Men were trapped in Pike River Mine as I sat in comfy chairs in a warm room in Christchurch, just hours away. I was made aware of events by the media, but their dire reality was unaffected by my actions and awareness, nor mine by theirs.
That same weekend a friend discovered her husband had died during his afternoon nap.
What was I doing, where was I?
People often ask the question, "Where were you when ...
... you heard Kennedy had been shot?"
... The Twin Towers came down?"
... Princess Di was killed?"
... ...
When my mother died my world forever changed.
Yet the baseball games continued on TV and sirens still echoed through the nearby tunnel as emergency vehicles went about their business, other people's business.
Markers in history, yet simple events that are spoken of less over time, melt in to a continuum that never stops.
We speak of the big picture to those living in the small picture ...
and of the micro to a God who encompasses the macro.
He knows. He sees.
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