The earthquake in Haiti has been painful to witness. The destruction and death. The pain and anguish of people who had little, now reduced to having nothing.

For many of us, witnessing this event and others like it has been a tremendous test of faith.

The pain and sadness I felt when I watched the continued broadcasts of the survivors struggles was, at times, more than I could take. I was forced to turn off the TV and turn away for a while.

I believe I joined the rest of the world in searching for some lesson in the rubble. Something redemptive to help restore my faith that all is never lost. That God and faith and hope are still alive -- even amid such destruction.

The thing I have found most amazing in all of this were the voices of the people pulled from the rubble after being buried for hours and many for days.

I think about how we respond -- how I respond -- to "tight situations" in life. When money is tight. When bills are late. When illness threatens. When jobs are lost. Too often we become paralyzed by fear and forget to reach out for the things that would sustain us.

If we dare to compare our rich lives and small problems with the devastating situations Haitians are experiencing, we will find that they can teach us much.

Did you see the news clips of the Haitians pulled out of the concrete tombs? Did you hear begging and screaming and whimpering? Did you hear defeat? Did you see paralysis and fear? Did you see lack of faith?

I was continuously amazed by the faith and the will to survive coming from the rocks and the ruin. Wives who were pulled into the arms of husbands who had waited for days for their rescue. Women who emerged covered with dust and bodies broken while singing songs of praise and thanksgiving.

One woman, still trapped under the rocks, proclaimed her eternal love for her husband, even, she said, "If I don't make it out alive. Know how much I have always loved you."

I was again amazed at the men and women who made use of whatever was around them so that they could be found alive after many days. There were stories of men trapped in stores who survived on candy. Some drank urine. They did whatever they needed to do to hang on ‘til help came.

I can only imagine the pain, fear and anguish of being trapped in a small, confined space. Your limbs crushed. Without food or water for days. Without knowing if you will be rescued in time. Not knowing the fate of your loved ones.

I have heard preachers preach about and give opinions on why God would allow this calamity. My head, at times, swirled with questions of why.

Why?

Maybe the question "why" isn't the important question. Maybe the important question is "how.” How am I, as a person of faith, to behave during trying times? How do I survive the times when I feel trapped and alone? How do I overcome fear and loss to live and rebuild after a shattering loss? How can I stay sane and help myself survive when problems are heaped on top of me and I feel as if I am being crushed by their burden?

How is it that people who have been given so little are able to show so much dignity and faith during such horrendous times? How can a nation of people survive such a calamity to rebuild anew? How can I do any less in my own life after all I have been given? How can I move beyond my morbid fascination with the horrible scenes from Haiti to becoming a part of helping them survive?

I will always have in my memory the picture of Kiki, a 5-year-old Haitian boy who was entombed along with his siblings for days. His younger brother was found dead in the same hole from which he and his sister would be pulled, dehydrated and near death.

Young Kiki refused at first to be freed from his concrete grave until he was assured that his sister would also be pulled free. And at last, as he allowed himself to be lifted to freedom, he raised his arms high, as if in Olympic victory. A brilliant smile lighting his face.

Much like Celie in the “Color Purple,” he seems to say, "I may be poor. I may be dusty. I may be broken. But dear God, I'm here!"

I will always remember the lessons from Haiti. I will forever be ashamed to aim for less than these brave people do as they fight for and win the victory over death amid the rubble. The world will now watch as they rebuild and the wise among us will learn from them as we help them recover.

D. Barbara McWhite grew up in York County and lives in Orange Park, Fla., with her husband and cat.

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