Many of you have heard about the Tsunami that hit the Samoan Islands in the South Pacific two weeks ago. If you haven’t then you can read about it here. In the Fall of 2006 I spent three months in Western Samoa doing missionary work. Three years ago today I was down in the South Pacific living with native islanders, visiting their homes, eating their roasted pigs, dancing island dances in their church services and wearing their traditional long wraps. Now, some of those people are hard to imagine. Some of them are dead.
No one I personally knew died but as I read my facebook feed, sad stories of family members and loved ones of the people I knew are rolling down my screen. If this thing would have happened three years ago, I could have been a casualty myself. My loved Samoans and YWAM companions could have been the casualties. Life would no longer be about pursuing youthful dreams. It would be about coming back home to the United States in one piece.
Samoa was a place of peace and beauty. Samoa destroyed my pre-conceived notion that God is only in the functional, the highly-spiritual and the overtly religious. God is in the deepest and furthest points of life too. He resides in midnight conversations under palm trees. He resides in the kitchen where people are making food. He stirs hurricanes and tsunamis from the depths of the ocean. He is in Samoa which is now cleaning up watery ash. More than ever when my ideas about the world are being challenged and re-aligned, I am reminded that I am not in as much control as I thought. In a time like this, when the aftermath of Samoa is staring at me in pictures I am reminded that the world is not in line with my pre-conceived notions. I am more on a puppet's string than I ever thought.
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