it more, they would say so. Tomorrow they are taking off for Constitución, one of the most disaster-wracked parts of the country. The plan is to go up into the hills where the government has not arrived yet. My heart quickens at what they might find there.

It’s Sunday, and I get to talk about my favorite subject. I make no apologies and have no intention to smooth it over or slip it in sideways. So, stay with me.

Where was God in the midst of the Great Earthquake of 2010? I have no quick or eloquent answer, but I do have a direct and absolute one (yep, folks, I am willing to stick my neck out and say it is absolute): He was EVERYWHERE. Every minute.

I am a firm believer in Intelligent Design. Sometimes this position isn’t too popular but hey, I’ve never been particularly popular, so I’m okay with that. Starting with that premise, I hold  the earth was created and didn’t just happen. Any creator—painter, sculptor, whoever, has the final say as to what happens to his creation, whether he sells it (or contracts it), gives it away, or keeps it. God did the same. He decided to keep it and sustain it himself. Come on, did gravity just happen? But, I digress. This is not a treatise on Intelligent Design. But I warned you that I liked this subject. If you want to see something excellent on the theme, watch Ben Stein’s documentary, Expelled.

Suffice to say, God didn’t have his back turned, and the earthquake didn’t take him by surprise like it did us. Did he cause it or did he let it happen? At the end of the day, it is the same outcome, but we could talk about it on another occasion. The point is, the way the earth is designed, it is necessary to release energy. Which is what happened on a huge scale February 27 in Chile. And considering that the earthquake was about 15 years overdue, the magnitude is not terribly surprising. It could have been worse. That says a lot about God’s role right there.

And now NASA is saying the earth shifted on its axis. I wonder who or what is keeping it from falling off completely? You already know what I think.

What about the people who died? A painful tragedy for the loved ones left behind, without a doubt. This is the question that often plagues peoples’ minds. Like when the drunk driver runs over the little girl. God gets the blame for not saving her, when in fact it was the natural outcome of the little girl being there when the man who drank chose to drive when he shouldn’t have. The earth shook, doing the thing it had to do to release energy. Adobe wears out and crumbles. God didn’t make the contractor sign off on an edifice that wasn’t up to code, nor did he force people to construct their homes or businesses on the beach. Matter of fact, he talks about building on the sand. But that’s another story. Could God have saved all these peoples’ lives? Absolutely. Why didn’t he? It was the natural outcome of situations I already mentioned. My heart tells me that in some cases he didn’t intervene in order to protect them from worse anguish or pain in the future. Out of love or mercy, if you will. As strange as it may sound.

But perhaps God’s presence has been most evident in his supreme design—the human being. Like in the teenage girl who took it upon herself to warn the inhabitants of Juan Fernandez Island the tsunami was coming, when they didn’t have an alarm to do so? Or the man who was able to get out of the twelfth floor of a crumbling apartment building. Or the taxi driver who came out without a scratch when he was crossing the bridge over the Rio Claro and it plummeted, flipping his vehicle completely over. Or the young woman who sold her hair to help feed the hungry. Last night the special Relief Telethon here in Chile (think Jerry Lewis) had set a goal of $30 million dollars, asking for money from people who had been ravaged by tragedy. Did they make it? They doubled it.

No easy or pat answers are to be found. And no one knows the mind of God except God himself and what he chooses to reveal. But I know he is good. And just because I can’t wrap my finite mind around things that happen doesn’t change that one iota. He was and is everywhere, every minute.

Tomorrow I will return to my chronicle of events moments after the earthquake hit. Hope you will tune in.

I’ve decided to veer from the chronicle this weekend, as today is the one-week anniversary of “El Gran Terremoto del 2010”, the GREAT EARTHQUAKE OF 2010, as it will be remembered here in Chile.

Hope germinates and sprouts. That is part of the Chilean nature, even while thousands still camp in the hills, wondering where their next meal and cup of water will come from. I have not been able to find an official death and missing toll, as it continues to fluctuate, but it is close to 800, if not more.

“I can imagine” would be an automatic response in any given situation, but truthfully, I can’t imagine or put myself in the shoes of those digging in the rumble, pulling out mutilated neighbors, family members, and friends. Comparatively, the loss of lives is much less than in Haiti. Comparatively. That might be some kind of consolation for some, but my guess is not so much for those grieving at gravesites today.

Curfews continue in many areas, allowing folks out on the street only six hours of the day. Unfortunately, a huge mass of people is suffering the consequences of those with social resentment (justifiably or not—that is not the issue here) plundering stores, assaulting compatriots, taking advantage of one another, the proverbial shooting of oneself in the foot. The police force has to use extra energy to keep the criminal element contained, when they could be more useful lending a helping hand. Evidently, the survival instinct is indiscriminate. I’m no psychologist, and my understanding is that this is a whole branch of investigation all in itself. Not to mention the massive number of people who will need counseling for PTSD.

Last night I couldn’t get to sleep for a long time. But it wasn’t because I lay there worrying or even contemplating. The music. Specifically, Chilean Cumbia. I say Chilean, as the original rhythm comes from Colombia. Anyway, this is a tropical strain with a very specific beat and often lyrics you wouldn’t want to repeat. The point is that it made me feel like it was just any other Friday night. And my guess is the folks who were blaring it wanted to send the same message, whether to themselves or to the whole entire neighborhood.

Tremors continue, some of earthquake magnitude. The Telethon kicked in, trying to raise $3 million dollars for relief. Churches have their doors open to receive donations. Play the Cumbia all you want, but people are not forgetting. It is ironic, when it comes down to it. Not forgetting the “bad” can be a downright irritating trait. And yet, it can be the very thing that keeps the “good” active.

Seeing as tomorrow is Sunday, I want to talk some about a question many have. I don’t pretend to have a perfect answer, but it something to contemplate. Where was God in all of this?

While my eyes focused, I told my mind to do the same. No easy feat, trust me. The mind doesn’t want to after a traumatic experience, but I informed it I was going to take charge, and it would just have to obey.

I couldn’t grope around, so I needed light. Just that day I had finished writing a scene where the hero had been stuck in a cave and his only source of light was his cell phone. If it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me! And I knew right where I had left it—the trusty little purse-size flashlight my dad had given me. Unfortunately, I had taken it out of my purse.

Beaming the cell phone around my office desk, I looked for the thing. I had placed it beside my laptop for “safe-keeping”, so it must have fallen behind, along with index cards, papers, pens, wrappers from my 72% cacao candy bar, and all kinds of piled-up stuff back there. Nowhere to be found.

I opted to light a few candles. Those were on hand, as were the matches, all because of my incredible pre-planning. As if. I’d just never put the things away. The only downside to that is I would have to make sure to snuff them out when the aftershocks hit. Which they did—time and time again, folks, some of them classifying as earthquakes. And then brilliance set in—Steve had left a flashlight on the hutch. Doesn’t everyone decorate that way? I grabbed the thing and blew out the candles for good.

While sitting there, gathering my thoughts…wondering about April and Steve…..house alarms still keeping me company in the background. . . . headlights illuminated the driveway. Thank you, God. April is home. Unable to open the front door, I slid open the living room window. It wasn’t her at all. Javier’s dad wanted to know if I had heard from the kids. It was now 5:10 a.m., an hour and a half since the earthquake had hit. Of course, phones were out, so we couldn’t communicate with them, and we knew they had gone “somewhere” to celebrate a birthday.

After he left is when I grabbed the pencil and paper and started jotting down my thoughts and feelings. Had this been the epicenter, like the earthquake of ’85? When the sun broke through the dawn, would my neighborhood be in shambles?

Uh, if I didn’t figure out a way to get that front door open, I might never know. How about the back door? The key had not moved from where I carefully stored it every day—haphazardly tossed on a shelf. I slipped it into the lock, and the key turned. Just like always. Opening the door, I breathed in a strange sense of freedom, but I didn’t have enough nerve to venture out in the dark, yet. Not so much from what might happen out there, as to who I might find. People freak out in earthquakes, and the survival instinct drives them to do crazy things.

Thinking these things, another set of headlights broke through the shadows—this time, it was April.  She came to check on me and then was going to take the rest of her group home. I would soon find out why she took so long to get back, and I wouldn’t be happy about it.

______________________________________________________________________________

What is happening in the country: The tsunami did as much damage as the earthquake. Small coastal towns have been completely wiped out, and people are still camping in the hills. We are in close contact with those in Tomé, arguably the poorest town in the nation for the size of population, along with the neighboring pueblo of Dichato. These people have not only lost their homes, but their source of income. Curfews have been instated, the strictest in Concepción, where vandalism and plundering has been rampant.

It isn’t all bad news. People are digging deep into their already-pretty-empty pockets to purchase and distribute food, water, clothing, and blankets. Of concern is the change of seasons. Autumn will soon be upon us. There is a saying in Spanish, “La esperanza es la última que se pierde”—loose translation: “Hope is the last to go.” And this has never been truer. Banners and slogans proclaim it: Fuerza, Chile. Take heart. Faith will get us through.

The living room lights illuminated the hall. I had left them on for my daughter, who had gone out for a birthday party in the neighboring town of Viña del Mar. Her absence was of primary concern to me, but the cell phones were out, and I would just have to wait for her to come home.

My ears had already told me I was going to encounter shards of glass, so I slipped on my flip-flops. I had to make an assessment of the damage, and my office was the first on the docket. I flipped on the light switch. A sea of books, files, desk supplies, and papers strewn all over the floor met me.  Cringing, my eyes rose to the laptop. The trusty machine had held its own, moving not more than a centimeter or two. Something to be said for not-so-lightweight laptops, I guess. It did make a kind of weird clanging noise, however, so I shut it down and prayed that was just the speakers.

On to the other end of the house, where I knew the damage would be greater. Steve’s office was a total disaster. You couldn’t see the floor for the stuff all over it. The living room furniture stood pretty much in place, but the almost-empty hutch testified to what had happened. An earthquake can purge you of too many figurines, by the way. But God knows my heart and the little things that please me—all but one of my tea cups remained intact. I just regard the one fragile martyr as a reminder of what could have been.

The kitchen was more of the same—leaving me with one bowl, a few plates, and not even my favorite mugs. Structural damage looked minimal, if any at all. I remember hating all the rock, brick, sand, steel, and cement I had to live with and breathe for the months it took to finish this house while we lived in it. But that night, I slapped the walls in affectionate gratitude.

Only minutes had passed, but I knew what I had to do……get dressed! No way was an aftershock or a neighbor going to catch me like this! I ran back to the bedroom and threw on my clothes. I admit I considered a shower, but that would be pure vanity. I just splashed water on my face and ran a comb through my hair.

I wanted to go outside and assess the damage, but I felt kind of creeped out about doing so alone. Amazed the lights were still on, I decided I could at least go out onto the front porch and check things out, albeit superficially. I unlocked the door and turned the knob. It didn’t budge. I pulled and pushed, and the thing felt cemented to the floor. A trapped feeling washed over me and then the lights flickered, hesitated, and all went black.