Nearly five years ago, my dad died in a plane accident. He was flying at sunset in the Texas Hill Country, and the engine of his single-engine 1947 Piper Cub malfunctioned during take-off.
In the week following my dad’s accident, I felt a peace that truly went beyond understanding. It was awful, worse than anything I had ever imagined having to live through - Dad was never coming back. He would never know his grandchildren, he would never grow old with my mom, he would never give me away. Our hearts ached, to say the least. But at the end of the day, we were okay. We clung to our faith, and each other, and at the end of the day, we were okay. We were grateful. We were covered in His grace.
This past week has felt eerily similar to the week Dad died. It feels like time has stopped - Drew and I have asked looked at each other several times, asking, “What day is it!? Is this really happening?”
It's been a roller-coaster of emotions. (And to be clear, we did not get water in our home. We are hurting for a handful of friends, for strangers’ stories, for our entire city.) A friend whose home flooded described it well: “I want to laugh, I want to cry, I want to cuss… sometimes all at the same time!”
Why?? Why, Lord? Where are you in this? You could fix this! I want to quote the hilarious Jen Hatmaker, "Fix it, Jesus!!" But joking aside, we know you could, Lord, you could have fixed this. We are left wondering, where is the goodness in this mess? Total, complete, stinking mess.
And then moments later, we see goodness. We watch the interview with the man who drove through the night with his boat from Kentucky, just because he "couldn't sleep, and the Lord put a burden on his heart to come down here and help people."
After Dad's accident, people just started showing up. They brought meals, they brought cases of bottled water, they brought toilet paper because they realized we wouldn't be going to the store- even though we didn't realize it. They saw needs and they met them, no questions asked. People gathered in our front yard when the house was full, because they longed to be near us. The house was full of our loved ones, and they overflowed to the front street. I remember looking through our front window, my mind in a fog, I was deeply comforted by the crowd.
It is the same in the shelters. They are overflowing with volunteers. Some volunteers have waited in line for hours, killing time outside the convention centers, unable to serve because it's full, but unwilling to go home. The same as Gentry’s Young Life kids that gathered in our front yard - they want to be near the hurting, even if they didn’t have a specific “task.”
The Sun Continues to Shine
It felt odd to be out in the sunshine this week. The world around us is still dark. Still in turmoil. Still in a storm. The sun shines on the murky, stinky water as it rises into homes. The rain has stopped, but the devastation keeps coming. Sort of like when the shock of Dad's plane crash wore off: the hurt kept coming.
That's exactly how I felt driving down 1960 on the way to Jay Chenoweth's service. The sun should not be out! I think I said it out loud, riding in the back seat next to Amy and Gentry as we rode with my parents to John Wesley. I leaned my head against the window, heavy with hurt for our friends who had lost their dad. My stomach in knots, unable to understand why Jay had to leave this Earth. There should not be sunshine, I thought. The sky should not be that pretty bright blue color.
But the sun must shine. It cannot stay behind the clouds forever. We must continue to breathe. We must continue to laugh. Because, at the end of the day, we have hope. Hope everlasting. We have the peace that passes understanding.
4 Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. 5 Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; 6 do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. 7 And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. -Phillipians 4:4-7
Peace That Passes Understanding
In the week after dad's plane crash, I marveled at the peace that washed over me, and remained. This peace...it was hard to describe...it truly did guard our hearts and minds.
I was in wonder at the number of people who showed up to love us, to stand shoulder to shoulder with us in our grief. When it became hard to describe where God was during our immense sorrow, it became clear when we looked around at our friends: here He was. Here was Christ in action. Here was God with us.
We are with you, Houston. Shoulder to shoulder. Even as we ask "why" we can look around and find these stories of love, hope, courage, faith. We can see the body of Christ through one another's actions.
Our close friends vacuumed our house and took out our trash and cleaned our kitchen every night the week after dad's death. They didn’t ask “how can we help?” They just got down to work. They showed up. Like the man in Kentucky, they just "had a burden on their heart" to love people, to love on us.
I had - still have - such gratitude after dad's death. We didn't “deserve” him in the first place, really. So who were we to shake our fists at the sky and say “give him back!!!” There is so much in this life, this side of heaven, that we will not understand. Coming to grips with that is not easy. It takes some longer than others.
There is No "Normal"
We went to Austin on Wednesday last week, after we knew our house was okay. Grocery stores in our area were “one in, one out, twenty item limit” and they wanted folks to stay off the roads so that first responders could get around town. We decided it was best to get out of the way and visit Lovie ( my mom) and Robbie in Austin. I called my mom to tell her we had made it to 290. It felt weird, I said, to be leaving behind our city while it was in the midst of such hurting. My mom pointed out that doing normal things would probably feel strange for a while, kind of like after dad's death. She hit the nail on the head - it's weird to go back to the day to day, the mundane. But we have to go on. There is no path but forward.
We can be changed by this, we can allow this storm to change our hearts and our actions and our communities. Since Dad died I have gained new perspective on a lot of things. For starters, it makes “challenging” things seem trivial. We can be far more positive after going through something so dark. For example, it is not a crisis if your wedding flowers are different than what you imagined. You know what sucks? Your dad not being there on your wedding day. Traffic was bad today? Well… you know what sucks? When your home floods. When you get picked up by helicopter because the water is so high inside your home that you have no other way out. Traumatic experiences, if you’ll let them, can help you put things in perspective, help refine you, make you stronger.
And Houston, don’t miss this fact: this week is unlike the week my dad died in one big way - we are ALIVE. (If you know someone who passed away as a result of this storm, I am very, truly sorry.)
We have lost things, and money, and families are stressed, and pets have been separated from their people, and folks are hungry and babies need diapers and a quiet place to sleep instead of a convention hall. But here's the deal: God is still good, and we are still alive. The Lord was still good and sovereign when my dad died, when Jay died. And we were mourning DEATH. This week, we are ultimately mourning things. Yes, we need to grieve, that is perfectly fine - I walked through a partially demo-ed home this week and it was SO awful. But let us cling to the fact that we are still alive. Blood in our veins, hearts pumping. Think of the ways this city - this country!- has jumped up and gone running to help a neighbor.
No Path But Forward
There is no path but forward. My mom repeated this often in the months following Dad’s death. So with softer hearts, kinder attitudes towards each other, and gratefulness, let's walk forward. Historic flooding be damned. Hurricane waters, recede. All the help and hope we've seen this week - let's go forward with more of that.
Let's remember that the Lord is good, always. That he never has plans to harm us, that he works good through everything. (Jeremiah 29, Romans 8)
Let's recognize that as the waters (literally) swept around us, He was there with us. The feeling that God is near, God is with us? Let’s cling to that for weeks and months.
I kind of feel like doing some fist bumps in the air and repeating what the heroes said on the airplane on September 11th when they overtook the terrorists… “Let’s Roll!”
Shoulder to shoulder, Houston. Let’s go. No path but forward.
