Amidst the Storm

Hurricane Gustav came in with sleeplessness and anxiety on it's outer bands and threatened the hope and the recovery of Bay St. Louis as it seemed to be aiming directly for us... The days before it got here were thick with worry. There was a tangible silence and a stifling heaviness that settled here Wednesday. Gustav was still a taunting threat then, but as Katrina survivor Melanie Mitchell says, "burnt children are afraid of fire." With such a powerful hurricane projected for the gulf, the community was reminded of a not-so-distant 3 years ago, when they lost everything to a storm as big and unpredictable. Hearts were heavy with the question, "will I come back if it happens again?" 3 years was just long enough for many people to get there homes rebuilt and to acquire some meaningful and distantly familiar reminders of things they once owned.  Some people were realizing that they weren't as free of Katrina as they thought. Some people were absolutely fed up. One man said he would stay and keep his business open no matter what happened. He wasn't packing up or closing down again. I wasn't here right after Katrina. I didn't see all the devastation or smell the rot and decay of the land and the debris that faces still tighten at with a mere mention. But just being here in the anticipation of Gustav I think I understood it a little more than I ever did. The volunteers were supposed to pack up and leave on Friday, and as I could be considered a volunteer, it was suggested that Morgan and I leave that day. I secretly hoped it would turn like last summer's hurricane, and that we wouldn't need to evacuate. By Thursday it was obvious it was coming and we spent the day putting up shutters and packing houses and talking with residents about plans and fears and prayers. I had no peace about leaving Friday. I prayed that God might let us to stay longer and help more people prepare. I watched the weather channel long into the night, and finally prayed myself to sleep. At breakfast that morning Bonnie and Di told us we weren't leaving until Sunday. They said we were going to stay and help more and support St. Rose by being at church. I can't tell you how absolutely grateful and awe struck I was at the news. God had given me the chance to stay and work with the residents. To walk with them and pray with them for another couple days. Morgan and I started early, calling everyone we knew, and some we didn't, and offering to help in any way we could. It was both wonderful and solemn. Seeing the sadness in people's eyes and hearing the anxiety in the undertone of their requests and conversation was hard. At Saturday night mass, kneeling on the ground of the balcony, Morgan and I both wept... for the hope of working in vain... for the heavy hearts of those we prayed with and talked with... for the homes already gone in Jamaica and Cuba... I wept with the feeling of being overwhelmed and completely at a loss at times. God had put me in the middle of something completely beyond my experience or my abilities. I was in the midst of a storm I would never have thought myself capable to bear. And quite honestly, I'm not. It is God that walks me through it all. God permitted me to be there and it was at church that night that I exchanged my teeth-gritting strength for His unmatchable strength... I wept while I laid the burdens and the worries I had picked up along the day at the cross...  That night I called my friend Jo-Lynne in Colorado and we prayed together for Bay St. Louis, and for the ability to endure God's will. We begged for mercy. We begged for the souls that might be lost in the devastation of another hurricane like Katrina. We prayed for hours. Bonnie, Di, Morgan and I evacuated Sunday to Jackson, and watched the news off and on through the night. Gustav came Monday. God did have mercy on Bay St. Louis. It turned West just off shore and gradually made its way on land in Morgan City, Louisianna, which dulled its destructive possibility. We started for home before the Sunlight Tuesday morning and we were back in Bay St. Louis and working long before nightfall Tuesday evening. Hurricane Hannah was making her way toward the gulf and Ike was already a shadow of threat behind her. We worked putting furniture back up, mucking mud from a flooded house, removing limbs and debris from yards. Most  people left their windows shuttered or boarded and only unpacked what they really needed for day to day living. They didn't want to do it all again if another hurricane came near. Ike now thrashes over Cuba, devastating everything in its path, destroying homes and taking lives in a country with little outside alliances or support. My heart breaks for them. I only sleep at night because God lets me. Sometimes its not right away. Sometimes its not very long. I sleep, I don't often rest. It wasn't until tonight, when I was surrounded by the peace of God's presence in Di's house, with her voice gently comforting a friend on the other far off end of the telephone, lying outstretched on her soft love seat, that I realized how exhausted I was. I fell asleep on my back, which I never do, and surrounded by the comfort of true spiritual community and love, I slept the best 10 minutes I have slept in 2 weeks. It felt like hours. It felt like rest. A sudden, unexpected peace amidst the storm... God's gift to me tonight. I sit now hoping Ike will fizzle out and die! And praying for God's strength as His will be done...