"You're blessed when you are at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule" (Matt. 5:3, Eugene Peterson, The Message).

This beatitude of Jesus has been helping me as my heart reaches out to the many thousands of people affected by South Asia's tsunamis. The words remind me to get outside myself—my sadness and confusion.

I had been overwhelmed by the extent of the tragedy: millions of people without homes, without family members, without the lives they once knew. As a German citizen living in Berlin, I was also deeply affected by reports of the many Europeans killed or missing in the wake of the disaster. For tourists from Europe, the coasts of Thailand, India, and Sumatra are the closest thing to a paradise on earth. And now it seems that paradise is lost forever.

As I talked about these issues with my husband, Klaus, he mentioned that he perceives a loss of trust worldwide, a skepticism that good things are happening, and how little control we have over the forces of nature. He compared the tsunamis' surprise element to the sudden effects of a random terrorist attack.

Last month in our Bildzeitung (Boulevard newspaper) there was the headline: "Does the earth want to get rid of us?" Thoughts like this make me seek protection—not just for my family and myself, but for all of humanity. I see the whole of humanity as sitting in one boat, sailing in the same direction, facing similar issues, wherever we are.

Can I be content with relative safety and calm in Berlin if any member of our large human family is suffering and needing? I feel called to dedicate my daily affairs of life to a larger goal—to work for this world to become a better, fairer, safer place for my global family.

As a prayerful person, I have experienced God's presence in the face of sickness and loss, bringing health and a sense of completeness. Getting to know God better over the years has given me the conviction that my hope for peace depends crucially on what I hope for and do for others.

I really do not want to hide behind my bank accounts and a stable life—in fact, this tragedy has impelled me to pray for more practical ways I can help. So, one practical thing we've decided to do as a family is to support financially the efforts of the relief workers in Asia. And our church gave one Sunday's collection to an aid organization.

But I've decided the most important donation I can make is to think more compassionately every situation.

I am making new efforts to make less of me and live my life more for humanity, embracing my world family in my actions and prayers. I'm working to turn fears and concerns into something practical—into comforting words and sympathetic actions whenever possible.

Whether I'm at work, in my car at rush hour, with relatives needing nursing care or teenagers struggling to know who they are, I am more determined than ever to recognize every opportunity for loving action, to make a contribution to the world.

For example, sitting on the subway, I consciously bless everyone around me. Walking through streets of Berlin, I make a special effort to be alert to love and to act compassionately—even when I'm tired or stressed about my own life.

Nineteenth-century poet Anna E. Hamilton's words ring true for me:

Introducing Hamilton's comforting lines at the close of her autobiographical work, Retrospection and Introspection, nineteenth-century religious leader Mary Baker Eddy wrote: "In the first century of the Christian era Jesus' teachings bore much fruit, and the Father was glorified therein. In this period and the forthcoming centuries, watered by dews of divine Science, this 'tree of life' will blossom into greater freedom, and its leaves will be 'for the healing of the nations' " (pp. 94-95).

I firmly believe that each act of kindness, each thought of peace, opens a window on the immense blessing power of "God and his rule," for all nations. lcss

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