We have Our Lives: Lessons From a Storm Part 1

This morning I woke up with black circles around my eyes, a smoker's voice and the energy quota of a snail. Most people felt they understood what was up. But one friend  cheerfully asked, "What's your problem?" I laughed a little and slowly walked away. How do I explain? Maybe I never can. Maybe you just have to be there. Maybe I'll try, as I explore what a few days in the aftermath of a storm taught me.

The reality is that most people thought that searching for bodies would suck me dry, leave me depressed or stressed. This was a nearly forgone conclusion with many. It didn't. While I'd obviously rather rescue a living human I feel honored to bring closure to a family who would otherwise wonder what became of their relative or perhaps stumble upon their husband, wife, or child's mangled or dismembered body. I have the protection of not knowing the person whose shell became a part of the twisted debris tossed aside by an insatiable storm, they do not.

Why do I spend the evenings alone by the lake to silently reflect?

I climbed over acres, if not miles of rubble, most of it was unrecognizable splinters. I'd see a doll, a pair of jeans, video tape, a photograph of children, a motorcycle chain and a jewelry box all a dull, gritty, angry brown. As I walked I realized each of the items represented someone's life, their money and their hopes. I came across a father, a mother, a grandmother as I walked, each one staring blank at the shards that had been their home. Each one forcefully met my eyes with theirs and with a feverish passion of thankfulness named the people in their family that were alive, their neighbors and friends. While they stumbled in light tennis shoes over boards bristling with nails, cement blocks on edge and the dusty splintered trees, they all had the same conclusion, "We have our lives."

We have our lives. The contents of their homes ripped open, gutted like the prey of an angry dog.

We have our lives. Their cars rolled and tossed by the careless hand of an enraged child.

We have our lives. Photographs of their children, healthy, happy and proud buried in the mud, slowly decomposing.

We have our lives. Vulnerable, stripped and bare.

We have our lives. Their hearts full of thankfulness.

We have our lives. Their hands full of supplies for their neighbors; the one who was deaf, the one who lost a loved one or the ones who sat in mute coma at the place where their front door should have been.

We have our lives.

And so tonight I stood beside the lake, throwing a pebble in and watching the ripples move away. The trees around me reached toward heaven in a majestic verdant hymn of grace. On my heart a heavy responsibility laid bare, throbbing, bleeding fire throughout my soul...

I have my life...