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.
