One hour of my life was spent in Myanmar.
I was in Thailand with over 50 college students. They were there for the summer teaching English. They were scheduled to be there for 33 days, but only had a visa for 30 days. The Missionary we were working with arranged for the group to cross the border into Myanmar, stay for an hour, then come back into Thailand, getting an additional 30 days in the country. I happened to be visiting the teams when the trip was planned, and got to tag along.
Myanmar was a tiny bit scary to me. The border town we were in didn’t feel safe. It was overwhelming that I could take one step farther than a whole lot of people who had their toes on the border, but couldn’t make that one more step without risking their lives.
So when I think about the 63,000 to 100,000 people who may have died in Myanmar this week, it becomes just a little more real. I can’t comprehend there are military leaders who until today weren’t accepting outside aid. It’s all so overwhelming to ponder from the safe confines of my suburban home, in Southern California, where we worry about gas cost getting to $4.00. It’s also so easy to think “Where are you God? Did that Cyclone get past you?” Yet God says that he put Kings and Rulers in their place (Daniel 2:21), He rules the wind (Job 28:25) So clearly this didn’t just “slide past”.
So I turn to prayer. The military leaders can’t decide to accept or not accpet my humble prayers. (If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray. . . . I will heal their land. 2 Chronicles 7:14)). We often think of that verse around May 1st and the National Day of Prayer, in America. Today I’m claiming the whole earth as my land. . . it’s what I’m doing when I use a cloth bag instead of plastic (saving the earth. . right?)
So I pray for the mother in Myanmar who had a baby boy on November 14th, just like my little boy.
I ask that angels will walk among those in need with a cup of clean, water.
I remind God that the widow in 2 Kings 1 who helped Elijah the prophet, found that her small jar of flour and jug of oil didn’t run dry. I ask for that miracle to be played out over and over across Myanmar.
I’m not an international aid worker. But I choose to believe God enough to think that one or two small prayers really do matter for people in a place I’ll probably never set foot, for faces that I’ll never see, in a situation that’s way too big. . .
Will you join me?