Then on March 11, news of the magnitude 9.0 earthquake and subsequent tsunami came to my attention. As more and more information became known and images of the destruction were being made public, I found myself to be suddenly mute. I was struggling to find words. I couldn't even put together a simple sentence. I tried. I thought maybe if I could just write one word, the rest would come, but... nothing! 
I couldn't stop thinking about the children and how absolutely heartsick God must be to see His beloved children dealing with such horrible devastation. This was weighing so heavily on my heart, that everything else seemed empty and pointless compared to the thought of these little ones living the darkest days of their lives.I had a very strong feeling that God must surely have sent some angels to do whatever they could to save some and comfort others. (Yes, I do believe in angels.) But in my little corner of the world, life carried on as usual all around me, and I felt somewhat detached from it all as if I was circling overhead, watching what was going on below, not quite sure where to land or where my presence would be the most help or to whom. A sense of complete and utter helplessness pervaded my spirit when I realized that all I could really do was pray. Don't get me wrong, I believe very much in the power of prayer, but sometimes it just doesn't feel like enough, and this was definitely one of those times! So I donated what little I could financially to the relief efforts, and I just kept praying... for the children and their families... for the rescue workers... for the angels.
A week later, I knew I wasn't ready to write what I had originally intended to write, but I needed to write or do something - anything - to recognize what was going on over there and in my heart. I couldn't sit here in my comfortable home with my comfortable life and act as if it wasn't happening! I could feel their pain, their fear, their sorrow and their confusion. I finally broke down and shared with a friend how I was feeling, and then the words started to come.
For the children of Japan... and for the angels...
Oh children, my children
Have no fear
I hear your cries
I feel your pain
And I am here
Oh children, my children
My heart weeps with you
Through your deepest despair
I will be there
Take my hand
I will lead you to safety
Don’t give up the fight
I will hold you and comfort you
Through the long dark nights
* * * * *
How do you tell a child
"Do not fear"
When their world is shattered
into a million pieces
When mud floods their playground
And splinters are all that remain
of their home, their space
Where loved ones once dwelt
In their warm and safe place
How do you tell a child
"Don’t despair"
When they don’t even know
if their mommy or daddy
can be found anywhere
If their brother or sister
are buried in the mud
When time stands still
and they wonder,
Is this God’s will?
How do you tell a child
"It’s going to be alright"
When their world has fallen down
all around them
When destruction and mayhem
are all they can see for miles and miles
Day after day
And night after night
How do you tell a child
"Go to sleep now
Try not to worry
God Loves you, you know"
When all they can think of is,
How did this happen?
What will become of my life?
Who will take care of me
and tuck me into bed at night?
How do you say
"Hang on little one
The sun will shine again
I promise you will see
another bright day"
When the days are unbearable
too painful to stay
And the long dark nights
only remind them
that nothing will ever be the same
* * * * *
Angel of the night
They'll know you are there
when you take their hands
and lead them to safety
When you caress their little heads
ever so gently
to show them you care
Your healing touch
will get them through
their darkest despair
Someday they’ll look back
and remember
The One who touched them
with Love and tenderness
Who gave them strength to get through
Who gave them hope anew
Brilliant warm light
Who gave comfort and courage
through the long dark nights
They’ll remember…
And be blessed
03/18/11
Copyright © 2011 by Charlene Burgess
