January 23, 2010 - Proverbs 31:8,9

"Speak out for those who cannot speak,
for the rights of all the destitute.
Speak out, judge righteously,
defend the rights of the poor and needy."

Well, there it is, in black and white. I've heard it said that God must really love the poor because He made so many of them. Poor people certainly do end up getting the short end of the stick sometimes. And since we're speaking in cliches today - how about "the rich get richer and the poor get children?"

All over the news these days is the absolute devestation in Haiti. It's horrible to watch. Give me "Golden Girls." Give me "What Not To Wear." But, Lord, spare me from watching something I can do nothing about. If I could hop a plane and go give a helping hand, I'd be on the first plane out, even though I hate to fly. But what can I do, so far away? It feels like it did after Hurricane Katrina...so helpless.

Maybe in some ways it was easier in the days before technology gave us instant news. You knew who your neighbor was. He was the fellow in the next house, the person you helped plant his crops and who helped you. She was the woman who helped deliver your children, and cried at the grave with you when one of them died. Your neighbor was across the street, down the block, two fields over. He, or she, was someone you saw in church, at the market, in the fields. Somebody you knew.

"Love your neighbor as yourself." Who is my neighbor now? Is my neighbor the 200,000 people who died in Haiti? Is my neighbor the widow across the street? It would certainly be easier to help the widow across the street, but all I can do for the people in Haiti is pray. Pray for them and for those who are fortunate enough to be able to go help them, hands on.

I know in my heart of hearts, that prayer is a powerful thing. I know that. But sometimes, Lord, sometimes, it feels like speaking into a void. All my life, I've wanted to go...to go, to do, to be a part of. During the civil rights movement, I wanted to be down in the South singing "We Shall Overcome." When the towers fell, I wanted to be in New York, helping to look through the rubble for survivors. During Hurricane Katrina, I wanted to hop in the car and take supplies down to New Orleans. I had made plans to go to India and work with Mother Teresa for six months, but I hurt my back and couldn't go. Today, I want to be in Haiti. Apparently God doesn't want me to go. God wants me to stay, and perhaps find a way to reach out to my neighbors who are a little closer, but perhaps no less needy. Help me, Lord!