Devastation and Inspiration

We skyped with Mom and Dad E. this evening. They've spent about fifteen hours of the last twenty-four at a Red Cross shelter at Missouri Southern State University. The tornado pretty much devastated the southern part of Joplin; my parents live downtown (which is more central) and the university is north-west, and they have power and some trickling water--they're under a boil-only restriction, due to thousands of water lines running and running where the storm went through.

Dad and Mom went down to the exercise room right before the tornado hit. While they were in there, one of their neighbors, Dr. __, got a text about St.John's, the hospital where he works. They heard him say, "No. That's not funny." St. John's was the hospital that was destroyed. They had to find out from my brother and sister-in-law what had happened in town because cable was down, radio was down. Even today that was the case until the afternoon.

Last night Mom and Dad first walked up to Memorial Hall, about three blocks from their condo, which they'd heard was a temporary shelter. Traffic was a mess because emergency vehicles were staged across the street from them in the courthouse and police department parking lots, and traffic from other parts of the city was diverted down Fourth Street due to debris. They'd never seen so many headlights on Fourth; they'd never heard so many sirens. Memorial Hall was chaotic. Bandaged people were coming out; no one really seemed to be in charge. They found out a shelter would be set up at MSSU and the Red Cross would need help there, so they drove up there and helped out until nearly four. When they got home, they were still hearing sirens.

This morning they were back at MSSU at eight. One minute, Dad said, they'd be carrying a bucket of water to help unclog a toilet; the next minute they'd be checking in families who were arriving at the shelter. The first man my mom checked in told her his name and his address--17__ Rex Avenue, Apartment _. My mom looked up at him and said, "Is that the Plaza?" He said, "It was the Plaza." He had jumped into his bathtub when the storm hit (what they say to do) and saw pictures and other stuff flying by the bathroom door after his patio doors blew out. The central community building, the swimming pool, were gone. The third floor apartments were gone. The Walmart and the Home Depot a few hundred yards from the complex were gone. And he'd taken pictures of this, which he showed my mom. Incredible. And a small world--when my parents first lived in Joplin, before they bought the condo, they lived at the Plaza.

Another couple came in and told how they'd been heading to Home Depot when they saw the storm coming. Right before they got to the parking lot they realized they weren't going to make it into the store, so they stopped the car on the road--left it running--and jumped into a steep ditch next to the road. The man said he looked over his shoulder and he saw the truck go up into the funnel--just plucked off of the road--and all of his power tools and supplies scattered and flying through the air. After the tornado had passed, after about forty-five seconds, they emerged from the ditch. Their truck had landed on the roof of Home Depot. But they were unscathed.

Another lady came in with some family members, and Dad could tell they were distraught. The lady's first words to my dad were, "Where's the morgue?" They had come to identify a body.

There truly are no words to describe the physical devastation, the emotional shock and anguish, people experience in tragedies like this. A siren goes off, and twenty minutes later entire livelihoods and lives are wiped away.

Dad and Mom said that today was tough, very tough--and also inspiring. Older people were coming in who had lost everything--their homes, mementos, everything. And they'd say to my parents, "But my kids and my grandkids are fine." Other people said the same thing--not that they didn't care that their homes were matchsticks, their cars totally wrecked; they were speaking from a very clear place of perspective. "We all made it." And they believed they would make it. Mom and Dad couldn't get over the constant donations coming in at the Rec Center across the way from where they were. A circle drive, and car after van after car dropping clothes, food, toothpaste, water, toys. I actually thought, maybe our materialist culture actually does some good in these situations. People lose all their stuff, and more people are there to give them more stuff. That's not all people need, or even close to what they need for the life to come--man shall not live by bread alone--but daily bread is sure needed and a great blessing. What a gift that God uses our hands to serve and love our neighbors.

The chaos at the shelter started dissipating by the late afternoon. Volunteers were finding their stride; organization and plans were slowly working their calm and comfort. You could tell, Mom said, that they'd had about twenty-four hours to adjust. This is a blessing, because tomorrow will be easier, and harder. The first responders and volunteers will know more. More people will need help. The weather--which has been abysmal for search-and-rescue--might still cause more problems. And people will have to start thinking about the next day, and the next day, and the next week, and the next month.

Today has brought us devastation and inspiration and perspective. Our petty worries seem paltry. Today Papa and I cherished hugging S and giggling with P--what a gift every day is. We thank God for His goodness in giving us another day, another reminder that He is always with us, caring for us, providing for us.Thank you for all your notes, thoughts, and especially prayers for Mom and Dad and everyone in Joplin. They will continue to need our support. Check out Mom's post about today here.