I feel the sand in between my toes, and as I run my fingers through my hair still damp from jumping in the ocean a few moments earlier, I am reminded once again how privileged my life has become.
I close my eyes and join my squadmates in prayer for a country affected by the largest typhoon in history.
I lift up the people of Tacloban and ask that God is making His presence known to those who have lost everything when He interrupts me saying, “With me, nothing is lost, Ana.”
Encouraged by that truth, I get on the bed of a truck with about thirty other passengers and travel forty something hours non-stop in direction to Tacloban.
When we arrive, it is nothing like I had expected.
Not that it isn’t bad – because it is bad, very bad. Not that it isn’t destroyed, because it is totally and completely destroyed. It’s just that, it isn’t what I had mentally prepared myself for during our forty-something hour trip.
For some reason, I expected the island to be under an utter darkness. I thought there would be thunder, lighting and black clouds. I thought all its people would have left behind the place they called “home” and gone somewhere else. I expected an emptiness. I expected a ghost-town or something from a the-end-is-near type of movie.
But in Tacloban, I find the opposite.
The sky is ciano blue and the clouds are white and fluffy. The sun rises every morning radiating intense heat and a brightness even our Ray Ban’s cannot hide. Spring showers bring coolness in the afternoons, and sometimes even a few rainbows decorate the blue above us. The people, they do not hide. Men, women, children, young and old swarm the streets. Markets, shops, and stands are open. Many wait under what is left of the bus stops for the next jeepney to take them where they need to be. Endless amounts of motos and tricycles zig-zag through traffic. Signs that say “Coco Lumber for sale” are posted in every corner. Men and women stay busy hammering down wood and metal scraps to what was once their roofs. Kids rummage through the piles of rubble looking for new toys to play with. The atmosphere is perfectly described by a handmade poster that says “Roofless, homeless but NOT hopeless.”
I stand in what looks like used to be a street and in front of what looks like used to be a home, I scoop the rice soupy mixture into another one of the thousands of bowls I will have the honor of holding during this week and I am reminded once again how privileged my life has become.
A gigantic sign on a main road says, “Bangon Tacloban!” (bangon means rise up).
I look around and rising up is exactly what they’re doing.
Paul says, “ to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” These people understand what Paul is saying. They know they are here only because it is God’s will for them to survive. They know who controls the winds and the waters.
They haven’t lost a thing when God is their everything.
Some of us go on with our days doing just enough to get by. We mope around waiting for God to show up, come back, and bring on the heaven we so impatiently await for. While there are people out there, like the people of Tacloban, rising up against their odds and literally praising God through the storm.
For them, it does not stop at typhoon.
Christ is very much alive in Tacloban and I had the priviledge of serving Him rice soupy mixture in bowls of all different sizes and colors over and over and over again during a period of five unforgettable days.
We arrived 30 days after typhoon Yolanda hit Tacloban. To this day, more and more are still being added to the numbers of deceased. We all experience things differently; this is the way I chose to view the disaster imposed by the largest typhoon recorded in history. My intentions were not to generalize or deminish the lives lost during this tragedy.
My heart and prayers go out to those who are not yet on the “Bangon Tacloban” wagon and I pray God provides you with His strength and fills you with His hope while you grieve the events that have taken place.
