Yesterday was so full that I couldn’t process all of it at once. So I will attempt to finish up about our “Day One” back in Galveston. Just not right now. I’ll continue this later.
I continue this after two days. We stay busy all day. Put on gloves and mask. Wade through piles of furniture, books, nic-nacs, books, debris from the yard, books. Take a break. Take off the mask. Throw away the gloves. Douse your hands with germ-x. Drink water. Take a deep breath. Start over again. Shovel ruined stuff into wheelbarrow. Drag out moldy furniture, moldy clothes, moldy mattresses, moldy everything. Discover a treasure! Dunk it in Clorox. Wrap it up. Box it away. Discover a treasure! Shake our head sadly. Toss it into the pile. Hug the neighbor. They’re moving to California - or Arizona – somewhere it doesn’t flood. Cars drive by – a familiar face! More hugs. More tears. What about this? Can we save that? Have you seen the leg to this table? Can you find the little white jewelry box? Somebody brought food. Just two more loads and I’ll stop. The flood insurance guy is here. The wall is bowing out. Mold everywhere. Need an advance? I don’t know.
Sounds pretty jumbled, doesn’t it? It lives pretty jumbled, too. By the time we get to our “new home” we are so exhausted we can barely eat (but so far we have managed that!). That’s an overview picture of what our days have been like. But I promised to share a look at our initial reactions as well. For Chris it was one “Oh, my goodness” after another as she made her way through for the first time. She didn’t cry much – just varied the volume of her “Oh, my goodness.” They got fewer and fewer as she stiffened up, put on her long-retired head nurse persona, and said, “Let’s do this.” Tears did leak out on occasion, usually just between the two of us. And more often than not, a “What about this, Chris?” was met with a stare, a long pause, and an “I’m just not sure right now.” That lady is amazing. For me it was more of a silent journey. Of course I had to be “strong for Chris” (Mr. Macho, right?). But it was more than that. I could feel myself crawling into my proverbial “male cave” where I could remain somewhat detached from the chaos around me while I tried desperately to process what was happening. Honestly, I think I’m still there. I just can’t get my head screwed on straight enough to come up with the “right” list of action plans to deal with getting laundry facilities to the Volunteer fire fighters, planning a worship service without Lanny, knowing what questions to ask the adjusters, seeing that the bills get paid. Figuring out where in the pile to dump the next load (OK, I know that sounds flipped out just a little), wondering what I would do to support my family if a lot of Seasiders didn’t come back, deciding what to do next – literally. I feel like I’m in a fog emotionally and mentally. But guess what? Through it all, I can say that spiritually I have been at peace. And that above all else is a God-thing. I guess here is the perfect place for Philippians 4:6-7, “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”
Father God, there is so much going on right now that we can’t understand. Please shower us with that peace we are not able to understand. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment