I got another shock today. Not from an exposed plug or a downed power line. Nothing so easy. My shock this time was one of those that wake you from complacency and force you to open your eyes, see what’s happening around you, and do something. It’s like in a kids’ baseball game. You know, the proverbial right fielder who cares more about picking flowers and chasing butterflies than about proper stances and outfield placement. He’s the guy who very much enjoys his place in the position of least game involvement, because it allows him more time to daydream. Then the ball is hit his way. All eyes turn to him. He, of course, is oblivious to all but his immediate surroundings – the grass, the doodle bugs, the anthill. And then comes the inevitable cry from his teammates in the infield, and from his coach on the bench, and from the parents in the stands, “Heads up! Catch the ball!” When he finally realizes the commotion is being directed at him, he does look up. If he’s lucky the ball lands somewhere near his immediate field of vision, so he jumps into action like he knew it all along, runs to the ball, picks it up, and throws with all his might, hopefully in the general direction of the infield. Then, for at least a pitch or two, he‘s in the game, watching every move, mimicking his favorite big-leaguer’s stance. Until the next butterfly. Or cricket. Or dandelion.
Today I realized that I was that kid. In my feeble attempts to focus on getting the house gutted, and doing it the way Chris wanted so she could salvage every possible item, and arranging for supplies from outside groups, and setting up future mission trips, and preparing teachings and getting the service planned, and forwarding our address, and fretting about not having internet, and feeling isolated, and worrying about Seasiders and what they will need … in the midst of that, I was shocked to reality. The place we are staying is not our home. We can’t be here indefinitely and casually take our time working on the house and finding contractors. My brother called and let me know that they usually close up the house for the winter months, because they simply can’t afford to keep it open. The electric heater is terribly inefficient, so energy bills are impossible. The house is also the only place his doctor wife has to get away from her hectic pace and escape. He wasn’t kicking us out. He just asked the question that I had buried deep in the vast recesses of my aging mind: “What are you going to do next?” Then, to top off the day, I got a totally random call from FEMA giving me the names of some apartment complexes in Pearland that I might want to look into for a place to stay. The nice lady started our conversation off by asking where I was staying and then came the killer, “What are you going to do next?”
What am I going to do next? I honestly had no answer. We don’t know yet whether we will be allowed to rebuild at all. In my collection of disaster relief resources I had a few options for places to stay: several homes offered rooms, two families had offered travel trailers, a few had opened their second homes or rental properties. The problem was, I had never even considered that I should be paying closer attention to them as a resource for my own family. I was the little right fielder.
I talked to Chris about it. We are now planning to be out of this house by the end of the month. That gives us two weeks to put together some kind of budget that includes rent and a house payment. I have my list of folks to call. I found the ball rolling around near me, so I have picked it up and I’m trying to heave it back to the infield – to those “better athletes who always play the infield” – the ones who know better than I do about such things as trailers and renting houses. And once again I realize how desperately I need the coach.
Psalm 63:1 says, “O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water.” I don’t know about the “no water” part, but out here in right field, I sure do understand the thirsting and longing.
Father – Coach – I’m lost out in right field – again. I don’t know where to go from here, literally. Please give me a “holy heads up.” Amen.
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