The nightmare became reality. I woke up with a body wracked by anxiety. And all the voices around me were screeching. And I felt like there was no safe place. So I lay down on the floor and let my dog hug me. And I let my bunny lick me with his velvet soft tongue. And I cringed. Because what can you do when chaos erupts? When the tornado hits?
You hide. You hide and cling to those who love you.
We were watching the news when the tornado came to Ferguson on Friday, April 22, 2011. I received a text message from my boss asking if we were safe because he saw the tornado heading in our direction. So my husband looked out the window and hollered, “Everyone to the basement!” And we ran like the wind. We sat there shivering as the power went out. And we wondered if the house would collapse on top of us. When the storm was over, we climbed the stairs and looked outside, but it was nighttime and too dark to see anything. So we climbed into bed and tried to sleep—our only relief that the walls still stood around us.
The next morning I put on my workout clothes and went out to walk and survey the damage to my neighborhood. Many mighty trees had been uprooted and my neighbors were standing in their front yards, bewildered and dismayed. When I saw the chaos, I began to cry. Many of the beautiful houses were damaged and it felt like they could never be repaired. My neighbors and friends were hurting and I felt like a spectator. I tried to offer kind words of reassurance but my words weren’t helping. It was clear after a few minutes of talking to people that I was causing more harm than good. I was ashamed of myself for acting like a tourist to their trauma, and I quickly ran home.
The tornado was devastating. But what happened afterwards was beautiful. Many people came out of their homes and began to help each other. There was no power, but we heard the roar of chainsaws. We saw trucks with chains pulling giant trees off houses. We saw our Mayor, the humble James Knowles, and his father, with chainsaws in hand clearing away brush. The cleanup took months but it happened one hour at a time, one handful of branches at a time, one hug at a time. We saw our community united and I have never been more proud. The beauty that happened after the storm far outshone the devastation.
There was a storm in our country yesterday. A powerful storm. Today it feels like the lights have gone out and all the trees are down. People are scared. People are angry. People are anxious. So many hearts are not safe right now—least of all my own. But today is the day after the storm and we have a choice. We can walk around the neighborhood and survey the damage(it’s quite evident!) We can celebrate the devastation of our neighbor’s house—you know that stinky neighbor who annoys you with his property negligence and derelict children. You can laugh at his discomfort as he sweeps the water out of the basement and secretly wish he gets mold and has to move….
Or you can pick up a broom and help him clean up.
This action takes incredible strength and courage. It means setting aside your thoughts and feelings and exhibiting love. Real love is messy. But real love is strong. And beautiful. And courageous.
I hear a lot of people crying, but I don’t see a lot of people helping. We need more helpers.
This morning my help came from a facebook post by Andrew Peterson. It simply said, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” – Julian of Norwich
Just a few helpful words that soothed my anxiety this morning, but they were so sweet—like honey to my soul. I just needed someone, anyone, to tell me that all shall be well.
Today is the day after the tornado (though it feels more like a hurricane). I feel swamped and soggy, shivery and cold. My house is battered and my children are crying. And I’m trying to figure out how to cook a meal with no electricity. And I’m hopeful somebody, anybody, will take compassion on me.
God bless the helpers.
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