A Story Pictures Cannot Tell
Edward Keith Pousson – February 2005
They say a picture paints a
thousand words. I used to
believe it, until the fourth of
February 2005 when I landed
in Aceh – the area worst
affected by the earthquake
and tsunami of 26 December
2004. After checking into our
POSKO (com-mand post for
relief efforts), we were driven
to the town center. I had no
trouble recognizing the Grand
Mosque (right) which I have
seen in pictures. The damage
wasn’t obvious. We drove
past it on the left. My eyes and
heart were not trained for the
next turn. It was a right turn.
No pictures, no words can tell
this part of my story – the
moment in which my eyes first
began to take in the
magnitude of the devastation
Out of the Depths

I remember when I
became a father – three
times. New emotions
sprang up within me that I
had never known before.
A deep and rich feeling of
joyful affection. Here
again on this Banda Aceh
street a new sensation
rose to life from
somewhere within and
took command. And here
is where all words fail.
The word I choose is
“groan.” My breathing
changed. The tears that
flowed were no match for
the massive depth of the
groaning within. Now I
was devastated. That was
only the beginning – my
first turn into an ongoing
story that pictures cannot
tell.
Don’t Cry Indonesia

I cried when I was a baby. I cried when my father died. I was only nine. Twenty years later, I cried
when my mother died. And I cried again when my close friend Steve Cotton died in 1985. Apart
from that, I had become a man who never cries. In December 2004 I visited Jerusalem, where the
fountains of my tears reopened. First at the Western Wall, then at the Children’s Museum of the
Holocaust Memmorial, Had Vashem, and third, on the Mount of Olives where Jesus wept for
Jerusalem. Looking back, I believe the Lord was preparing me to feel what he now feels for Aceh.
This is a place where everyone is a survivor. Six weeks after the earthquake and tsunami, they
look and seem strangely normal – almost as if nothing ever happened. Someone sprayed the
words on a wall, “Don’t Cry Indonesia.” But still waters run deep. After visiting one of the many
refugee camps, we had enough daylight left for a prayerful walk into the heart of the apocalypse
– a large residential area on the sea front – now a sea of devastation.

Again and again survivors approached us. Each one with a story to tell – one more time. Where
were they when the earth groaned and the sea came? What did they see? “The wave – eight
stories high,” said one. “Twenty dead in my family,” said another. “I alone am left,” said Akmal. “All
possessions gone. Habis. I am left alone.” This pattern recurred again and again over the next
few days. Stories they had already told to everyone they knew still needed telling to anyone who
would listen. We were there to listen. They didn’t ask for anything else.
A house that came to rest 500 meters from its foundation
Akmal, sole survivor of a family of ten
Aceh Apocalypse

Akam led us to the Aceh River and said goodbye. This river, I am told, was so full of bodies on
December 26th that you couldn’t see the water. A river of corpses. If a prophet had predicted it in
such terms I would have interpreted it symbolically. Armageddon? A lake of blood up to a horse’s
bridle? Symbolism, we say. That’s an easy answer. Too easy. Boats, not little fishing boats but large
boats and a ship deposited on dry ground five kilometers inland. That’s not symbolism.
A boat and a ship, each one five kilometers from the shore
One Will Be Taken and One Will be Left. –
Matthew 24:40

Rizwar was our Muslim driver. He has twins, a boy and a girl. He
had a seven-day old son who never saw the eighth day. First
stop: Lhok Nga – a large beautiful residential area and
recreational area too close to the beach, now a semblance of
ancient ruins. There we met Ahmad and Mukhlis, both nurses
who also came to see the remains of Lhok Nga. Ahmad lost 3
family members and his home. Mukhlis’ younger sister
perished. His home destroyed.
Ahmad, me, and Mukhlis
Rizwar
Mass grave at Lhok Nga, Aceh
Can These Bones Live?

Six weeks on and they are still
gathering 1000 bodies a day. The
first mass grave we passed
accommodated 10,000. It was
covered. The second (at Lhok
Nga) was still open. From the lip
of Sheol where I stood, I slowly
scanned the heaps of body bags.
Some had ripped, exposing the
unthinkable. “Can these bones
live?” Only you know, Lord.
The Fragrance of Life

I stood long and close to the edge of the pit. Abbadon. The fragrance of death
followed me into the car, clinging closely as if lusting to claim one more body. A
safe distance from the pit, I rolled down the window. But the headache had
already started. As I waited for sleep that night, headache gave way to
heartache. It was to be a night of watchful prayer and deep sighs, leading to a
place of strong faith for the salvation of Aceh. Our prayers rose as incense,
taking hold of the promise of 2 Corinthians 4:15, “For we are the aroma of Christ
to God among those who are being saved and among those who are
perishing.” The fragrance of the life of Jesus will overcome the stench of death
in Aceh.
If you would like to help with the relief work for Banda Aceh please give to the work of
restoration. You can send a check made out to  Moved With Compassion
with "relief" written in the memo and mail it to

Moved With Compassion
P. O. Box 45786
Baton Rouge, La.
70895-4786
King for a Day by Ed Pouson

In my own words, James 1:9 says, Let the lowly, undistinguished person rejoice in his high
position.

Another translation reads, “Let the brother of low degree rejoice in that he is exalted.”

This verse has been dear to me since my youth. It came back to me when I was riding on the
back of a truck in Banda Aceh on 24 February 2005 –two months after that deadly earthquake
and tsunami claimed some 200,000 lives and destroyed half the city.

The sight of foreign workers riding to and from construction sites in Singapore has often caught
my attention. I in my air-conditioned taxi with air-tight windows, and they packed into the back of
an uncovered truck bed. Lowly, undistinguished persons being hauled to and from work. I have
often looked into their faces and wondered how they felt.

Now it was my turn. I looked into the faces of the drivers around me, wondering what they
thought of us – a handful of wind-blown Americans, one Chinese, and one Acehnese on the
back of a work truck, being hauled to our construction site – a badly damaged school. A lot of
cleaning, a bit of reconstruction, and some paint to cover the water marks would allow a few
surviving students and teachers to teach and learn again.

This was classic reversal. “The last will be first, and the first will be last” (Mt. 20:16). How did it
feel? Exhilarating! From my lofty perch on the back of the truck, I wanted to smile at everyone. I
longed to cheer them. How did I feel? Exalted! “Let the lowly, undistinguished person rejoice in
his high position.” A foreign worker on the back of a truck on a busy Banda Aceh street being
hauled to a work site – I was king for a day.