There are a few places where we expect our feet to fail us… Quicksand.. water.. ice… Dry ground is not one of them. But that’s what happened in Nepal on April 25, 2015, and again on May 12. After the big 7.8 earthquake for which we came to Nepal to do relief work, we found ourselves in the midst of a major “aftershock,” a 7.3 earthquake. We’d only arrived to this Sindhupalchowk village the day prior, where we quickly set up camp on terraces carved out of the Himalaya mountainside for farming. From our vista, we faced a gorgeous valley, and even caught glimpses of what is nearly the top of the world. The icy mountain peaks in the distance inspired awe and left us breathless despite their foreboding presence. This was the very view most of us were taking in when the quake struck.
Our task that week was to remove the huge pile of rubble, which was the village church, and rebuild it. All 50 of us worked in unison as we passed 30-50lb rocks down an assembly line. After a few hours, we’d removed all of the dangerous material from the roof, as well as almost half of the rocks. We enjoyed a traditional Nepali lunch cooked by the villagers, and took rest as we were instructed not to work during the heat of the day. Just as I came back from washing my plate, I felt (and heard) the earth began to rumble. Having felt a few minor aftershocks already, my mind assumed we were just feeling them more since we were much closer to the epicenter. But before I could fully think it through, it started to shake violently, and I watched as people lost their footing. Not that I am any earthquake expert, but I knew to instruct everyone to get down and I began to pray out loud. While we waited there on the ground for the ensuing aftershocks, I lifted my eyes to a brown cloud billowing up from a landslide that had just occurred on the terraces below us, taking out the remaining village houses. I don’t remember the screams of the villagers, or really even the shaking (since it all seems like a dream), but I remember the hair-raising rumble of the mountains shifting, the terraces bubbling, and the earth trembling.
After the immediate aftershocks, we quickly loaded our supplies into our packs and hiked up the mountainside, driven by adrenaline as we all began to grow faint and weary from lack of water, which we were not able to carry all of due to the weight and hike. We stopped only for aftershocks and short rest in open areas. I remember reaching a mountain spring, which I doused myself in, giving me the strength to ignore my pounding head and reach the top of the mountain. We pressed on and reached the top of the mountain about an hour and a half later. Our reward was an “earthquake-proof” white tent, set up by the World Food Programme (a UN branch), which allowed us to take refuge while they waited for food supplies for the Nepali people.
I wish I could conclude this chronicle with a heroic story of how we rebuilt the entire village sturdier than before, how we helped ease the anxieties of the fearful villagers, and rescued babies from the rubble. But this is not a story, and I am not a heroine. Instead, I’ve realized that the most vulnerable place for our feet to fail us is in our own story, our own minds, and our own emotions. God protected us all physically that day – the landslide occurred just below us, we had just moved away all the dangerous rubble that would have fallen on us, and no one was in the latrines, which caved in. But who could have prepared us for the emotional aftershocks? From the inability to do any more reconstruction work because it was too dangerous? From becoming the fearful villagers, constantly on edge, feeling the earth shake when it wasn’t, preparing to duck when we heard trucks rolling by, and taking no rest in sleep? Or worst of all, from the baby I heard cry but COULDN’T save???
This is what I have to recount, that though my body traveled to Nepal for 3 weeks, my mind traveled to Hell and back. Praise God, no matter our circumstances, He is a Solid Rock on which to stand. Jesus did not speak of an earthen rock on which to build our house, but a heavenly one, a foundational relationship with our Creator. He said “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away,” (Matthew 24:35) and again, “For the mountains may be removed and the earth may shake, but my loving kindness will not be removed from you, and My covenant of peace will not be shaken,” (Isaiah 54:10).
I’ve taken the liberty to rewrite a favorite song which has taken on new meaning to me in this season. It’s called “Oceans (Where Feet May Fail),” but I’ve adapted it to account for the ground beneath us being no more stable than walking on water.
So I will call upon Your Name,
When the solid ground begins to shake..
Though my feet will fail,
My soul stands firm by Your embrace.
For I am Yours and You are mine.
There is a place not only where our feet may fail, but where they will fail. And that place might not be where you think it is, like water or ice, or even an earthquake. It might be a car ride home, or a life-changing phone call. If you don’t believe me, ask the Nepali people, or a beloved squadmate who was paralyzed last month. The only question is this: WHEN the foundations on which we’ve built our (and our family’s) life are shaken, disorienting the basic orientation of all our understanding, when the waves of life violently crash down and overwhelm us, and our feet DO fail… HOW… and ON WHAT… will we stand? What is actually solid enough on which to build our life house?
On Christ the Solid Rock I stand. All other ground is sinking sand.
