ElSalvador2001-2





“The Least of These”

		El Salvador

	On Wednesday, February 21st, 2001, I flew to the earthquake devastated nation of El Salvador. It was truly one of the most exciting mission trips I have ever been on. By God’s help and grace, despite my fears and shortcomings, Jesus allowed me to be a part of ministering to “the least of these,” His brothers. I’m sure all of you know by now, that this nation had three deadly earthquakes in a little over a month. Even the week I was there, I experienced six or seven earthquakes and aftershocks are measured in the thousands. The quakes have damaged or destroyed about one-fifth of all homes in El Salvador as well as schools, hospitals, churches, and government offices. According to the president of El Salvador, the quakes have left about one in four Salvadorans homeless. At least 1,240 are dead and 8,000 have been injured. As I left I thought I would be only a tiny part in the big equation. I was only prepared to give them spiritual comfort, words of encouragement, and prayer. I imagined I would be surrounded by literally hundreds of aid workers, passing out food, clothing, blankets, and medical attention. This wasn’t the case. In fact, in my eight days in the country, I never saw one aid worker. I certainly do not mean to imply there aren’t any, only that the need is so great and there are so many refugees, that the workers are few and far between. Everyday except Sunday, I had the privilege of walking the cross among these precious people. I would like to share with you, on the following pages, some of my journal accounts from the trip. Seismic Activity & Harsh Reality! Thursday, February 22 5:00 a.m. This morning I awoke to a rumbling aftershock. It was not too violent, but was very noticeable. It only lasted about ten seconds. At 10:00 a.m., my guide/translator picked me up at the hotel. His name is Erick, and he is a very affable young man. First he drove me around Santa Tecla and showed me some of the damage. During this time, he told me a little about El Salvador and the January 13th quake. He said they have a saying in Spanish that the locals use to describe El Salvador—“It is the land of the swinging hammocks” because there is so much seismic activity in this little country. He told me that they very often have quakes and tremors that are short in duration. But he said he was at home for the January 13 quake and he knew from the beginning this was something different. He said it felt like there were waves in the ground, rolling under your feet and that it lasted 38 seconds. First he took me to the government’s “model” refugee camp. It was guarded heavily by soldiers with machine guns, who stopped us at the gate. We explained our intentions and they said they would have to speak with their captain. After a few minutes, we were ushered in to see the captain in his tent. He was not a striking authority figure and seemed fairly low key, compared to the guards. The camp was very orderly and looked neat and clean. He said we would have to be put on a schedule for the next day at 4:00 p.m. Then we left and found an “unofficial” camp less than a block away—conditions here were truly squalid. This is more what I expected—a haphazard collection of ragged tents and dwellings thrown together with tarps, cardboard, and a little bit of tin. It was dirty and very desolate. There were zero aid workers or anyone else for that matter, to care for these people. They were literally on their own. Erick explained to me that these are people who arrived at the model camp too late. Once the model camp had reached capacity, those outside were left to fend for themselves. Erick and I approached the nearest dwelling, made of cardboard and plastic tarps. There sat an older woman with a couple of small children. I began to tell her that she was not alone and that Jesus was with her. I spoke to her about 10 minutes and prayed for her. Her reaction was friendly and cordial, but no joy registered on her sad face. But regardless of her reaction, the situation itself somehow smothered my good intentions. These people had lost everything—their homes, their processions, their livelihood, as well as hundreds of loved ones and neighbors in the space of about forty seconds. Now they were living under tarps with cardboard walls with no hope of anything better. My words about them not being forgotten or alone seemed hollow and resonated back to me in loud echoing mockery. I felt as though I’d been hit in the head with a 2x4, utterly overwhelmed! Instead of plunging forward to the next group of plastic tents, I retreated about 20 feet away to think and pray. I noticed as I left, Erick lingered a little longer, speaking to the people in Spanish. When he came back to me, I said, “We have to go to the market and get something for these people.” He told me that is exactly what he had been discussing with them, asking them what they needed most. He said they needed powdered milk and food more than anything else. We left the cross there and went to a market and filled the trunk of Erick’s car with bags of beans, rice, and powdered milk. And then huge bags of candy for the kids. Then we returned. Within minutes, the whole camp joyfully surrounded us, this time dozens of faces, animated and excited. I preached a short message to them on how Jesus did not live simply in heaven or only in church buildings, but how He lived in the middle of people and loved them right where they were. After I preached, we all prayed together. Then we had the head of each family come up and we were able to give each one of them a bag of rice, beans, and powdered milk. They were so appreciative. Then I gave candy to the children. This was naturally a clamorous, well-received treat. Then Erick and I walked through the whole camp, talking to the people individually. It seemed the whole camp followed us. Naturally, what they wanted to do was share with us where they were when the earthquake hit. They shared their experiences and sorrows. Somehow it seemed they were desperately waiting to tell someone what they had been through. At one point I especially remember an older woman. She began to describe her ordeal during the first quake. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she told me of a neighbor who was killed when a wall fell in on her. Hundreds of others simply disappeared forever under a wave of earth hundreds of feet thick. I just remember hugging her and telling her that Jesus came to heal broken hearts. When it was time to go, Erick and I could not seem to leave. The people just kept following us until we reached the edge of the camp. Then we drove about 45 minutes or so to another camp on a huge hillside. This camp was much larger. Instead of makeshift dwellings of cardboard, many of these people, though not all, did have tents—though they appeared ragged and dirty. But even though I could see many more tents, the people in this camp seemed more scarce. It was late afternoon by now, and very hot, so I suspect many were in their tents. Finally at the edge of the camp we found an area where water was running out of a pipe. There was some temporary showers and a large concrete table for washing clothes. This was a bevy of activity with many people. So I preached and comforted the people for a very long time, while many children scrambled all over the cross. Then I walked all through the camp. I stopped and spoke with a group of older women. One in particular broke my heart. She was pretty old and in a wheelchair. Because of this and her salt and pepper hair and the way she sat slumped over in the wheelchair, she reminded me of my mother at the end of her life. My mother lived the last few years of her life in a nursing home because of a stroke. I used to bemoan the conditions there, but here I found a woman in a similar condition in a wheelchair in a dusty, exposed camp living in a cardboard shelter. The only toilet facilities I saw were four or five dirty, old porta-potties, marked “women and children.” They were located two or three hundred yards away over extremely rough, rocky ground from her family’s shelter. Somehow I couldn’t help but wonder how this poor woman was managing. Oh Jesus, as a Westerner who grew up in a middle-class home in America, it is difficult for me to grasp how people manage in these conditions. As we prayed together, I just wanted to weep. A little further on we found a girl with crutches, laying on a wooden bench with a broken leg. She described how when the quake hit, she grabbed her little daughter and a nephew and tried to scramble out the door, but they didn’t make it. A wall fell on her leg, pinning her in the rubble. Her little girl, only about three, also suffered a broken leg. And they were trapped in the rubble for hours. We spoke with her at length and encouraged her with the words of Jesus and prayed together before we moved on. I spoke with dozens and dozens of people that day, all with similar stories. As I thought back over the day, overall things are much more bleak than I expected. I thought I would be just one part of a bigger equation. I expected to be bringing only spiritual hope and encouragement. Somehow I imagined I would be surrounded by hundreds of aid workers providing food, water, blankets, and medical attention. So far, I have not seen one. In every camp everyone tells me the same thing, “Yes, there were some here, but only the first few days after the first quake. Then they all left.” Others spoke of lists in the newspaper of communities who will be relocated and helped by the government, but most felt forgotten because their communities were never on this very short list.

	Great Joy in the “Model Camp!” Friday, February 23 Once again in the night, there was a long rumble that was more pronounced than yesterday and made my heart beat faster. Then about 10:00 a.m. a sharp, quick jolt—the most violent so far. The hotel building popped and groaned for a few seconds following this one. Then between 12:30 and 1:00 p.m. another tremor that lasted about 10 seconds. Today at 3:00 p.m. Erick and I will return to the “model” camp. I was just in the gift shop where I was speaking to the young lady working there. As we talked, the ground began rumbling and objects hanging on the walls began to sway! Although our conversation was in Spanish and therefore confined to very simple ideas, she began to tell me how afraid she was and how living like this was so hard on her nerves. Then she spoke of the big quake on January 13th. I tried my best to tell her to trust in Jesus and pray to Him when she was afraid. Wow, what a day! I took the cross to the model camp—the biggest so far. I don’t know how many people are staying here, but it is definitely several thousand. First we were taken to meet a colonel. He was very, very gracious and told me that I had free reign in the camp. Then Erick and I started walking with the cross. A huge group gathered even as we approached the first row of tents. I was totally surrounded so I really could not tell how many people—maybe about 60 or 70. I preached to them from Luke 4:18. Oh, they responded so beautifully to the very tangible presence of Jesus. Then I prayed for them all. It was truly one of the greatest experiences of my life! This first little impromptu meeting must have lasted almost half and hour. Then we went up and down the rows of tents, stopping, preaching, and praying for the groups that gathered. Plus, it seemed all the other groups tagged along behind us as we went. Everywhere, the same wonderful response. Sometimes I stood and preached—sometimes I just sat down in the midst of the groups, hugged the little children and encouraged the adults. To describe scene after scene of this would be impossible. I wish I could remember all their names and describe their beautiful faces and excited responses, but at some point it just all blurs together into one huge, great memory. I can only say there is a connection with people at this level that is completely incomparable with anything else. Today was victory, such joy and love! Oh, thank you, Abba, for being my Jehovah Nissi— my victory, my banner, and my confidence! Children hung all over me and the cross. Old ladies and even some men wanted to hug me. They were so warm, the whole throng followed us to the gate and would hardly let us go. Oh, what a day! Today I saw pain and suffering, but I also saw the love of Jesus was still stronger. Tremors continued all day. There were at least 5 or 6. Everyone everywhere was speaking about them and talking about how scary it is to live this way. Though my Spanish is inadequate, I always try to get across to them to put their trust in Jesus. So exhausted and tired—but my heart is so full as I think back over this day. He is Near to Those Crushed in Spirit! Saturday, February 24 Today was one of the most fulfilling days I have ever experienced. It was truly beyond words. No early tremors to wake me up! I got up about 6:00 a.m., had breakfast and took my morning walk and tried to prepare my heart for the day ahead. Erick arrived to pick me up and had brought along another young man to help. His name was Vicente’ and he was about 22. We all traveled to a small city called Cohutepeque’. It was only a little east of the capital, about an hour away. Driving through Central America is always an experience in itself, cars weave and thread through busy streets carelessly, constantly honking. Slow old busses and even more ancient trucks trundle up hills, while the cars wildly pass them with little care for oncoming traffic. The air is thick with dust and exhaust fumes belched out by the old busses, trucks, and cars. The beds of small pickups are crammed with humanity, talking and laughing, oblivious to their chaotic surroundings. Meanwhile, the sides of the roads are a stream of pedestrians, strolling perilously close to the frantic traffic. And sprinkled in to the whole mix are dogs, burros, and an occasional goat. So far, we have been in camps or makeshift tent cities, thrown into any open spaces, parks, soccer stadiums, and so on. But once we arrived in Cohutepeque’ we found a very different situation. We stopped and asked a traffic policeman where the earthquake victims were located. He informed us they were not organized, but were simply scattered throughout the city, wherever they could find. The damage to this city was much more severe and was a result of the second quake on February 13. We drove around the traffic-chocked town—debris and rubble still lined the sides of the road and many streets were blocked off all together by massive piles of concrete and brick, that were formerly peoples’ homes. The streets were slightly frenzied and full of milling crowds. For 45 minutes or so we searched for a place to begin. I noticed Erick was becoming tense. Finally he told me there were serious problems in this city with gangs who kidnapped and robbed people often. He said that we needed to be careful here. He had expressed to me other days that as a foreigner there were many areas where I would not be particularly safe. I could tell he thought this was one of them. Inwardly I felt myself stiffening up as we drove on and on looking for a “safe” place to park the car and get started. A small battle began to rage in my mind. How conspicuous I would be with my life-size cross on my shoulder. But somehow I also knew that the cross was my disarming symbol and could equalize any situation. I knew once we got started, it would be all right. Once we parked the car, Erick said he was hungry and launched out to find a tienda. I felt really uneasy, standing there by the trunk of his car, looking like the only “gringo” in town. He came back after about 8 or 10 minutes with some fruit juice but no food. All three of us were hungry and I had brought three 3 ounce cans of tuna and a few cashews. So we sat there on the side of the street and ate a quick lunch. Then we put the cross together. Once again we had the trunk full of beans, rice, and powdered milk and candy for the kids. Our new team member, Vicente’, had a huge backpack and we loaded the poor guy down like a burro. We also hung bags of rice and beans in plastic bags all along the horizontal beam of the cross—so my load was considerably heavier than usual too. We walked in circles for blocks, trying to figure out where the victims were staying. Finally we got near the town center and the most heavily damaged area, and there they were. They were simply living in the dusty streets, next to their crumbled homes. In the other camps and tent cities, people had army tents or at least real tarps with some wood. But here many had no shelter. Some had just pulled couches and beds out onto the sidewalk and a few pots and pans, and this was their home. A great many more had a few pieces of bamboo with sheets or bedspreads stretched over it. What little shelter others had was old poly plastic (always with gapping holes). I saw little infants whose only shelter was the cover of their old, beat up baby buggies. And I saw very old people living out there on the streets, and every other age in between. A great many were simply in crude lean-tos made of sheets and bedclothes, or black plastic. These flimsy shelters, oddly enough were often leaning against the cracked and damaged walls of buildings with the roofs caved in. This, in a country still experiencing thousands upon thousands of aftershocks, as well as several full-blown new earthquakes every week. It seems to me the ground under my feet is always moving a little bit. And so we approached them, one family at a time, or in little groups clustered together. We gave each family a bag of beans, rice, and a bag of powdered milk. Even though it seemed like so little, they received it with such gratitude. I spoke a simple, similar message of hope to each family or group. My Speech & My Preaching I would always start off in Spanish, introducing myself and telling them I had seen their two terrible earthquakes on the news in the U.S. I just wanted to come and do something to encourage you and do whatever little I could to help, in the name of my Lord Jesus. By then my thin reserves of Spanish were almost spent. They always responded so warmly. I have found people the world over love it when you try, however poorly, to speak to them in their native language. I would turn and introduce them to Erick then continue with his translation. I know you have been through so much pain and suffering. I know many of you have lost not only your homes but loved ones and neighbors. But I just wanted you to know that you are not alone. Jesus has not forgotten you. In fact, the Bible tells us Jesus came to heal the broken hearted and that He is especially close to those whose hearts have been crushed. The last thing I want to do is to minimize your sorrow and what you have been through. I know many, many people think “God doesn’t understand my pain.” But I promise you He does. He sent Jesus into this world to experience our lives. He walked in our shoes—He got His feet dirty with the dust of our world. The Bible says He was hungry and that He was sometimes tired. He grieved the loss of a good friend, John the Baptist. He was so touched by peoples sorrow, the Bible says He wept. But mostly He understands our pain and sorrow because of the cross. There He experienced first hand our pain and suffering in a way that is beyond imagination. He died a slow, agonizing, even torturous death. There He took away our sin! He knew what it was like for everyone dear to turn their back on him. He even experienced death in our place! And He did all that because He loved each of you! But He rose from the dead, and He is alive now. I would like to read a scripture from the Spanish New Testament: “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me.” You have a door into your heart and Jesus is waiting on the other side of it knocking and calling to you. All you have to do is open your heart and He will come and live with you. He will give you peace and a new heart for Him. I want to encourage you today to take hope! Someday Jesus will come back and take all those whose heart belongs to Him to heaven. There won’ t be any earthquakes in that city! In fact, the Bible says there won’t be any more pain or sorrow. There will never be anymore death—and best of all, despite everything you have been through, Jesus Himself will wipe away all the tears from your eyes. Then I would exhort them again to open their hearts to Jesus and we would all pray and call upon the name of the Lord together. Then I would stand or sometimes kneel and pray for them. I would sit and listen to them for a while—their stories about the quakes. Sometimes they would show me their wounds. I remember one old woman who had been struck in the head by falling debris. But mostly they spoke about their fears of more quakes and also of how desperately they needed help, but how until now no one had come. We picked our way through the rubble, block after block, speaking to family after family, group after group living in the most pitiful little plastic coverings. I cannot say how many got saved—because they would all indicate they opened their hearts to Christo! Only Jesus can know their true spiritual condition. I only know He loves them and is filled with compassion for them. The Cross & the Sewage At one point toward the end of the day we found a narrow cluster of dwellings in an alley between severely damaged houses. There were piles of rubble blocking the way partially. As I started into the little canyon of rubble and plastic, my foot sunk six inches (ankle deep) in a little channel of raw sewage—which somehow also served as the path up into the little row of cardboard and plastic shelters. I pressed on and naturally the wheel of the cross went into the sewage. I thought what a picture of how Jesus left the Holy glory of heaven to our dirty, contaminated, sinful planet to seek and save the lost. We ran out of rice, beans and milk and found a tienda and practically bought them out. Then on the edge of the town near a cliffside overlooking a spectacular valley, we found another whole group of plastic shanties. Little naked brown children, soaking wet from a bath, clamored all over the cross. Finally we wound up under a little covering, sitting with a family of seven. I spoke to them and prayed for them and we gave them bags of milk and beans. Finally a girl named Janet with a beautiful, bright countenance began to weep. As she brushed away tears, she explained to us that they were Christians and had been praying for help to come. They were discouraged because they had heard some help had reached San Vincente’, the next major town, but then the aid had run out and there was nothing left to bring to their town. Days had passed. Then she said when she saw me approaching with the cross, she felt like it was a sign that God had truly not forgotten them. I was thrilled to see the hope the cross had brought them, but still I bemoaned the fact of having only a few bags of beans, rice, and milk to give them. We sat there under their little tarp and encouraged them a long while. A man came up to us late in the afternoon, jabbering excitedly about three more quakes in San Salvador. My Spanish is not great, but I understood, because these words about earthquakes and tremors are very familiar to me now. This is all anybody speaks about in this little country now. In restaurants, shops, and my hotel or on the street, it is the topic of almost every conversation. We had been driving at the time, so we did not feel this series of tremors. I later learned in the newspaper headline the magnitude of the situation. 10:42 a.m. 10:43 a.m. 10:44 a.m. 10:46 a.m. 10:48 a.m. 4.2 3.6 3.1 3.1 2.3 We finally got home to San Salvador, hungry and exhausted, about 6:30 or 7:00 p.m. You could tell people all over the city were on edge. I want to rest tomorrow and spend time praying for the people in the camps. Another Seismic Sunday! Sunday, February 25 Wow! I’ve just been jolted awake by a strong quake. It was about 2:31 a.m. A huge jolt and the building started swaying, popping, and groaning and then things really started shaking. I think it only lasted 10 or 15 seconds. Naturally, I began praying, my heart started pounding, and I’m still shaking a little. At first, I did not know what to do. I looked out my window, then I started hearing doors open and shut all over my floor. So I got dressed and went downstairs. The lobby was already filling with guests bewildered but not panicked. People milled around in the lobby. My favorite desk clerk tired to reassure other guests by saying, “I think it’s ok, I’m not sure!” It’s now 3:25 a.m. and I’m back in my room. My heart is still beating fast, but I’m not shaking. It will be interesting to hear where this falls on the Richter scale. (Next day’s newspaper told me it was a 4.6.) I finally got back to sleep about 5:00 a.m. I think. I had hoped to have a great day of spiritual refreshment and rest. But I’ve been a little less than relaxed. We had another “shaking” about 6:00 a.m., not as bad as earlier. Mostly in the morning I did try to relax. Then I took a walk for about an hour or so. I did get some praying done for the victims, but not as intensely as I had hoped. The ground shook in little waves all day. I ate a can of tuna for lunch, then allowed myself a nice meal here at the hotel for supper about 5:30 p. m. I had a lovely meal and was finally relaxing. Classic guitar music played in the background. Then it hit…another big shock! The building shook and groaned violently, window glass rattled loudly. And this one lasted quite a long time. This was the first time I’ve been in public during a tremor. There were three or four waiters standing in the hall. They panicked and took off running toward the door. Somehow this triggered a reaction in me too. I thought they must know something I didn’t. I was sitting near some big windows, so I jumped up to run also. But only about four feet later, I realized it was over. I glanced over my shoulder toward the open kitchen door. Another waiter was standing calmly up against a counter. We made eye contact and he smiled broadly. I sat back down and started finishing my dinner. He approached me and started talking. His name was Jose’. We had a nice chat. Naturally we started talking about seismic activity. But then we talked about the Lord a lot too. After another short walk, I went back up to my room. But at 7:21 p.m. another big round of shifting and shaking. That was the last big one, but there have been numerous small waves all through the evening. Now it is bedtime and for the first time, I can tell this has started to add up. I’m kind of on edge about going to bed. Need to pray. The words of Paul really come to mind—“We face death all the day long.” Lonely Corner of a Huge Camp Monday, February 26 Today Erick, Vicente’ and I traveled to the nearby town of Panchimalco. I had bought another trunk full of beans, rice, and powdered milk and candy for the kids. But once we arrived, the people in the town said all their victims were elsewhere and inaccessible without a four-wheel drive vehicle. Erick told me there was still the largest camp in Santa Tecla, so we returned there. This camp was huge, someone told me ten thousand—but I have no way of knowing. It was a sports complex with six or eight soccer fields converted into a refugee camp. Although their conditions certainly were not as bad as those in Cohutepeque’, by sheer volume of people living together in a camp setting, things were definitely less than sanitary. In some of the fields in the middle, things appeared better than a group of several hundred tents located in a remote corner. I don’t know if they were late arrivals or what, but their area of the camp looked much more thrown together and bleak. So we headed to them. I felt the deep compassion of Jesus as I ministered to these people. At first I spoke and prayed with people one on one. Then Erick suggested gathering them together. So they came and sat on concrete bleachers (remember this is a soccer complex). There were maybe a hundred adults and lots of dirty, beautiful children. I preached about half an hour and then prayed for the people. As usual, all indicated they wanted to open their heart’s door for Jesus. I simply cannot second guess or analyze if these people are already saved, predisposed to being agreeable, or are just utterly rattled because of the earthquakes. I know Jesus knows their hearts and hears those calling on His name! They truly seem in a very humbled and repentant mode. I can only say, God can see hearts and I’m happy to leave the results with Him! “Remember me when you come into your kingdom” was sufficient to usher a dying man into Paradise. After I preached and we prayed together, we had them line up with the head of each family receiving one bag of rice, beans, and milk. We passed out candy to the kids. Within minutes everything was gone! There were scores in this camp we couldn’t get to; it was heartbreaking. But we made a huge impact on our little corner. We encouraged them joyfully for almost an hour more. It was windy, dirty, and hot, but there was great joy in this lonely corner of a huge camp. We asked the people how long they expected to be here. They said they have been told, “Una Ano”—one year. Today the ground moved a little all day, but nothing so violent as yesterday. Today’s paper said there have been many, many tremors in the last few days, many 3s, 4s and at least one 4.6 and one 5. The Capital of Tent Cities Tuesday, February 27 Thank the Lord there were only small tremors during the night and this morning, so I slept well. This is my last full day in the country. After breakfast, I was walking to the gas station on the corner to buy a coke. As I prayed and mused about the events of the last week, I felt so thankful to have experienced the compassion of Jesus for these needy people. But still I felt the weight of knowing it was so little in the face of such monumental suffering. So I started praying that God would multiply our little efforts, like Jesus feeding the multitude with a little boy’s lunch. I was praying this all the way to the door of the store. Once inside, I looked at the local paper. There in big headline letters in Spanish it said, “Europe says yes to reconstruction!” I could understand just enough of the article to see that the European Union is going to aid in the reconstruction of the damaged areas. What a blessing to know help is coming. I have no idea how much or how soon, but I feel like it is an answer to prayer. Erick will pick me up in a little while to go to the little makeshift tarp neighborhoods here in the capital. They have sprung up all over the city as a result of all the powerful shocks and tremors of the last few days. Erick, Vicente’, and I drove to the store and bought more food, then we went back to the little plastic village near my hotel. It seemed so small that we bought only enough for a few homes. But once we arrived, we realized this tiny corner had about 38 families. It could not have been much larger than a typical driveway in the States—but spreading out in several directions of necessity to fit in the confines of available space. They welcomed us and the cross and brought us to a central awning and gathered everyone around. I preached and encouraged them from Acts 10:38 and they responded beautifully. All seemed to want to open their heart to Jesus. Afterward, we gave the food we had brought and it came out way short. I told them Erick would bring more, enough for everyone. The kids were great. One little girl grabbed my heart. She had the sweetest nature. Her name was Jessica. Then a lady wanted to show us their house they had abandoned. She took us on a rather extensive tour. Many houses were built precariously on a cliff. They were demolished. But even the rest were shaky and full of massive cracks. Walls would sway at the touch. I kept thinking “why are we walking around in these damaged houses when tremors occur daily?” I prayed none would happen. But it seemed important to them for us to see their houses and what they had been through. We just couldn’t leave and they did not want us to. I hugged the children over and over and over! The kids followed us around everywhere, draped all over me. When we finally pulled ourselves away, we went back to the market and bought enough food for everyone. Then we went to Erick’s house and I met his family. His mother is Baptist. I could sense all week how God was working in Erick’s life. Not only did he become completely enthusiastic about our work, he spoke more and more about Christ. We had some great discussions on key subjects about how to follow Jesus. I gave him a New Testament and a Greg Laurie book, “How to Live Forever.” I think he may already be a Christian, but learned a lot about discipleship this week. My Last Hour in El Salvador… The Big One! Wednesday, February 28 At the airport, I made it fine getting to my gate. I felt calm and relaxed, knowing it was my last hour in El Salvador and would soon see my wife!!! I was standing by the large plate glass window, hoping to watch them load my baggage (especially the cross) onto the aircraft. About 12:41 p.m. I muttered a little prayer under my breath so as not to forget, ignore, or neglect my faithful traveling companion, Jesus. In my prayer I included thanks for His faithful protection. Not ten seconds later, a big quake struck. Pandemonium broke out! People began screaming and scrambling for some kind of cover. The lady next to me dropped to her knees and began screaming and praying in Spanish. In fact, most people in the terminal were panicking. All over the terminal people were praying and calling upon the name of the Lord at full volume! Unlike most tremors that come and go rather quickly, this one seemed to intensify and go on and on. Many people charged the only exit they could see—the jet way. At first the gate attendant tried to resist them, but the more the building shook and the tremor lingered, she let everyone that wanted go into the jet way. Some plaster fell from the walls and people just kept yelling and praying. Some people with video equipment started filming the chaotic scene. After what seemed like to me 30 seconds or more, the ground and building quit shaking. People, including the airline employees, seemed confused and still panicked. During this whole episode I felt perfect peace. I don’t even think my heart raced, it was like I was watching the whole thing through a view finder or something. I was in the middle of it but I felt insolated from it. I know this was because of all the people who were praying for me. In fact, right afterwards I met some very nice Christians, because I had heard them praying. For the next 15 or 20 minutes, a lot of tension hung in the air as everyone waited to see if we could proceed by boarding the aircraft or if the airport would be closed. Fireman in full gear walked about checking for damage. Finally, when the time came to board the aircraft, people couldn’t care less about seating row instructions and just moved or pushed their way into the jet way. The gate attendant didn’t seem to want to go through the normal formalities and pretty much just quickly took boarding passes and let people on. People were glad to be out from under concrete buildings. Now I’m on the plane, getting ready to go home! (When I got home that night, I found out on the Internet that the last quake while I was at the airport registered a six on the open-ended Richter scale and lasted 40 seconds.) Thank You!!!!!!!!!!!! “Whatever you did for one of the least of these my brothers of mine, you did for me” (Matt. 25:40). A couple of days before I left on my trip to El Salvador, a friend of mine mentioned this verse. It was on my heart constantly. I want to say “THANK YOU!” to all of you who so generously responded and helped send me to El Salvador. Because of your generosity, I was able to give away more than three hundred bags of beans, rice, and powdered milk to these beautiful people. I know with all of my heart that because you did it for the least of these, you did it for Jesus. I felt overwhelmed by the needs I saw all week, but in the end, I saw in every camp the great joy and hope that Jesus and His cross brought. I told the people everywhere, “I pray that God will imprint your faces in my memory so I will not only pray for you today, but tomorrow, next week, and in the months to come.” I also promised them that I would share their stories with churches and Christians in America so they can pray too. Please join Becky and me in praying for the people of El Salvador!