So many people have said to me, "Oh, I'm so SICK of hearing about the Haiti earthquake!"
Why do people feel this way? I don't understand. I feel the opposite - I need to know what happened, where it's at now, what is being done. Usually when something like this happens, people spring into action with rescue services, army jeeps, help from everywhere.
This doesn't seem to have happened. I wondered if any trapped people were still alive as I sat at the hairdressers the other day. I drove around my town, sun shining, surplus food, happy days ... wondering what will become of all the people with broken, infected limbs. Orphaned children walking around - the prisoners escaped from the prison. A melting pot of hopelessness.
Haiti is a world away from Australia. I failed geography at school, and didn't even know it was a frickin' island until this week. What can I do? Nothing.
Dave is going through a particularly hard time lately, I bought him some prayer flags. We decided to put them up to pray for all of our troubles lately, our stress and uncertainty.
I put the prayer flags up - but not for us. There is nothing godamn wrong with us. We are the whitest of white westerners, living in a 1st world country. We actually never have anything to complain about for as long as we live, ever.
This is why I couldn't write here - anywhere, for a while. Everything seems trite and inconsequential.
So I put the prayer flags up, but not for us. For Haiti. Max looked at them fluttering and said, but what language is that? I can't even read it.
I said mate, God can read them, and every single prayer on every single flag is for the poor broken people and children in Haiti. All of them. I pray that God knows every hair on their heads.
I believe in an afterlife where you forget all of your past pain. I hope it's true. I was watching an Australian news correspondent, live on air the other day. They heard a baby crying in the rubble, his translater started to help get the baby out, wedging himself in the dangerous rubble for over half an hour. They pulled her out, alive. Her name is Winnie, almost the exact age as Rocco. I imagined Rocco lying under rubble with his family dead around him, for three days and nights.
Rocco went up to the TV and said, "bubba!" In years to come, they will probably track Winnie down, see what happened in her life. The same age as Rocco. I'll always pray for her.
Max sat and watched me put the flags up, bored. He was waiting for me to play cricket with him. (Because I'm so sporty HAH!)
I gave thanks that he gets to sit there bored, in the sun, not a care in the world.