Don’t you know that there

Ain’t no mountain high enough

Ain’t no valley low enough

Ain’t no river wide enough

To keep me from getting to you

— Nickolas

Ashford, lyricist

I’m terribly partial to most music from the 70s. That is because 70s tunes were playing when I was a teenager. I listened to them continually and with such volume that they entrenched my very soul. I have to work to remember my kids’ cell phone numbers but play a 70s tune and I can sing like there’s no tomorrow. I can’t help myself.

Thank goodness I was alone in the car one evening this week when I heard Michael McDonald sing the Motown hit, “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.” The former Doobie Brother’s distinctive voice instantly took me back to my senior year in college when our townhouse in Davis, Calif., vibrated with the sounds of “Jesus is Just Alright” and “Takin’ It to the Streets.” As I sang out to nobody, goose bumps worked their way down my neck and I thrilled with the chance to sing without being shut down by children claiming I’ve offended their tender ears.

But I shut down anyway, pulling to the side of the road for a moment to take a breath. For a moment I felt guilty for enjoying such a sweet melody. That is because just moments before hopping into my car and hearing McDonald sing his soulful promises, I had stared at my TV screen, filled with images of devastation so complete I can scarcely take it all in. I watched as the networks presented story after story of spouses, grandparents, children and loved ones being swept apart by tsunami waves so random and vicious there was no possibility of survival or rescue, no matter the love that bonded those individuals.

I thought of all the mothers who had always tucked their children into bed at night, promising their little ones that they would always be there no matter what. I wondered what it must have been like to lose the grip of a child too slick to hold onto as deadly currents and debris rushed by.

And it happened so fast. Too fast in many cases to strategize a possible escape plan. Or utter words of encouragement. Or love. There was only adrenaline and terror, disbelief and percolating acceptance that the ocean god had somehow been angered and needed a sacrifice to be subdued.

In spite of what we want or our best intentions, we sometimes cannot keep our promises. The river grows too wide, the mountain too high, the valley too low — due to no fault of our own. Tragedy happens to us and to those we know and care for. Frequently tragedy surrounds people we do not know and turns upside down a world we know little about.

My friend Dave is serving aboard the USS Lincoln that began delivering aid off the coast of the Indonesian island of Sumatra Tuesday. The carrier decks have been cleared for the most part to accommodate squadrons of helicopters that deliver supplies and water. Dave has e-mailed general observations to a contingency of friends and family members here in the States and he tells of natives so isolated from modern life they emerge from the jungles with little or no clothing, spears held high.

Imagine such modernity, coming in for a landing on the beach that just a few days before could not control waves that have nearly swallowed up their world.

I believe we are called to do much more than feel sorrow and compassion, although those are appropriate responses. Christ says in the book of Mark that we are not to run from suffering but embrace it, instead. How do I take Christ’s ancient words and bring them to life?

I think we give of ourselves using the talents and gifts we have within our reach. If you are blessed with financial means then carefully research relief organizations and give to a trusted organization. And do it quietly. I’m impressed on one level that Sandra Bullock has donated $1 million, but this donation could have been made without any publicity. God honors those who give because they feel called and expect no personal reward on any level in return.

We are to support our men and women who travel to the region offering relief services with prayer, phone calls, e-mail, personal items and donations. If we have the time, resources, technical expertise and a vision, perhaps we are to go ourselves.

We are to rethink our relationships with God and the broken relationships in our own lives. Tragic events are compounded by regret if we don’t trust God’s words and face the brokenness in our own lives.

Most of all, we must take God’s promises to heart: There is no mountain, no valley, and no river that will separate us from His great and eternal love.

It’s a song we must keep singing.

Freelance writer Joan Bay Klope’s e-mail address is jbklope@hotmail.com.