Found in Translation (39 page)

We couldn’t delay going inside any longer. We cowered at the bottom of the cave as broken pieces of housing flew by at speeds we couldn’t comprehend. Some debris fell inside, and the ground vibrated with such intensity I was sure our rocky ceiling would cave in and crush us. If the bowels of the earth didn’t open up and swallow us first.

Anjelita and I screamed words we couldn’t hear and shivered with a cold terror nothing could calm.

Why didn’t you pray? Duh. And how would you have known to …?

Although I would have given anything to make sure my Alazne was safe, I had no one to place my hope in. I’d heard the word prayer and had a vague understanding of its meaning, but I didn’t know how to do it or who to pray to.

As quickly as the black storm came, it departed in an easterly direction, staggering with the intoxication of consuming Santa María. Anjelita and I had to clear away enough debris to reach the mouth of the cave before we could exit.

Other villagers came out of their caves. They wept aloud, imagining what the wind would have done to them and their loved ones if they hadn’t found shelter.

Anjelita and I began looking for Alazne. No one had seen her since the twisting funnel struck the first house. Person after person told us they would have died if Alazne hadn’t routed them to the caves.

When our cave-to-cave search proved fruitless, our panic level went sky-high. If the storm had carried Alazne off, we wouldn’t find her. And we wouldn’t know whether she had died quickly but painlessly, suffered a lingering death, or was still alive somewhere, waiting for help that would never come.

From the ground above the caves, we could see that the ancient building you call a church was still standing. Village legends claim that it was the only building to survive a similar storm a century earlier; that’s why the villagers were superstitious about it.

Anjelita and I trudged toward it, hand in hand, picking our way carefully among the rubble. We hoped to find some clue regarding Alazne’s whereabouts.

Lord, please …

Anjelita broke free and ran toward the front of the building, swaying this way and that to keep her balance as she slipped on loose pieces of trash. A moment later I heard her normally small, timid voice cry out in the most piercing and hideous scream I’d ever heard.

Neil, stop! No more! I don’t want to hear ….

As I turned the corner, I saw Alazne’s storm-battered body lying motionless near the door. She must have been unable to open the door because of the debris that blocked the way. She probably would have survived if she’d been able to get inside.

I screamed and ran toward her. The great depth of the rubble made it nearly impossible to reach her. But we persisted. Once we were close enough, I dropped to my knees and tried to turn her over. She lay face down, her arms wrapped around something I couldn’t see. It anchored her so securely I couldn’t move her.

She wasn’t dead … was she?

Now that we’d found Alazne, I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—give up hope. Not yet. Why should she die because she cared more for others than for herself?

She had no heartbeat, no pulse. No! No! This wasn’t true! I couldn’t accept what my eyes and my brain tried to tell me. My heart refused to surrender hope.

She had to be unconscious—nothing worse than that. She would regain consciousness any minute.

Suddenly the horrible truth took root in my head and my heart, and I began wailing. A woman in childbirth could not have wept more hysterically.

Anjelita looked up at me with tears in her eyes.

My dear little one, I thought, how selfish I am. I’ve ignored your loss. No one can take your sister’s place, but I still have you. But you have lost your only sister.

After pulling her close, we rocked and swayed together on top of the rubble, our cheeks touching and our tears mingling.

Once the village men removed Alazne’s body, they discovered the cross Alazne apparently tried anchoring herself to. The one you’ve seen fastened to my doorway.

Funerals may be different elsewhere, but we usually burn the body to prevent the spread of disease. No one dared to suggest that we cremate Alazne, however. We do not treat our heroes that way.

The concept of one person dying voluntarily for the sake of many was beyond my ability to grasp. But I thought about it during your reading of Lucas.

Anjelita brought me out of my daze by grabbing my arm and shaking it until she had my attention. “The necklace!” she cried. “Your grandmama’s necklace! It’s not there!”

I looked at the body again. She was right. The necklace Alazne always wore, the one I’d promised Anjelita she could wear sometimes, too, was missing. I’d watched Alazne put it on earlier that morning ….

No one had seen it. Perhaps it had broken off and fallen through gaps in the rubbish to the ground below.

Finding the necklace was not as important as staying alive, however. We couldn’t look for it without clearing the churchyard of debris, and no one would have done that just to look for a necklace, no matter how precious. So I didn’t tell Anjelita about its probable whereabouts, and she didn’t mention the necklace again until the day you found it.

Lord, why did You let an inanimate object survive the storm when precious Alazne didn’t?

In the rubble, someone discovered a broken shovel—a dented blade attached to perhaps two feet of a badly splintered wooden handle. It didn’t belong to any of us. Someone else found one of Alazne’s crutches in the debris. An older man brought out a piece of light rope he had salvaged, and a fourth person fashioned the three materials into an awkward, but usable, shovel.

Each of the village men took his turn at the backbreaking job of digging a grave in the dry, hard earth. Although the men got sweaty and thirsty, none of them complained.

They dug the grave several inches longer and wider than Alazne’s slender frame and deep enough to put a layer of pebbles, broken glass, and larger stones over the body to deter predators from digging it up.

Tears filled every eye that afternoon.

I couldn’t watch my neighbors throw dirt over Alazne’s body, but when I saw them cover her with the layer of stones, I almost passed out. I imagined Alazne trying to breathe with dirt and rocks covering her face like that, and I could barely breathe, either.

But that’s not the end of it, Rosa. What has Lucas been trying to tell you?

Anjelita seemed to know what I was thinking, though, for she said in her simple, childlike way, “Alazne is dead. She doesn’t need to breathe any longer. But she is dead only here. She is alive somewhere else. I know it.”

Although Anjelita spoke with a precious hope that had no foundation in fact or logic, her words—her mysterious faith—moved me profoundly. Dead here, yet alive elsewhere? Where did she think Alazne was now? How could I prove her right or wrong? How could I be sure?

One moment, I thought my heart would stop beating. The next, it beat out of control. So great was my desire to believe Anjelita was right.

Lucas gave you the answer. Do you believe …?

The events I have described took place several weeks before you and your friends arrived in Santa María. I still cry frequently over my loss, but fighting to survive took precedence over grieving.

We returned to our cave each night to sleep, for it kept out some of the chilly night air, but the ground was hard and uncomfortable. We couldn’t find anything to eat at first and knew we would starve if we didn’t die of dehydration first.

Surviving the storm didn’t guarantee ultimate

survival. Many infants, young children, and elderly villagers died the first week after the storm. Whether from starvation or pollution of the only water they could find, they died. Whether from inescapable exposure to the daytime heat or fatigue that zapped all of their strength, they died. Whether from hopelessness that made them quit trying or the paralysis of depression, they died.

Although we noted their deaths with regret, we took them in stride. What choice did we have?

But where will they spend eternity …?

Miss Kim, when you and your friends came, you brought our first real hope of survival. You delivered bedding and clothes, and you helped us build new homes. You brought food, and we regained our strength. You brought water, and we reveled in the pure, fresh taste that assuaged our thirst without causing more deaths.

You brought something else, though. Love. Unconditional love. I knew you were different when I first saw you and Anjelita together, but—because you look so much like Alazne—I couldn’t stand being close to you. Seeing you give your all with an unselfishness that reminded me of Alazne was difficult, too.

If only I’d known …

But when Anjelita started gaining new confidence and taking greater pride in herself—no longer tormented about the arm she’d been born without—I couldn’t turn my back on you any longer.

When I showed you Alazne’s photograph, my inability to explain who she was and why I loved you like a new daughter frustrated me. You obviously recognized the similarities in your appearances. I recognized the similarities in your attitudes and actions.

Miss Kim, your reading from the Bible has meant so much to Anjelita and me. To the whole village. You demonstrated great courage and determination reading in our heart language without knowing how. Learning to pronounce our words in the rote fashion the villagers employed must have seemed like a black storm of challenge.

The villagers noticed how much you and your friends differed from us. In such remarkable ways that we realized our lives lacked something more important than the most valuable of our lost belongings. As you read from the writings of Luke day in and day out, getting badly sunburned, almost losing your voice, and yet always eager to begin again the next day, we appreciated the difference even more.

And I wondered if I was doing any good ….

We knew nothing about God before you began reading to us, although I’d tried for years to find out whether somebody like God existed. But if our ancestors ever knew about the God of the Bible, they abandoned Him—perhaps after that storm a century ago—and declined to pass the Good News down to us.

So we had no idea of God’s existence—not who He is or what He is like. Neither did we know how much He loves us, what He wants to give us, or what He expects of us. Although we’ve often said and done things that seemed wrong, we didn’t possess a standard of goodness or a guide for right living.

Consequently, we failed to understand that our human nature was evil and merited eternal condemnation. More important, we didn’t know that God has an only Son who died to make us His Father’s children, too.

The more you read to us about Jesus, the more I thought about my precious Alazne. If I wept that much over my lost daughter—a human being—how much more God must have grieved over the death of His Son.

I still have Anjelita, but Jesus was God’s only Son. If God hadn’t raised Him from the dead, the Father would have become childless.

So profound …

I looked through your Bible a number of times while you were eating lunch or supper. God led me to a verse that said a very good man might give up his life for his friends. That is what Alazne did. But it also said no one willingly gives up his own life for his enemies. Yet Jesus did that very thing.

For us.

You sound like you believe that. Do you? Please say yes ….

Earlier today, you read a verse John wrote and you repeated it a number of times for Anjelita to memorize. That’s when I finally understood the meaning of the cross. I wept for hours because God loved me that much, even though I wasn’t one of His children.

I’ve been pondering these things for hour after sleepless hour, frustrated that I can’t ask you more about your God. But we don’t speak the same language, and you return home in the morning.

The way you and your friends forgive one another is amazing. Jesus taught that God’s forgiveness of us is dependent on our forgiveness of others. I wept aloud over grudges I’ve held against my fellow villagers for years.

He’ll forgive you. Just ask ….

John—the John who immersed Jesus in the wilderness, not the one who wrote how much God loves the world—prepared the way for Jesus’ coming. I believe God sent you to prepare the way for Jesus to come to this village.

How I hope and pray …

This Jesus of yours has become my Jesus, too. I believe in Him with all my heart now.

Neil, pass those tissues. Hey, everyone, wait’ll you hear this ….

I began talking to Him early this morning as if He were in the cottage with me. I knew He was. I prayed the prayer He used as an example for His disciples, but I needed to talk to Him about other things, too. I didn’t know what to say at first, talking on my own like that, but—because forgiveness is so important—I started confessing and repenting of every sin I could think of and asking Jesus to forgive me.

I love you, my sister ….

I told Him I’d do my best to avoid doing those things again. That must have been the right way to pray, though, for never has a bath in the cleanest and purest water left me feeling so perfectly clean.

Many villagers are interested in Jesus now, too. Some of them are close to accepting Him. I’ll keep reminding them how much He wants them for His brothers and sisters. I won’t let them forget what you’ve read to us, and I’ll ask God to bring to mind any details I forget.

I’ll keep praying for you and every single one of them ….

You once asked your leaders to bring water outside so we wouldn’t thirst while we listened. Immediately afterward, you read about Jesus offering living water to the many-times-married Samaritan woman. That was not a coincidence.