We’ve been praying for Haiti as a family. I debated long and hard whether to tell Micah about the earthquake in the first place. Mister isn’t unfamiliar with death, since Rich’s grandmother and mine passed away within a span of about a year. But dying in old age is one thing: dying in childhood under the rubble of your own home, or from hours of medical neglect after emerging as a once-lucky survivor, is another.
In the end though, we knew it was our responsibility to. The whole premise of his name is that we felt Micah 6:8 summarizes who we want to be as a family: to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God. Sometimes, to be and do those things is in some ways to confront and experience the ugliness of injustice and the abandonment of grace. Of course, you package it in a delicate enough way for a four-year-old to swallow. But we agreed that we can’t teach our children to love their neighbor if we never open the door to let the outside world in.
So every night, we hold hands in a tight circle and sit on Micah’s bed to pray. I love that Micah volunteers every time: Mommy, you pray for Lucas and me and I will pray for Haiti. This four-year old boy with the weight of the world on his heart, but in a good way. I love that Lucas, in total disregard that all of us are closing our eyes, watches Micah, entranced, parroting words he understands in soft whispers. And I love that the prayers of children, so simple, sweet, sincere, are probably the loudest in God’s ear.
Dear Jesus, please help the people in Haiti because a lot of them got hurt in the big earthquake. And a lot of them are poor and don’t have food or a home or family but God, you are the best doctor in the whole world and you can make them better. Please help them feel joyness in their hearts and help them know that they look on the outside, but you look on the inside Jesus. Please help them I know you can because you’re the best hero.