As a nation, we have been in shock and disbelief as we grieve the recent disasters of Hurricane Helene and now the fires raging in California. Our hearts and minds are plumbing the depths of devastation. Those affected have been immersed in the pain of losing one’s life possessions along with the deeper sorrow of letting go memories of a life once held dear and the dreams of a future in a place called home that is no longer there.
The loss of childhood and teenage years’ school buildings, loss of businesses that were built with hard earned money and grit, loss of dearly loved family pets, and the heartbreak of the loss of loved ones in raging fires is crushing.
There are governmental failures to be thoroughly pored over with a fine-toothed comb, so that wrongs can be made right ensuring this magnitude of disaster does not strike again.
But much higher than our appeal to government to care for those in harm’s way is the appeal we also may feel, in some way, to contribute to this out of control crisis that is so devastating to so many. Hopping on a plane and winging one’s way to CA may not be an avenue for everyone to help. Although if you can – GO.
I had an opportunity to answer such a call this past November as my family and I journeyed to North Carolina, where I lived for 12 years, to the Blue Ridge Mountains in Watauga county. We had signed up to serve as relief volunteers in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene’s devastation to mountain communities.
On first arrival, one wonders how much can be done to help amid trees that have been violently thrown down and rivers raised deadly high levels. Yet, we began the arduous task with a group of 20 other volunteers to clear a woman’s yard of fallen trees and debris that had kept her without electricity and water for five weeks.
Sawing these fallen trees into smaller, manageable hand clearing size and dragging flood debris would now allow the electric company to get a truck to her place to reinstall new lines. She stayed with our group the whole day while we worked to restore some semblance of home in her arboreal tumbled yard.
It was obvious that the devastation on her mountain property was still foremost in her mind but on this day, she was also taking in the rebuilding of her life.
She shared the trauma of her experience evacuating her house at the onset of Helene. Not being able to cross the river, she hiked up the mountain in the dark night of rain and wind to stumble down the other side to a neighbor’s house with only a small headlamp as her guide.
As we listened to her story of loss that fateful night, we saw her also become aware of her life being restored that Saturday morning and afternoon that we worked together. At the end of a very good day, we left her and her mountain and walked along the riverbank that had belched up its waters into the towering tree lines – long arms still holding onto children’s toys, vestiges of household items mindbogglingly out of context, and the clothing of someone who had possibly been in the cold of the river in the dark of night.
The heart strains to take in such canyon sized grief. You breathe and physically it hurts. Initially, the mind doesn’t have the capacity to fully comprehend the first glimpses of such destruction. Yet, the heart knows well and registers shock and slowly settling grief. The atrocities palpably taken in by all five senses render a grief much like the death of one we loved dearly. Seemingly forever with us, yet now, snatched away.
Waters and fires sweep over our hearts and ensuing carved out pain, now a part of our every waking moment. I felt an ache during my weekend in the NC mountains, and it still lingers near me. Seeing news of mountain folk still without homes because of hurricane floods, and pictures of coastal CA people left with fire-scorched homes – my heart exhales a deep sigh.
Yet, that which brings me hope in this devastation is that we served in a capacity that was both restorative physically AND spiritually for this woman who had endured destruction’s way. Human tragedy lays bare the heart, and in this brokenness, we do well to acknowledge our souls need healing.
I now see that the physical work we did that beautiful Carolina day was the beginning of restoring beauty and meaning to a woman who needed love in human action. We listened to her stories, gave hugs, cried tears, held hands, said prayers, gave goodbye hugs and prayed for other mountain neighbors who were still waiting for help.
Now in my heart, I feel the same way for those in California. Wishing I could go. To make a difference – if just for one person. For it’s in the time of tragedy that we are graciously reduced to the best that we are. All of us caring for one another and realizing profoundly how much we need each other – in the rescuing and the healing. Godspeed to all those who are making their way out to the West Coast. God, give us all healing hands in life to reach out and make a difference in the everyday lives of those near us. From great tragedy may we experience the great gift of being able to give help, comfort, hope and love.
“It’s not complicated. Just love the one in front of you . . .”
“Love looks like something.” – Heidi Baker
If you have a desire to serve brothers and sisters in NC or those caught up in the CA fires, Samaritan’s Purse is just one of many organizations signing up volunteers.
Dawn Custalow is an EL educator and teaches students who do not speak English as their first language. She currently works at William Fleming high school in Roanoke. She enjoys writing as well as public speaking on themes of education, cultural training, and Virginia Indian history – both past and present. Dawn is an alum of VA Tech and an enrolled tribal member of the Mattaponi Indian reservation in West Point, Virginia.
