September 4 – “What do I do now?”

Well, I’ve been asking myself how come I haven’t come out with any profound, definitive statement on storm recovery, or some psychological profile of who best should be counseling victims and how, or maybe at least a theological treatise on the problem of evil and suffering in a post-Harvey world.  This morning I think I finally figured out why.  That’s just not me. 

Oh, I’ve been in a position to understand storm recovery, all right.  We had five feet of water in our house during Hurricane Ike.  We ripped out sheetrock and hardwood floors and dealt with insurance adjusters and FEMA and sub-contractors.  We smelled the unmistakable stench that is mold and raced to the clinic for a tetanus booster after discovering an errant mail.  We saw neighbors distraught and neighbors strong as a rock.  We saw relief groups sweep in from all over the country, all desperate to help for no reason other than … to help.  And I see all of that is happening again.

I remember finally being allowed to return to the Island and seeing all the destruction.  I remember huge misplaced yachts lined the causeway.  I remember familiar landmarks were just not there.  I remember turning onto our street and thinking just what Chris said out loud, “It looks like a war zone.”  And over the course of weeks, I remember our neighbors banding together and working together to organize our chaos and wait for the monstrous claw truck to come haul away a lifetime of precious memories.  I remember being stunned.  I remember being confused.  I remember being a little scared.  I remember grasping onto the promise in the Bible that “joy comes in the morning,” and I remember praying for that “morning” to come really soon.  And I am remembering all those things again.

I remember wondering.  Wondering about our neighbors who finally threw up their hands and left town, never to return.  Wondering about when the aid group would be set up for lunch at the parking lot around the corner so we could stand in the food line - again - and be deliriously happy with whatever delicacy they placed on our plate.  Wondering if it was really the stress of the storm’s aftermath that caused our neighbor’s sudden heart attack.  Wondering if the baby growing inside April’s womb would be all right after exposure to the fumes.  Wondering about those who were not affected and wondering … wondering … why.  And in the midst of my wondering and knowing in my heart that no theologically pat answer would ever be quite enough, again grasping for assurance that it would end soon and we would get through it and it would be “morning.”  And I hear, no it’s more that I feel, those same aches from people again.

But, see, I’m a fairly simple guy.  Sometimes all the education in the world serves solely to help you understand that glaring fact of life.  I think in crisis situations we all tend to default back into our most familiar.  So what should I do in the wake of Hurricane Harvey?  What should you do in the wake of Hurricane Harvey?  What should the people of Dickinson do?  Or Hitchcock?  Or Santa Fe?  Or League City?  Or Alvin?  Or any of the myriads of counties and neighborhoods across the Texas Gulf coast – what should we do?  And what of the little tiny barrier Island off the coast of Texas that was incredibly, unbelievably, for the most part, spared ... what should Galveston do?  No long, drawn out detail here on how to muck out a house or how to most effectively rip out sheetrock.  All I know to do in situations like this is what I have learned to do when circumstances aren’t so overpowering.  Love.  I leave you with one of my favorite sayings … Don’t do nothing because you can’t do everything.  Do what you can do.  And you can … Love.

So what does Love look like in a post-Harvey world?  Offer to wash clothes.  Go muck out a stranger’s house.  Offer to baby-sit while parents work on their house.  Offer that spare bedroom to someone who would love to be just a little closer to their daily commute to a torn-up house.  Cook a hot meal and have someone over at the end of a long day.  Or take that meal to the work site.  Be a little more diligent; search out neighborhoods that have been forgotten by the flood of relief that has come to the area and take them supplies.  Then stay and help use them.  Be kind to the clerk at the grocery store.  That guy behind you at the gas pump?  Buy his gas.  Hand someone a little cash.  He might be having to eat out a lot, or pay for a hotel room, or for new medicine.  Or he may be doing just fine.  It’s the gesture that shows love.  Tell him to give it someone else.  Be a resource.  Know where relief centers are.  Learn how to connect with FEMA and what to say to insurance companies.  The list goes on and on and on.  How about one final idea … Pray for each other and give out hugs, freely and often.

Psalms 30:5 says, “Weeping may remain for a night, but joy comes in the morning.”

Father, help me to love.  Period.  Amen.