Aftermath

I still have a hard time believing that Texas got its ass kicked by some guy named Harvey. It isn't a tough enough name to bring down a state like Texas. It should have been Hurricane Clint or Hurricane Deathstar. That just needed to be said.

Once I finally had a moment to actually sit and think yesterday, I began to process the last week or so. That spilled over to the the last year, eighteen months, two years. In the last two years, we went through a citywide devastating flood in Columbia, SC. Then we moved across the country. Then my mom died. Then my Rheumatoid Arthritis flared out of control. All through that I battled severe depression. And now a region wide devastating flood in Houston. That is all in addition to the normal financial, psychological, and emotional stress involved in raising two teenagers and an active elementary kiddo - as well as watching a never-ending string of incidents making me believe the world has spun out of control. It has been a tumultuous, trying, and exhausting two years.

As I've tried to maneuver through this season, I have found it increasingly difficult to carry on. For the first time in my life, I have found myself asking questions that are quite uncomfortable. I have never been shy about my Christian faith. I have worked on church staff and am an ordained minister - although one who is not currently serving in that capacity. Throughout my life, I have lived synonymously with my faith. It is not something that I do weekly; it is woven into who I am. I have never resorted to prayer only in the toughest of moments. Attending church was not something done only as my world spiraled out of control. Yes, I allowed myself to drift in my ferocity of faith and I allowed things to enter my life that were against a Godly pursuit. But it was impossible to explain who I was to someone - to have them truly know me - without faith being a primary characteristic.

That faith has been tested and refined over the years. There were moments where I felt confused and abandoned. There were moments of startling clarity as I realized something I had been taught actually ran counter to the Bible. There were moments of intense anger over judgmental, hypocritical, legalistic people and their comments and behaviors. Through all of that, I could still separate the people from the faith. People are mean and stupid and selfish and misguided. They are going to misrepresent, misinterpret, and miscommunicate things. As long as I personally was in the right place, all that didn't matter.

The last two years have tested that. Yes, I have felt betrayed and abandoned by God's people. I have felt distant from church, hesitant to lower an ever-increasing barrier between me and others. But, more than that, I have felt betrayed and abandoned by God Himself. With each passing disaster, it became harder and harder to cling to my faith. Watching the already financially struggling city of Columbia suffer the blow of a devastating flood pained me. Hearing tales of vans plowing through crowds, gunmen shooting up clubs (in my beloved Orlando, no less), and bombers murdering innocent children sickened me.  Seeing my mom - this woman of faith - slowly deteriorate from unbeatable cancer silenced me. Crying out in pain and loneliness and hearing only a hollow echo instead of comforting words crippled me. A few mere months ago, I was a shell of myself. I literally sat weeping uncontrollably in a closet  I felt alone and worthless, ignored by friends and neglected by the God I served my whole life.

When it came to the time of me having to see that same destruction Columbia faced come to an even larger Texas region?  Instead of it knocking me further into a hole, it somehow emboldened me. I found my voice again.  I know that the series of posts I put up on Facebook consisted of silliness and jokes laced throughout the serious information. But that was a big step for me. I hadn't been able to produce anything even on that scale for so long. So what does that have to do with anything?

I am a story teller. I am the product of two storytellers. It is a part of me as much as my O+ blood, my black hair, and my light sheen from donut grease seeping up through my pores. It is something God gifted me with, and something that thrives the most when I am the most at ease with Him. It is little wonder than my voice fell silent so much in the last two years.  It still flashed when I was teaching for Kaplan or working on an event for my church (one of the rare times I dragged myself there). But mostly it felt like a fire that couldn't stay burning. It would spark and sputter and smoke and then fizzle. But during this last challenge, I found myself finally understanding that silence is not the same as abandonment. A lack of contact doesn't equal a lack of concern. And I could not be further away from being unloved.

Time and again, we found ourselves escaping tragedy without realizing it.  We came to recognize that the house we chose last May was the only house we looked at that remained (largely) unaffected by Harvey. We started getting supplies three days before the storm arrived, so we had everything we needed during those initial waves of rain and tornado warnings. When we had to evacuate on Monday, we could not reach the first place we headed. Each road we turned onto was rapidly filling with water - Heather would sometimes realize it mere feet in front of her and swing a U-Turn away from danger. That hotel and the area surrounding it ended up being flooded and isolated - and still is. The next hotel we headed to was full. It also ended up flooded. We landed at a crappy Crossland hotel and managed to wrangle their last room with two beds. We found supplies to supplement the ones we brought from home. And then we went out the next day and got other supplies to flesh out our anticipated long stay. Instead, we were able to map an escape to our friends Andrew and Natalie. As we were packing, I asked the family next door if they could use some of our food we had bought. They were a family with five kids who had evacuated from a flooded out region near Katy. When we realized that, we gave them all the food we had bought and most of what we had brought. We gave them the comforters we purchased, the snacks (their kids cheered), and even the Blu-Ray player we had gotten. Being able to help someone else while we were escaping our own challenges?  That was something special. We made it to our new place of refuge and experienced such generosity and love. And we also realized that the hotel we escaped was now isolated and blocked due to flooding - which was shocking, since it was fine when we left.

In addition, we were flooded (pun intended) by people offering us shelter, checking on us, trying to find out if we needed help. Twenty people offered us houses to stay in. TWENTY!  One day, between my phone and Heather's, the text notification chimes were ringing nearly non stop. As if Andrew and Natalie weren't generous enough by letting us disrupt their lives, they wouldn't let us help with groceries or a pizza payment. People from literally every era of my life contacted me at some point to check on us. My coworkers at Kaplan were incredible in covering for me and checking on me and doing everything they could to help from far away. You probably don't realize how healing this was. I have been so crippled by feeling alone. I felt like I only mattered to people when I could do something for them. Day after day I felt like I was slipping away and no one cared. I felt invisible. All I was good for was to drive kids places and do a lousy job keeping up with household chores - and virtually show up for work. If I disappeared, no one outside of my house would even care. I was completely floored to see that was not close to true. Each point of contact strengthened me. Every time someone sought me out to check on me or offer help, it further pushed away the dark.

All of that combined to pull me out of the dark shroud I had enveloped myself with. I recognized I had hardly been alone or abandoned. I cannot express how incredible it is to awake to this reality. I am not saying that the tragedy around me is better or that "it was all worth it for me to..." This is awful and sickening - the mark of a broken and twisted world crying out. But on a personal front, which really is all I can speak on, this event was renewing for me. That will allow me to start looking outward again, seeing where I can make a difference. Instead of being the death knell for my faith, it served to awaken it and rekindle it. I am not the man I was two years ago. My voice has been restored and I have a message to send. I have a hint of what it will be, and it thrills and frightens me. I have been both softened by trial and hardened as well. I am gentler and angrier. I am ready to fight for what is right, to oppose injustice and rage against wrongdoers. A different storm has broken inside.

Flooded with thoughts

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.