I was pretty young, still in elementary school,
and Tropical Storm Alison had just flooded a large portion of the Houston area.
A day or two after the storm my dad and I went to an effected area to help
clean up. The devastation was horrific. Home after home was demolished and the
never-ending stories of death were enough to put me over the edge. My heart
broke for the people.

Fast forward a few years and I was on the beaches of Mississippi
looking at what was once a beachfront neighborhood. There were nothing but concrete
slabs as far as the eye could see. Once again there were stories of death,
homes being lost, pictures ruined. I cried. I imagined myself being in those
peoples situation and the thought was unbearable. My heart broke for the
people.

Almost a year ago I boarded a plane for Haiti, a seemingly
godforsaken place. Piles of rubble and makeshift tents lined every street. Each
person I talked to had lost loved ones. The ones that survived were left
homeless and faced disease and famine. My heart broke for the people.

Yesterday morning I got my first glance of the damage made by the
tornadoes of April 27 in Alabama. Entire communities were wiped off the map. Some
decided they couldn't live with the pain and took their own lives. Hundreds of
people were killed and still dozens are missing. But this time there was no
lump in my throat, no pain in my chest, no tears in my eyes.

Numbness.

"Father, give me compassion. I want to feel what these people feel
and what you feel! I don't want to be numb to these things! I don't want to see
this as just one more relief trip!"

Today a man told a story of how he gathered the pieces of his
grandson's body after the storm. Time stopped, my eyes went glassy, my soul let
out a horrified groan and once more, my heart broke for the people. Thank you
Father.