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He is my object lesson, my there by the grace of God goes he.  Up until a month ago, not even a blink ago in geologic time, his home was an orphanage atop a fault line. But then the paperwork finally emerged from the byzantine Haitian bureacracy and his world shifted on a scale not measured by Richter. He was there, and now he is here-- except, of course, for part of his heart. 

This evening he sits in a middle American suburb where earthquakes are thus far only novelty and watches scant pictures from his home. The phones are out, of course, and all that is known-- if it is known for certain-- is that the hospital in his old neighborhood has collapsed. The fate of everyone else he knows in the world is unknown. They are all there, and he is here.  

American Red Cross  


Doctors Without Borders