So here’s a little bit of what happened, and then mostly how it looked for me.
I copied word for word from my journal, so, I apologize for the broken writing style.
Joel was in a burning
house tonight. He ran into a bedroom and saved two twin girls who were
clinging to the bars of their window, trapped. Daniel
saved the family’s furniture and two little boys. Four children’s lives
were saved at our neighbor’s house. Yet, we have lived the last month
never slowing down for more than a few minutes to play with these
beautiful faces.
Around 630, Hope and I went off to the grocery store to grab food for
our last dinner in San Juan. As I danced down the road, groceries in
tow, to Keith Urban’s “Days Go By” blaring in my earbuds, I turned the
corner to see dozens of people, a Dominican firetruck, and all my
squadmates standing on the road. I had only been gone twenty minutes
and suddently the world had turned on its backside. 
Amidst the chaos, I prayed with another leader but still had no real
idea what had happened. After bringing some food to the curb for the
young boys, I noticed that all the children were sitting wrapped in
white arms, so I thought maybe I’d go back inside to figure out what
the heck was going on. But as I gave chips to Katie
for the girl she was holding, I saw that an identical face sat a few,
mere inches away. And this little girl was shell-shocked. I scooped her
up, assuming she was one of the many neighborhood kids just watching
the chaos unfold. The next few moments all unfolded as a huge blur, but
it became clear that these were the twin sisters caught in the bedroom
of their burning house. Her hair was burnt and smelled so strongly of
ash. And their mom was nowhere to be found. Katie and I sat on the
curb with these two precious girls while the neighbors, police,
firemen, and our squadmates tried to hash out some sense of how
everything had happened.
Three year old Jasmine sat in my arms, tucked in my lap silently.
Completely unresponsive. She ate. A lot. But nothing else. She wouldn’t
acknowledge her cousins or even her sister. I held her. And I sang “How
He Loves” because it was all that I could muster. I don’t know how long
long we sat on that curb before we were corralled off the scene and
onto our driveway. As we moved to the yard, little Jasmine still sat
petrified, stunned. So I kept praying. And I felt so guilty for feeling
so broken when I had less reason to be feeling anything at all. How
dare I feel broken for something I hadn’t seen as vividly or experienced, like running into
a burning building with my squadmates. Yet my tears kept coming. And I
hurt. Here we were, 24 hours away from leaving this nation, this
neighborhood and God had put another burn victim, traumatized girl in
my lap.
So I began praying in the Spirit as I had done with Yakairi that first
day I saw her three weeks ago. And again with Jasmine, I had no idea
what to pray. I began pleading with God to free her from fear, to free
her from the horrible near-death images that had just been seared into
her youthful existence. I begged God to give me the pain, to give her
despair so I would know that she had been freed. Moments later, a
heaviness and inexpressible fear came over me. But then, she started
LAUGHING. And I’m sitting there going, “Oh wow, God, okay. I trust you. You restore. You LOVE your children wildly.”
I continued to hold her and feed her non-stop for the next few hours.
She began speaking three year old jibberish and playing with cards in my lap. And
flowers. And it felt so normal. So normal.
In my now breaking box of American Jesus, where does this fit as
anything less than a miracle? I know we are often inclined to write off
stories like these as “right place, right time” but when do perfect
coincidences turn into belief in a perfect God? Our God is not just in
the big prayers. Nothing is too small for Him. Nothing is too big.
His timing
is perfect.
And He’s never made a mistake.
Not once.
In all of
eternity.
Perfect record.
Please pray for the family–that insurance will work in their favor.
For the house–that it would be safe and not hold the memories. For the
four kids who were locked inside the house–that their lives would not
be tainted by atrocious memories, but that they’d sleep soundly
surrounded by angels. For our men who ran into that fire–that they’d
feel God’s infinite power and glory more strongly than the horrific
heat they felt and the screams they heard.
With this, I say: Goodbye Dominican Republic. And Hello South America.
*For another blog recounting the HUGE miracles that occurred last night, read my teammate, Cadence‘s blog!… Our men put THAT fire out with three jugs of water. JUST THREE.
Again, that’s the God we worship.
