I don’t live in Christchurch, I live on the fault line in Wellington far away from the scene of yesterday’s terrifying event – a 6.3 magnitude earthquake that struck the city just after mid-day.
Since then I have followed the tragedy on radio and television – thrilled when I hear news of a successful rescue, saddened with reports of others who haven’t made it. So far 75 have been confirmed dead, a further 300 are still missing.
My heart is heavy.
Though feeling relieved that my friends in Christchurch are safe and well, my heart goes out to those who have not been so fortunate. Television news has been bringing us reports continuously since the quake struck – they show images of the city’s destruction and of a community banding together to help each other through this disaster. Power is out in about 80% of the city, water is scarce, and people have been asked to not flush their toilets – but to bury their waste. Stories are being told of miraculous escapes, while anguish shows on the faces of others waiting in hope.
Search and rescue teams have come from elsewhere in New Zealand and from Australia, Japan, USA and Britain to help dig through the rubble in the hope of finding survivors.
Hearts are huge and generous.
And I sit comfortably here feeling powerless. I want to help … I so want to help.
Striding out 