There’s been an unnerving spate of natural calamities lately, in different continents at that.
Exceptionally deadly typhoons, killer flash floods, terrifying fires, and yes, devastating earthquakes. Whole towns are being wiped out, houses flattened, cars flying or going underwater – sometimes with their passengers.
The disaster footages I’ve seen recently on YouTube make my own earthquake memory seem so bland and inconsequential. But still, it’s unforgettable to me.
The last strong earthquake I felt was decades ago, in our house which is perched on a hillside. This was the earthquake that reduced Baguio Hyatt Terraces to rubble.
A friend and I were working on a film script (which later became a full-length Christian movie). As it is with most things disastrous, the earthquake came instantly and unexpectedly, like a splitting headache.
All of a sudden, I saw my friend bobbing up and down in front of me. Not sideways, as I thought earthquakes would move. We were seated around our dining table, just staring at each other while the concrete floor shook beneath us for what seemed like an eternity. We just sat there, glued to our chairs. Neither of us sought cover under the dining table, or somewhere called “the triangle of life,” if I remember correctly.
I guess we were just paralyzed from shock. We didn’t even say a word.
I looked across the horizon and thought, “Oh no. My husband is in his Makati office. I wonder if he’s ok? I wonder what floor he’s in?”
The glassware in our china cabinets were making this horrible tinkling noise, all in eerie unison, like an orchestra threatening to reach a crescendo, only to suddenly fall and break in one big crash. The big wooden beams supporting our ceilings were groaning ominously, wood grating on wood. It made this low, deep, moaning sound that made our house seem suddenly alive. Like a monster that was waking from centuries of sleep. I never heard our house make those sounds before.
I remember thinking, “Dear God. If we die now, then at least, during my last moments on earth, I was serving You and not doing something stupid or shameful.”
I didn’t have any slow-mo flashbacks of my life. No cinematic memories. No blinding flashes of regret. There was no time for melodrama between God and me. All I was thinking was — thank God I’m going to die while serving Him. Because that’s what Christians are supposed to do.
Then quite unceremoniously, something shattered my conversation with God. I suddenly heard this voice coming from outside, shrill and strident: “Mommy, mommy, get out, get out!!! It’s an earthquake! It’s an earthquake!!!”
I quickly look out the window to the street fronting our house. And there was our son, all of 12 years old, standing under a tree, eating something while calling out to me at the top of his lungs. In the middle of this cataclysm, I noticed that he was holding onto something beneath his armpit.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, the earthquake stopped. Finally.
Finally, it stopped. And our son was still out there in the street — munching, munching away at something.
Later on, I found out that he had dashed out of the house with a tin of Ginger Snaps under his arm. Talk about survival instinct. This boy certainly had it rampaging in his genes.
What a belated hero, to say the least. First and foremost, he dashed out of the house to save himself. Then when he was safely positioned outside, looking at a shuddering house that might’ve collapsed, he finally shouts to save us.
While eating his Ginger Snaps.
Talk about being Mr. Cool and Mr. Every Man for Himself. That’s when I realized that we had probably over-taught our son how to look out for himself.
He even had enough panache to grab a can of cookies while making his escape!
Fast forward two decades later – a personal earthquake suddenly hit our son. His wife was diagnosed with cancer. After a fierce and valiant battle for 6.5 years, she finally went home to heaven.
Throughout that terrifying, ceaseless earthquake that shook our son and his wife’s life, our son was – most of the time – cool, calm and collected. He made pragmatic decisions. He rolled with the punches. And by God’s grace, he and his wife faced that earthquake with a can of cookies to survive on: they had enough funds tucked away for surgeries, hospitalizations, chemo, radiation and other cancer treatments.
These funds were supposed to be for a house that they were going to build, with no debts.
Apparently, in His omniscience, God made them save in advance– but for a much, much more significant purpose: for our daughter-in-law’s medical needs. In the end, having 6.5 years more with his wife was priceless. Priceless.
The bonus was, our son, by God’s grace, was able to build a debt-free house after all – for himself and his son – after his wife changed her address to heaven.
Earthquakes shake us up, terrify us, and hold us captive in horrifying panic – especially when we’re trapped under the rubble. But what’s important is knowing, in the midst of all the terror, that we can actually run to a place of safety, with God always with us, no matter how bad things seem to be.
At the end of the day, the earthquake will stop – when God wants it to stop.
We can be calm, cool and collected in every moment of uncertainty because He is our Rock. Our immovable, steady indestructible Rock.
