Alabama holds vivid memories for me. A state located in the alley, tornado alley. I was one of several chaplains deployed shortly after the "big one" hit. And it was ugly. I could sense the meaning behind a scripture verse "...all of creation moans..." It does indeed moan. One hundred year old trees were tossed around like toothpicks, homes were torn up off foundations. One mobile home in particular was of interest because it was wrapped around a power pole like an empty TV dinner tray. We all gasp. "Oh, my goodness! How can the wind be that fierce? Look at that, look at how its just totally wrapped around that pole. It's nearly unrecognizable."
Then we walked away,the cell phone or ipod holding the photo is slipped back into a back pack. We each retreat into our own thoughts a bit awe struck anew because the wind seemed deliberate, intentional in how it picked up this mobile home. The wind scooped up the home, left the pole standing, and brought the home around and around the pole two or three times. Huh. We were all amazed at the force, but it was impersonal because we were at least 50-100 miles away from that mobile home's location.
Several days later walking along a government subsidized housing project, we were about ready to leave. I notice an assessor and builder walking the property. I just had a notion that I needed to speak to them. From my inexperienced perspective, the housing didn't look totaled but it was. The roof had been lifted "slightly" (meaning two inches) off the rest of the house.
"Yes, it surely will need to be redone but who knows when. And you know the government."
I answered, "Yes, indeed, I do know how that works. Be careful." (as one of the men is wandering around on the roof. And promptly seeks a way down.)Quickly other chaplains were gathering which often is a signal that work is done yet for me, I felt directed to initiate conversation with the builder.
Me to the Builder: will you walk with me?
B to M: yes, yes of course.
M to B: Are you from here?
B t M: No,no...about 50 miles east.
My family is fine. No losses of my children or grandchildren. We're all fine. No property loss.
Silence as we walk the dirt road between the structures and then the builder speaks. "I feel guilty that everything is okay for me."
"I'm not surprised you say that. Do you know why?"
He is silent for some time and we continue to walk.
Finally, we we came to the edge of the property, we turn face to face, and....
I looked into eyes filled with tears....
wearied,
questioning,
despairing,
"She was in there..."
"I knew her"
"She died, in there...."
"The wind just took her and threw that trailer around the tree, she died."
The "she" he was talking about was his relative. He had warned her not to lay down for a nap. He told her to seek shelter up the road further but she just fell asleep.
The builder felt a deeper sense of survivor guilt, he felt responsible for her death. He wasn't, and God wasn't punishing anyone. Tornadoes will come and at times warnings will go unheeded but that does not mean we cannot have gratitude for what is saved.
We prayed, hand in hand, side by side as we looked at fallen oak trees. Words may seem powerless but I like to think that I gave him more than an empty phrase. I was able to interrupt his toward spiral of unnecessary guilt. He did not fail,he was not responsible, and he can embrace the good that he does have with joy.
I learned that one never knows when the sacred moment will present itself. Looking at that picture earlier in the week, I was gazing at the initial burial place of the builder's loved one. I felt humbled. Clearly I assumed the trailer was empty and no death was attached to it. I could not have been more wrong. After his first words were spoken broken up with tears, I felt a pit in my stomach as well. I felt deep grief for him and knew we were sharing a painful, lonely place. I was honored, to "sit" here with him while he expressed his grief over what he lost, what it could have been, and what was saved. After the prayer, we retreated back into one of the houses and I left the housing unit never to see him again. I just saw his silhouette as we pulled away.
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