(2 minutes, 50 seconds)
On January 12, 2010, a massive earthquake struck Haiti, the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. The mountains trembled and the earth gave way destroying buildings, separating families, and ruining livelihoods in this already impoverished country.
When the earth began to shake that fateful afternoon, terrified people ran to what they thought would be their safety: the buildings around them. In reality, these structures were the least safe places for them to seek refuge. Buildings toppled down and concrete crumbled crushing thousands and thousands of people. Devastatingly, between 222,000 and 250,000 people were killed as a result of the earthquake.
Eight years later and unaware of how this poor nation had been ravaged, I leapt without looking and landed in Haiti on a mission trip.
For one heartbreaking week, I had the privilege of engaging with and serving Haiti’s people in various contexts. Our host leaders instructed us to exercise extreme sensitivity in our conversations with the Haitian people because they said every person we would meet had lost family members or friends in the 2010 earthquake. All of them had lived through it. All of them were profoundly marked by that tragedy.
Everywhere we went, the remaining physical rubble and wreckage was a poignant reminder that we walked among those living in the wake of devastation.
One morning our group was visiting a school. At one point we were escorted to a room and introduced to about ten beautiful Haitian women who were sewing. Without much explanation, our interpreter told us that these women had been taught to sew to provide for their families. With sewing machines humming, the women would glance up and smile as they worked with the loveliest and most colorful fabrics. We walked among them at our interpreter’s invitation and asked permission to touch their fabrics. As we admired and praised their work, understanding began to wash over me: these women were sewing, working to provide for their children because they no longer had husbands. We were mingling with souls who had crawled out from the rubble of carnage and ruin. And here they were, rising again.
We were ushered on to the next area of the school, but my heart wouldn’t budge. I ached to know these women better and to love them well. Loading into our vehicle fifteen minutes later, I uncharacteristically blurted out to our leader with tears streaming, “Can we go back?! Can we go back to the sewing women and pray over them?”
I wasn’t prepared for the holy moment that was coming.
Stepping back into the sewing room, the women looked up from their work in surprise. The interpreter explained to them that we wanted to come back to pray over them. They accepted our offer gladly with affirming smiles and nods. The room went silent as each woman bowed her head and stopped her work.
Our team members quietly slipped beside the women, placing our hands on their shoulders. I assumed Marni, our leader, would pray. She looked at me and asked quietly, “Jill, would you pray?”
With every head in the room bowed and the interpreter standing next to me, the Lord flooded my heart with His Word. Without my Bible or forethought, out of my mouth came,
“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth gives way
though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea.
though its waters roar and foam,
though the mountains tremble at its swelling.
The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.
The Lord of hosts is with you, precious women of Haiti.
The God of Jacob is your fortress. Amen”
I paused after every sentence in my English prayer so our native translator could speak this prayer and blessing in French.
In God’s sweet providence, He had led me to memorize Psalm 46 the summer before, perhaps for the sole purpose that I could remind these women that though their worlds had caved in and their homes had crumbled, God was their fortress. And the Lord was with them.
After the amen, our interpreter pointed wide-eyed to the wall behind the women and their sewing machines. He exclaimed with amazement, “Psalm 46!” I stared at the bold lettering at the top of a framed print, “Psaumes 46. ” And below, in lovely script that I didn’t recognize but the women were well acquainted with, were the very words I had just prayed over them.
These precious women understood better than most what the earth’s giving way felt, looked, smelled, tasted, and sounded like. I met these beautiful sisters in Christ only eight pain-filled years after their world gave way and their mountains fell into the sea. By the grace of their Refuge and Strength, they were living and sewing in faith, continuing to shelter under the Lord of hosts.
May we likewise be given much grace and strength to run to our God and Fortress in time of need. He is our most safe place to seek refuge and strength when our own mountains tremble and give way.