Helping hands
Looking out the windows of the bus at all the devastation, it would be easy for some to believe that God was not present during the storm, or that God didn't care about the people whose lives were affected. But I knew He was there, giving them courage and peace, protecting them from the worst. He was also there in the thousands of volunteers that showed up to help clean up.At first, as we drove on the bus to the site where we would be working, there were no signs that a tornado had come through. Crops were untouched, almost ready for harvest. The houses were undamaged. But, as we drove further, we began to see clues of what was coming. Paper and insulation in the trees. Branches and shingles on the ground. Then we got to ground zero. I was not totally prepared for what I saw. And this had only been an F3 tornado, not an F4 or F5 that they see in the heartland of our country.
While there have been many tornado clean ups in our state, and undoubtably will be countless more, this was the first time I had been a participant in the clean up. The tornado struck outside the small town of Cleveland, just west of St. Peter, and a little over an hour drive away from my relative protection in the suburbs of Minneapolis. A small group from our church decided to drive down and help any way we could. We were among the early arrivals, and were on one of the first busses to leave. One of the first things we saw was a graveyard, in which almost all of the headstones and monuments had been toppled. Some of them were massive, and gave a clue as to the force of the winds that had done this.
We were being taken to a farm owned by George Z., our leader told us. George was lucky in that his house, and most his out buildings had been spared. His sons’, who both lived nearby on farms of their own, had not been so lucky. They had lost their houses, and with them, all the personal stuff we take for granted; pictures, journals, heirlooms, and all the other stuff that makes our houses become homes. The tornado had totally destroyed 29 homes, and severely damaged another 47 homes, which is a pretty large number when you consider how rural it is. At George’s, however, we were there to do field clean up. The fields were full of debris from the storm, and that debris would need to be removed before any work could be done. Those fields of corn and soy beans represented his living, his income for the year.
As we drove onto the property, we began to see what we would be facing. Huge pieces of sheet metal littered the fields, as well as wood, shingles, and branches, some as big as small trees. We were organized into a long line at the edge of the first corn field, and we began to move across it. If we picked up something, the idea is to hand it down the line to the middle, where a tractor with a hay wagon was moving with us, and load it on. If we found any personal stuff, we were to place it in a box, where people would look at it later, and try to find the owners. Now, walking across a cornfield sounds easy. I thought it would be, anyway. But most of the corn had been blown down at about knee high. There were also no rows to follow anymore. So you had to kinda "high step" through the corn, lifting your leg over the tops. It didn’t take long to discover there were muscles I had been neglecting. But I just kept in mind why I was there, and pressed on. In fact, as I told some of my fellow volunteers, people pay big bucks to the gyms for workouts like what we were getting for free. I also kept telling myself that the pain was my friend, but I don’t think I ever really believed it.
In the end, we collected three massive piles of tin roofing and corrugate steel, as well as two equally large piles of wood, and a smaller pile of shingles and such. We were then driven back to town, where we were fed, by more volunteers, a wonderful lunch. As I ate and looked around, I noticed people wearing shirts with the logos of different churches. I saw families that had come together. I saw whites, blacks, Asian, young, old, even Muslims, all brought together to serve people we didn’t know, but who needed us to be there for them. And the truth is, we were all brought together by God, to answer the prayers of those who were devastated by the storm. And while I know that we could not fix everything that was broken by that storm, I know we were able to help, at least a little, as was evident when George, with tears in his eyes, thanked us for all we did. And I knew God was there; in George, in me, and in all of the volunteers who gave up a Saturday to help someone in need. God is indeed glorious! May He bless each of you today, and always. Your brother in Christ, Ken
posted by the voice @ 9:40 AM
8 Comments:
Beautiful post, Ken! I always want to be willing to be the hands and feet of Christ to the world around me!
Beautiful post, Ken! I always want to be willing to be the hands and feet of Christ to the world around me!
Beautiful post, Ken! I always want to be willing to be the hands and feet of Christ to the world around me!
As someone who lived through an F5 when I was six I want to say thank you. Had it not been for the volunteers who came around and freed us from the basement we were all trapped in we no doubt would not have gotten out safe and sound.
It's an amazing thing to go where nobody expects to see you, isn't it? I remember to this day the faces of those young high school boys who raised all my brothers and I up on their shoulders so we could get to safety without stepping on downed power lines or debris.
God bless you for being one of those people.
Oh Ken... I think you just saw into the heart of God and it sounds as if it was the most amazing, precious sight. It may only have been a Saturday to you, but it was a day to remember for George and the others who got help when they needed it.
I can't imagine living through this with insight instead of fear you are amazing!
Sometimes we forget the 'survivors' and the clean up required after the storm. Thanks for sharing this and reminding us to think of others and help!
Incredible story, Ken! Thanks for sharing.
Post a Comment
<< Home