Earthquake

Gabriel rushed through the gate on our porch amid a flood of words and a blur of waving
arms. He was an ever present help in my young life. He taught. He interpreted. He told great
stories. Any Twi I speak is thanks to him. Thanks to him I was to star in a Labadi Church
production of "Queen Esther" that fell apart after a few practices. I was in his wedding in
the only yellow item of clothing I have owned to date. It wasn't long before he asked me the
question I knew was pending from the moment I saw him (Thank God he asked it in
English...)

"Melinda, do your remember the earthquake?"

It had been awhile since I thought about it but yes, I definitely remembered. When
someone’s schoolroom pantomimes as if it has been placed in the middle of an ocean
simulator set to "hyper drive" one does not easily forget it. If I close my eyes and think hard
enough I'm there again, lying on the floor as it shakes and slants as if it were a perfectly
normal thing for a floor to do.

It was definitely an earthquake to remember.

Rats slithered to and fro across the damp floor of the prison. It was impossible to tell where
the leak was coming from or what on earth was actually dripping but drip it did in steady
precision.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

It was absolutely impossible to force the body into a comfortable position. Beaten until the
skin is stripped from your back, stretched far past the point of exhaustion, and being bound
and shackled does not leave much room for comfort.

Knowing that you are the recipient of all this wonderful treatment because you attempted
to do as your God commanded you does not leave much room for positive thinking.

Ironically, this particular brand of prisoner was not seeking comfort. They were not overly
concerned with discovering why or thinking deep intellectual thoughts at the moment.
They were singing.

And somewhere, in the midst of all that singing - perhaps because hands that formed man
from dust began clapping, a voice that spoke light into existence began singing, or feet that
carried a sinless Savior to a cross began stepping in time - the floor began to move like an
ocean simulator set to "hyper drive."

It was an earthquake to remember.

When it comes right down to it, it doesn't matter what physical state you're in. What
situation you've gotten into. How you have managed to wind up in your particular brand of
prison. Or how easy it would be to blame God for your residence there? It's amazing what
praising can do.

Or how often it results in an earthquake to remember.