I was trying to find a way to put into a blog, my experience of the Nepali earthquake of May 12th, 2015. But, as I read through my journal, I decided to simply share my entry from the following day, May 13th. It is raw and real, and everything I have processed thus far, though I’m sure the emotions will continue to roll in.
Wednesday, May 13th, 2015, Sindupalchok, Nepal
Yesterday, the earth shook; literally.
I’ve never experienced anything quite like the earthquake that hit Nepal yesterday. To be brutally honest, it took me back to previous days of unadulterated binge-drinking, in which I could hardly stand, walk, or even think, for that matter. One minute, I was talking with Mason on the side of this small Nepalian mountain village; the next minute, we were holding each other up, not sure what to do next. Villainously ironic that we were involved in an earthquake, while mere minutes earlier, cleaning up the rubble of a church that had been destroyed by the same device only days prior. As the rumble of the ground became softer, I was able to gather my thoughts, if only just a bit. Having felt several small quakes in the days prior, casually cast aside as mere aftershocks of the big one on April 25th (though still unnerving to be precisely honest), I knew there was something different about this one; it was bigger; it was stronger; it was a full blown earthquake. What? How?
It is said that in stressful life altering moments, time slows down – a common image of one’s life flashing before their eyes seems to be a popular image conjured. But what struck me about those life-changing 15 seconds was not how long it felt to drag on, but rather how it seemed to be over in the blink of an eye; like a flash of lightning. As I looked out over the countryside and into the distant landscape of neighboring mountain villages, it looked as though the mountainside had been littered with an array of bombs, smoke and dust billowing from the ashes of buildings which had fought valiantly against the first quake, but succumbed to this evil follow up.
“No chance,” I thought to myself. The people in those structures had no chance. No chance to escape. No chance to scream. No chance to live.
Screams and cries could be heard from below. It was nightmarish; it was surreal; it was horrific; But it was real life. We had to do something. Myself and a few of the others raced down the mountain towards the screams, drawing only on God’s strength to carry us through the feelings of fear and doubt. From house to house we raced, expecting to see devastation and people in need; yet everyone seemed to be okay – Perhaps a glinting star in the midst of our dark sky. Our squad leader, Dustin Mick, soon caught up to us, telling us to turn back and pack up out camp, due to the unstable condition of the mountainside. We sprinted back up to camp, packing our things quickly and diligently, sharing nervous laughter, still not fully comprehending the magnitude of the situation. Tremors continued to shake and rock the earth as we moved deliberately to “safe ground.” There was no time to think; no time to process; only time to do. Upon reaching the top of the mountain, we received our next, truly gut-wrenching charge. A nearby village had been hit hard – 100 hurt, 2 confirmed dead, several missing. They needed help – and after the fastest 10 km hike of my life, we were there. I was finally able to breathe a bit; 10 km gives you a bit of time to think.
As I walked toward the impending devastation, the fear truly set in. Am I prepared to see people hurt? Am I prepared to see the broken tears of those with loved-ones lost? Am I prepared to pull a lifeless body from the rubble? I expected chaos. I expected mass hysteria. But what I didn’t expect to find, was exactly what we stumbled upon.
There were no screams of terror. There were no people crying. There was nobody, it seemed, except for the occasional police officer, warning us about the instability of the scene. We passed crumbled buildings, unsure of whether or not the product of the day’s quake, or the one weeks earlier. We passed a hotel that we knew for sure had collapsed that day, yet not a soul moved about the rumble; “No use,” they said, “everyone is dead.” We continued down the road in the shadow of buildings precariously hanging over us, ready to pounce at any second in a menacing hunch, finally reaching a pile of rumble where some of our quicker comrades were already hurriedly sorting through the remains of a fallen house. In the hardest and most surreal moment of the entire day, I learned that we were searching for a mother and her two children, who were spotted underneath the fallen house immediately preceding the quake.
But to no avail.
Although I didn’t hear it, a few of my friends heard the cry of a baby underneath the pile of rubble, at which point the police in the area immediately took over the scene. We gathered our group and left the scene, heading back to the safety of our tents atop the mountain, never knowing the fate of that cry, or his/her mother and brother/sister. I took one last, long look at the devastation of the day, and felt the overwhelming helplessness and hopelessness that inevitably accompanies such an act of God.
I couldn’t do anything.
I can’t do anything.
End of journal entry.
As I reflect on the events of the past 48 hours, I cannot help but still carry the fear and feelings of “Why the hell did you do this God?” “How could you?” But if there is one thing that I have learned so far on the World Race, and in life in general, is that everything happens for a reason. It isn’t our place to understand the “why’s” of God’s plan, but rather to trust in what He does. If you would have told me a year ago, as I sat in a pit of despair and self-pity, that I would be in Nepal, serving our Lord Jesus Christ and bringing the light of His conquering resurrection to a recently devastated nation in desperate need of love, I would have told you that you are crazy. But God’s love is crazy. God’s love is unending. And I trust even in this moment as I sit and write, simply waiting for the ground to move beneath my feet again, that God has a plan that is eternally glorious. He makes beauty from the ashes. I do not understand God’s ways. But I believe that He is good, all the time. And “I trust that, all things work together for good, for those who love God, who live according to His purpose.”
Pray for the people of Nepal. Pray for my squad and myself as we face the trials and temptations of the evil in this world.
Praise God no matter what. He is victorious. He is glorious. He is good. He loves you. And so do I. God bless you.
