I trudge up the snowy sidewalk and make my way gingerly over the ice covered steps to our back door. I shed my burdens of the day, putting away my briefcase and kicking off my boots. I check the coffeepot, yay! there's still coffee in there. I pour myself a cup and stick it in the microwave. Because it's a thermal pot, it will taste just as good as when it was first made this morning. I add a little milk and carry it with me to the living room.
There is "my sister's" couch - way too nice to be called a hand-me-down. At one end there are pillows piled, waiting. At the other end is "Belinda's" duvet, another treasure picked up from a friend who no longer needed it. But in our old farmhouse, where there are cold spots and where Ron and I constantly battle silently, and good naturedly over the thermostat, it is a much appreciated commodity. I set my coffee on "Mom's" footstool, sink into "the nap trap" as my brother-in-law Rick used to call it and nestle into the pillows. The duvet makes a soft rustling sound as I pull it over myself.
I am alone in the house, which doesn't happen very often. Ron is at an evening meeting, Joel at his girlfriend's, likely, and everyone else who still lives here is away at school. I have time to think and to pray. Before long, I'm resting too. Crashed. Hard. I don't even hear Ron come in an hour or so later.
I am home. My belly is full, having been well fed at Belinda's house a few hours earlier with the rest of our cell group. It was anoter wonderful meal, shared with Paul and Belinda, and other friends who are growing in dearness every time we get together. We are still working throught the book, "Sabbath" and much of the discussion was about "rest". I have made myself and object lesson. I am home. And I am at rest.
My heart though, travels quickly across the globe to where - in a contrast that is obscene - there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.
I won't describe here the scenes in Haiti that fill my mind and heart. I don't understand why I - one of the richest people in the world statistically - sit here with my coffee and my comfort, while those who are already the poorest of the poor are living a horror I can't even think about, let alone begin to endure.
God help them.
It is a silly prayer almost, when compared to the magnitude of need. But I pray anyway. God is big enough. I know that. I rest in him.
I feel guilty almost that all of my grandchildre are within ten minutes of me. Each one has a bed of their own, with sheets and blankets, a belly that is full, parents who love them, a solid roof over the head of each one.
If you haven't already done so, can I encourage you to give? The Salvation Army responded almost instantly. They are already there on the ground, in the front lines, doing what they can. You can make a donation from the comfort of your own home at www.salvationarmy.ca . Christian Horizons, the ministry where Belinda and I both work, have a small orphanage there, and were already seeking ways they could expand their outreach there. You can find out how you can help through them at www.christian-horizons.org . Wherever and however you choose to respond, let's just do it. Let's do what we can.