Shake, Rattle, and Roll

A little after 9:00 this morning, as I was sitting in my office, the ceiling started to shake. Now, a momentary shake isn't terribly abnormal since my office hangs over empty space above a sidewalk--"this used to be a porch," the facility people never cease to remind us--but the shaking didn't stop right away.

And then the outer wall/window started to make an odd popping sound. I'm still not sure what it was; I'm pretty sure I don't want to know, actually. A moment later, my desk started vibrating and items on my bookshelves started rattling.

My second earthquake.

I'm told that this state has more earthquakes than any other state--even California--though I don't know if this is true. But according to those who tell such tales, most aren't strong enough to be felt. This one was: somewhere between 4.3 and 5.1 on the Richter scale, they think.

Funny thing was, I wasn't afraid. There really wasn't time to be. By the time I knew how to respond to the strange shaking in my office, it was over.

At the same time, in another part of the world, Chilean miners were being rescued one-by-one from their long imprisonment underground. A couple months ago, their world shook as well. I can't begin to fathom what must have gone through their heads each day down there in the dark, especially during those first 17 days, wondering if anyone would believe they were still alive and come find them, wondering if their last breaths would be breathed in stagnant darkness.

Sweet joy of rescue. Sometimes, the shaking does end--and everyone does emerge from the depths, dirty but unscathed. I hold such days close to my heart. They are evidence that good still happens--and that there is always reason to hope.