(I think it was a Sunday School song).
Oh dear, how true those words ring now. It's like people who build on the clifftops of Auckland. (Weren't they listening in Fifth Form Geography class)?
Reading through the news accounts of the devastation of so many homes and the shock in the faces of so many people in Christchurch I was nearly bought to tears today. I saw one of my favourite shops get demolished. Such a familiar sight as I drove past it four or five times a week. I have ornaments in my home that I love that I found in that shop. Just on Thursday I drove past and admired a beautiful white chair and an ornate birdcage in the window. I guess it's all gone now. One of my close friends' house in uninhabitable. Another friend lost her chimneys. One friend has a huge gap in her floor. Most everyone I know has had trouble with hot water cylinders. And every single person wants to forget that one very long minute so early in the morning.
It's a feeling of being so very thankful that we have been largely untouched - except for the trauma and a few breakages. I still wake up with a jolt at night randomly. Everytime a plane flies overhead I think it is the rumble starting again and my whole body tenses, ready to spring out of bed.
But there's also the feeling of helplessness - unable to help, unable to do anything practical when we live so far out. We have good, uncontaminated water out here, and our power never went out. Some people still have nothing. I felt slightly better today when a friend asked if he could stay over tomorrow night to get hot food and a warm shower and restock his water bottles. (He helped build our house, so he ought to know it's strong, right)? And some other friends are on evacuation notice down by the Waimakariri River and will be coming here with their four children if they have to leave.
Just a little thing that I can do in the vastness of such need.