When your life feels like an earthquake

 

Have you ever felt an earthquake?

 

I’ve experienced quite a few, but Seattle’s 1965 earthquake stands out. People felt it across Washington, British Columbia, Idaho, and Oregon. The 6.5 quake (some officials called it a 6.7) lasted 45 seconds, and that’s a long time for an earthquake of that magnitude.

 

Without warning, a jolt rocked our world. What had seemed solid and predictable and dependable suddenly lurched and crumbled.

 

And the earth’s eerie roar lasted even longer than that.

 

Sometimes life can feel like an earthquake.

 

Think about a time when something happened to you

and it felt like an earthquake struck.

 

Without warning, an unwelcome surprise shook your world.

What had seemed predictable and dependable

suddenly tilted and collapsed.

And even when the shaking stopped,

the eerie roar rolled on.

 

After the April 29, 1965 Seattle earthquake, countless structures had to be repaired and strengthened and, because of that, I added a new word to my vocabulary: Retrofitting.

 

Just about everything needed to be retrofitted: bridges, roads, buildings, chimneys, and equipment. That is, they needed not only repairs but significant modifications to lessen the damage if future earthquakes should strike. Often retrofitting required the development of new gizmos and doodads and technology.

 

After that earthquake, I remember all of us—my family, classmates, friends, neighbors, Seattle’s newspapers and TV stations—all of us relived the trauma, trying to process what had happened, amazed and thankful our damage wasn’t worse, worried that aftershocks or even bigger earthquakes would soon follow. Our talk and worry were like that eerie roar that kept up after the ground stopped lurching.

 

And, years later, another “earthquake” hit—my husband burst through our front door and announced he wanted to move our young family to South America so he could teach missionaries’ kids—and believe me, the earth beneath my feet felt like another major earthquake had struck and I literally fell to the floor.

 

In coming days and weeks and months, the eerie roar rumbled on. My dreams and plans had taken a hit. My sense of where my life was headed had fallen apart.

 

What I didn’t know then was that

the earthquake that my husband

(and eventually, it turned out, that God, too)

sprung on me was meant for good.

In fact, I would later learn

that some of my dreams and plans

weren’t the best for me and my family.

They needed to crumble down in ruins.

(Read more in my memoir,

Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: A Foot-Dragger’s Memoir)

 

But I didn’t recognize that then. Instead, the stuff of earthquakes—like crumbled bricks and debris—covered me. It was dark down there. I felt bruised and broken. Alone.

 

I was only 27 years young. The old me now wishes I could have told the 27-year-old me that I could live a good life even after earthquakes and loss and the shock of it all.

 

As Christine Caine said,

“Sometimes when you’re in a dark place

you think you’ve been buried,

but you’ve actually been planted.”

 

It would take me a couple of years to recognize that. The process included confusion, pain, waiting, and mystery.

 

Even though I struggled to recognize the specifics of God’s presence and guidance, deep down I knew He was working out my future.

 

That future would involve helping people who had nothing—nothing—of the Bible in their own languages. They had no way of knowing God and His goodness and involvement in their lives, especially when they, too, experienced life’s earthquakes and heaps of ruins.

 

But I—I did have God’s Word to stabilize me and give me hope. It tells me—and you, too—that He is present with us in our troubles and, “So we will not fear when earthquakes come and mountains crumble. . . . Let the mountains tremble . . . !”

 

And then He says, “Be still, and know that I am God!” (Psalm 46:1-11)

 

Wow! What a contrast: The earth trembles and splits and crumbles and roars, yet we are to be still. Still in God’s presence.

 

Be still and be assured:

He knows all about our lives’ tremors and jolts

and upheavals and lurches and joggles.

And He knows about the resulting broken pieces

and piles of rubble.

 

Be still and be assured: He repairs and rebuilds us,

retrofitting us to stabilize and strengthen us,

making modifications to lessen the damage

if other “earthquakes” should strike—

all to make us beautiful, and useful to Him, in His time.

(Ecclesiastes 3:11)

 

What stories can you write about your life’s earthquakes?

 

Write about a time when, without warning, a jolt rocked your world. What seemed solid and predictable and dependable suddenly lurched and crumbled. Your dreams and plans had taken a hit. You felt bruised and broken. Alone. And even when the shaking stopped, the jarring trauma rolled on and on.

 

What Bible verses helped you survive?

 

Maybe, like me, you eventually discovered

that God had a hand in what happened,

and that He meant it for good.

Maybe, like me, you learned your plans and dreams

needed to crumble down in ruins.

 

Write about God’s retrofitting—the repairs He made,

the modifications He made in your life

to lessen damage from future shocks

that would come your way.

 

 

Write your story! Tell about the ruins.

Tell how God stabilized you and strengthened you.

Write how God brought good from it all.

Christine Caine also says this: “God is able to take the mess of your past and turn it into a message. He takes the trials and tests and turns them into a testimony.” 

 

Someone needs to know your story.

It could make all the difference

in the way your readers handle their own lives

and endure their own earthquakes.