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When major tragedies occur in our world similar to the massive earthquake in Haiti, I become very still inside. The scope of the devastation is so great that it overwhelms me. The tragic loss of so many people and the great need of so many injured is impossible for me to take in.

I can do nothing at first but pray. I cannot fathom being a first responder. To have the ability to catapult from shock to action escapes me. I often feel paralyzed by the scope of tragedy and cannot think of how to respond.

The pictures, stories, and sounds of destruction convince me that I can’t fix it all, I can’t right it all, I can’t make a difference when the scope is this great. So, I freeze into inaction trying to block it out so that it does not overwhelm me.

When asked to help meet a great need I always think, “What difference can I make?” Then, I receive a request. Someone has family there and is bringing items to the Haitian embassy to be flown down for assistance.  There are three million people affected. I am one person. I understand clearly that what I can do is a pittance in comparison to the need.

However, God reminds me once again that it is not my job to worry about the massiveness of the need. It is my job to meet the need that I can and pray that He will meet all the rest. So, I donate packs of tuna and baby wipes.

Maybe all you can do is small too, but do not allow the smallness of it to stop you. Donate a meal, clothing, a blanket. Give money to fill a gas tank, a belly, a school desk. Write a note of encouragement, hope, and care. Most importantly, pray. Pray that the people of Haiti would cry out to Jesus Christ to be saved and that He would deliver them.

One of my tasks while traveling is titled “search for a radio station.” Of course, I would be relieved of this task every time we travel if I would remember to complete the earlier task titled “bring the cds.” I know all advanced technology individuals would recommend I get an ipod, iphone or satellite radio, but then I would miss out on all the fun, frustration, and fruitlessness of searching, searching, searching.

When driving through large stretches of the US, you are exposed to a variety of local musical interests via the radio. Traveling along the smokey and appalachian mountains, you find various bluegrass stations. We listened awhile to the top fifty gospel bluegrass songs of the year. Heartbreakingly for Dale, the station faded away just before he could hear the Gaither Vocal Band song that had made the list.

Bluegrass came and went as we traveled and at one point we heard an unusual song in which God drove a volkswagon bus. I must admit, there are spectrums of Christian music that I can’t quite grasp. Now that Josiah has entered high school, he is exposed to most of them.

Josiah has a friend who listens to Christian Death Metal which to me seems an oxymoron. Does the sound or the lyrics qualify it as death metal? If death metal is all about killing, dying, pain and suffering for yourself and others, how do you connect that with Christ? Admittedly, many other Christian artists confuse me.

While traveling home late Saturday night, we heard the song “I feel like a monster.” It is hugely popular in both secular and Christian circles, wrestling and football, and with Ezekiel Manry. I assume it is a loud expression of the struggle between the flesh and the spirit.

Whenever Zeke is feeling particularly naughty or when we are discussing someone’s bad behavior, he will now burst into its chorus. It sends his siblings into a fit of giggles and I can only shake my head that at five and a half, the child knows what to do to get a laugh.

While we were driving, I did manage to find the Saints game on the radio and Dale was able to listen to the pregame show. The show’s commentator was someone who attended Dale’s church when Dale was in high school. The New Orleans sport talk radio is so polite and encouraging towards the team even when they lose, it is a bit shocking to hear. With Chicago fans, even if the team is  winning, talk radio (and I) will still be hurling insults.

Throughout all the searching, my favorite radio station to find is the one that is still local focused. It is broadcast to a very small area, reads the paper out loud over the air, announces spaghetti fundraisers and visiting evangelists, and sounds like a conversation with an old uncle. Admittedly, it is occasionally a crazy old uncle who has given up his sandwich board proclaiming the end of the world for a radio station proclaiming the end of the world.

Whenever I find one of these local stations, I love to listen to the “happenings” in the area. I know there are fewer and fewer of these local focused stations each year, but while they still exist, I smile.

Our school is going to launch a radio station and I have already told a friend of mine he should run it. He could bring in his daughter to play her violin, have the drama club preform a radio mystery, and do the play by play at the basketball game. I’m quite certain it wouldn’t make a cent, but it would be highly entertaining to me.

This morning during chapel, my daughter took the microphone and turned into someone else entirely. As a representative of student government, she was announcing the point totals for a school competition. She announced third place and said something similar to “come on…let me hear you…support your team!” Kids started to clap a bit.

Her classmate then announced the next team’s point total so quietly that he was forced to announce it twice. Hurriedly, he gave the mike back to Abby and she said something similar to “Well, if black came in third place and green came in second place, who came in first place?” All the remaining children raised their hands and yelled, “White!” She then announced their points to cheers all around.

She handed the microphone back to her classmate and he quietly announced the total. When chapel was done, another mom said to me, “Wow, your daughter did quite well up there, I think she has a future in politics.”

When she was much younger, her incessant questions made me think one day she would be a tv reporter. Apparently for all these years, she just needed someone to hand her a mike.

Early morning cold dark winter

Leave the bed so warm and comfy

Harried search for lost belongings

Why must I be the one to find it?

Late departure complete with yelling

Lectures given while we travel

Day has started oh so wrongly

Organization and patience lacking

Wishing I could break the pattern

Need a change of heart and action

To stop the winter’s tempest

Patches has been training Abby for a year and a half now, and has lately taught Abby a new game. When Abby is in the basement with the door closed, Patches will stand outside the door and meow until Abby climbs up the steps and opens the door for her. Patches will then race down the stairs to hide in the collapsible Dora house so that she can pounce out at Abby when she walks past. If Patches misspounces and Abby escapes, Patches will sit in front of the tv set meowing until Abby gives her another chance. When Patches is down in the basement and Abby is not, she will meow up the stairs at Abby to come down and play. Abby will tell you her mother bosses her around the most, but I think the cat is catching up.