I distinctly remember the Thanksgiving Day flood of 1984 in West Palm Beach. Over 11 inches of rain fell in a 48 hour period. We lived on a hill - well what was considered a hill in South Florida. The water didn't endanger our house, but, being a child, it was a traumatic experience for me. Growing up in Florida, I was no stranger to rain ... or to hurricanes. But to see grown ups freaking out over that level of water? That really struck a chord with me.
Since that time, I have experienced many severe rainstorms. I've been through several hurricanes, including the terrifying Charley. We sat huddled in our hallway on a mattress - me, Heather, toddler Josiah, and baby Natalie. The eye of the storm went right by our house. That storm brought significant damage to the area. And it was compounded as two other hurricanes struck within six weeks.
Even through all of that, there was always something altogether different about a flood. It is hard to think of a weather event more terrifying than an out of control flood. As a kid, we went to a Christian and Missionary Alliance Church, where we had heard the story of when the dam broke at Toccoa Falls College in Georgia (a CMA college). The thought of water overwhelming an entire city with people completely unable to escape is just awful. We all remember the pictures of Katrina. I had friends there who lost so much. The scope of that disaster was so great, it eclipsed any nightmare I could have generated. I thought about how a different chain of events in our lives could have led us to New Orleans - I was lined up to go to seminary there at one point. Instead I just watched, horrified by the tragedy.
Almost two years ago, Columbia suffered a catastrophic flood. The kids and I got stranded out of town during the event. We watched from afar and worried. The drive back was haunting, looking over areas we knew and loved and seeing it all replaced by massive fields of water. Once again, we were fortunate as our home was spared due to its location on a hill with a lake behind it to swell as the water drained. The series of dams that collapsed across the city didn't funnel water our way. There was almost a kind of survivor's guilt that set in as we noticed all of the pain around us. Several of Heather's coworkers at the hospital had their homes devastated. We tried to help out in whatever way we could, but it always seemed so minor in scope.
Now, here we are watching yet another flood destroy another city we love. Once again we have been spared the worst thanks to our location. Our pain is largely one of inconvenience. School is cancelled for a week. We are stuck in the house. It may be hard to replenish our supplies if trucks can't get through the flood. Heather can't get to work. The ever-present tornado warning alarm is super annoying and anxiety generating. All around us there are horrific pictures and loss. The thought that the rains are still coming tonight and tomorrow and maybe for several days after that? It seems cruel to those people already in such distress.
I know that once we are able to, we will try to help out however we can. But again that survivor's guilt sets in. I'm glad that Heather got stuck here instead of at the hospital, but I feel bad about those attending doctors who have been there for three days and counting. I'm relieved that our belongings seem to be safe, but I'm broken-hearted for those all around us who have to start from nothing. I feel blessed - undeservedly so. When we were moving here, we were torn between two houses. One was larger and would have fit our family very well, but the owner never got back to our agent's inquiries. We went with this house instead. The other house is in a neighborhood that has been underwater since the first night of storms. One person from Houston had told us to look at Clear Lake when we moved here; another said to look in Baytown. Both of those cities have been decimated by some of the worst of the storms. I know God placed us here, and there was a reason - one beyond just us being safe during the flood.
I have no idea why it seems like we are magnets for freakish weather. Trust me, that's not a reputation I enjoy. Maybe it is so we can shine some light on these situations so others will be encouraged to help. Maybe it is so we can minister to the people around us in the aftermath. I don't have any great wisdom that I've attained through this. It did show me just how many people care about us. It showed me what a great company I work for and what a great team I am a part of there. It showed me how - somehow - we've managed to create a safe place for our kids even in the worst of times. Beyond that, I'm still trying to figure it out as I hurt for those around us.
For those of you reading, please think about how you can help. Donations to reputable organizations like the Red Cross are always a good option. We know several families who will be rebuilding their lives, so if you want to help on a more personal level let us know. There are disaster relief organizations making plans to come to Texas who will need volunteers. And keep praying. The storm isn't over; more water is on the way, as well as more damage. I'll keep sending updates via Facebook. And if I gain any great insights, I'll be glad to share. Love you all. Stay dry.
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