10/25/2024

It was Monday morning after the storm.  I didn't question whether or not I should go into town, only where I should go. Initially I tried to enter through the south end of town.  Driving as far as I could before walking, it was soon evident too much debris, downed power poles and lines weren't going to allow me through with my wheelbarrow and shovels.  I explored a few minutes, noticing the WART- radio station caboose on its side, and steps that now lead only to the ghost of a building.  There was no sign of life. The wreckage and mayhem before me were too much to take in. I returned to my truck and drove around to the north end of town. The devastation seemed insurmountable and overwhelming.  I trudged my way toward the center of town. The sound of heavy equipment began to ring through the streets.  I started to see familiar faces.  Residents and community members had shown up with whatever tools or skills they had ready to get to work.  Each new face brought another sigh of relief.  It felt like I was in some sort of TV drama.  It was all so surreal.  Everyday another new face appeared, some of whom had lost their entire business, or their home.  Their attitude and willingness to help others when they had lost so much was inspiring.  Each task carried out so as to step back and say, "There, that's a little better".   Supplies came rolling in and organizers mobilized in order to try and effectively use and distribute these efforts.  Locals stepped into roles they never imagined themselves being in because they saw the need.  Before long, these community driven efforts were being aided by people from across the nation, military troops and various organizations.  All the judgment boxes and labels were left behind as people stepped up just to help other people. The barriers of divisiveness broke down as we were humbled and reminded of the very delicate balance of life and loss. It was beautiful and moving and affirms what is already known but often forgotten; People are generally and genuinely good, wanting good for others. 

Optimism and hope began to fill buildings and began to fill us, as the gutted drywall and trash began to fill the streets.  The cacophony of generators and pressure washers reverberated throughout the walls.   By the end of the first week, pop up tents housed a medic, meals, waters, and PPE.  By the end of two weeks 1783 tons of debris had been taken to the landfill.  In three weeks, a few parking spaces and Main Street's double yellow line became visible in some areas.  These are all a sign of promise, a sign of tomorrow.  Now as those immediate needs have been met and the necessary steps of survival have been taken there is a shift into the next phase, thinking long term about rebuilding, getting through the winter, & storage.  Downtown is quieter. Electricity and water are gradually getting restored. One by one people must return to their lives.  Time doesn't stop even though many days it feels as though I'm stuck in September.  The helpers return home, return to work, return to their regularly scheduled programming.  In some ways it makes the days harder. The comradery and bond of being in this together wanes as the need to return to the demands of daily life continue.  But, life does go on. Now, there will always be before Helene and after Helene. I see with one eye how far we've come, while the other eye sees how far we have yet to go.  Yet, the progress in this short time has been remarkable.   I am reminded of the good Samaritan in Luke who stops without expectation or obligation to help.  The Samaritan, who saw a need and chose to act.  Family, friends, neighbors and strangers all stopped to act.  Whether they were making phone calls, caring for others, offering donations, making food to share, driving skid steers or slinging shovels full of muck, they showed up only by the requirement of the intrinsic need to love thy neighbor. They showed up as Samaritans.  As followers of Christ, we are called to be the body of Christ. And there, among the muck and the stench I realized I was working beside Christ, dressed as a Samaritan in rubber boots and a respirator.   

Click below for the full gallery of the first 8 weeks.