#flood2016

“God never gives you more than you can handle, son,” the old man said matter-of-factly as he stepped up into his diesel truck. In my sin, I quickly wondered if the flood had claimed his home too. In his sin, he’d quickly dismantled 1 Corinthians 10:13 into some kind of pithy, self-help proverb disguised as spiritual wisdom. Frankly, this was well beyond what I could handle. The mountain of wet insulation and sheetrock and appliances and cabinets at the end of the driveway could have told him that. As I walked slowly back to the house, I thought about what the old man had said: “God never gives you more than you can handle.” To a community of wounded people, I’m sure those words helped someone put one foot in front of the other today. But to me they rang hollow. I didn’t need a TV crew in front of my house. I didn’t need to shake Donald Trump’s hand. I didn’t even need a Red Cross truck passing out bleach and bottled water. But the last thing I needed to hear was the idea that God had left me to endure this on my own, on my own power.

Honestly, a month without Kelly and the twins was more than I could handle. The two contractors who didn’t bother showing up were more than I could handle. The third contractor’s estimate was more than my wallet could handle. The sight of two dust-covered cribs ruined before they could even be used was more than I could handle. The chest full of soaked photographs was more than I could handle. This…this…house…was more than I could handle. I hesitated to even call it a home. After all, my street resembled something out of the Haitian village our church’s mission team had just visited at the beginning of the summer. People chased ServPro vans around our neighborhood like they were ice cream trucks. Huddled on street corners were old men complaining about FEMA and how they’d learned nothing since Katrina. This was a natural disaster, and each day we were waking up to the magnitude of the destruction, and the real length of recovery.

Weeks after the disaster, women cried at random moments and men just kept busy. A haze had begun to settle over the people here. A hardness. Without Kelly and the twins, my heart was as empty as this house. I smirked briefly at the thought of my wife telling all our friends that I couldn’t nail a nail. Boy if she could see her city boy now, hammer and crowbar in hand.

By the time the sheetrock dust settles on a vacant home, it can look as if no one has lived in the house for months. The floodwater had receded almost as quickly as it had entered, but in its wake it left a house unrecognizable. In the nursery, the cry of hungry babies had been replaced with the high-pitched screech of oscillating saws. In the living room, the sound of my wife singing to the twins was now the steady drone of a Shop Vac. Strangers now walked through the most intimate parts of our home just like any other job site.

I can be hard headed sometimes when it comes to trusting God. When I step back and think about it I am baffled by my trust issues. Namely in light of how God has provided for my family and I time and time again. Perhaps you can relate? When I look back on the last 28 years of my life one thing is evident: God is faithful. And yet even though He is faithful, sometimes doubt still creeps in.

Before we started the adoption process one of my biggest fears was, “How will we raise all of the funds?” I don’t know how many of you followed our story, but every day, every week, God provided through the kindness of strangers, family and friends. I was blown away. And now, as I hold my sweet babies in my arms, I have a constant reminder of the Lord’s faithfulness. They are the sweetest gifts the Lord has ever given us. Yet even as I am looking at the sweet little miracles the Lord so graciously brought into our lives, I still struggle to trust Him sometimes.

Six weeks after we brought our sweet little miracles home we were forced to evacuate our house in Denham Springs due to the Great Flood of 2016. Moments leading up to the evacuation I was taking their eight -week pictures and cooking chicken fajitas for Obbie and I. While I was feeding our boy I looked out the front door and noticed the water line had risen quite considerably. At the time I wasn’t nervous because we weren’t in a flood zone. In fact, that is precisely one of the reasons why we moved into our neighborhood just over a year ago. I showed Obbie and he went out to talk with all of the neighbors who had gathered at the edge of their driveways. When I stuck my head out the door, I saw Obbie’s face from a distance. I will never forget the concerned look on his face. I knew it wasn’t good. He came back inside and said, “Kelly, we need to pack everything up. The water will probably be entering our house soon.” I didn’t want to leave. This was our home. In fact, it was and is the very first home we ever purchased. The first place that we ever truly called ours.

I couldn’t find a suitcase so I brought a large empty black trunk and dragged it into the twins room. As I walked in, I began to tear up. I had spent so much time preparing, decorating, dreaming and hoping in this room. I remember the countless hours I spent on the floor praying for our baby that the Lord would bring into our home. As I began stuffing all of their clothes and diapers into the trunk I looked to the right and saw the huge frame that read, “I prayed for this child and the Lord has granted me what I asked of Him…” It was still sitting on the ground waiting to be hung. I turned it around and saw all of the names I had hand written with a gold sharpie marker-probably 1,000 or more. Every single person who helped us bring our babies home has a place in our hearts and on the back of the frame. I hoped that it would serve as a future reminder to our children of just how loved they are-not just by us but by an entire community! Little did I know that on Saturday, August 13, 2016 the Lord would use something I had intended for my children to minister to me. In those scary moments I felt like He was saying, “trust me with this Kelly…remember how I brought you through the other storms and valleys…remember…even when you can’t make sense of what is going on…trust me…” Although I had never been in a flood before, the Lord had brought me out of a few of my own trials. I took a few deep breaths closed my eyes and said, “Lord help me be strong.”

I was able, by the grace of God, to collect all of the necessities for the babies and I. We threw (literally) as much as as we could into the back of our neighbor’s big white truck. Prior to this encounter I had never met this nice gentleman. Although I don’t remember a lot from that day, I will never forget the drive. As I looked down at the twins I began to cry as we slowly waded through the water. There were moments when I felt like I was in a nightmare and I just wanted to wake up. I prayed, “Dear Lord, protect our babies. Please keep our babies safe…”

A few hours after we arrived at our neighbor’s house the waters began rising there too. We made the decision to evacuate their house because if we waited too long we wouldn’t be able to get out. We took the twins and two back packs full of diapers and formula and headed to the one of the only dry streets left in our neighborhood. Preparing to sleep in our mini van, we parked behind our friends on the side of the road. A few minutes after we arrived there a young woman approached us with a concerned look on her face. “Are y’all the ones with the twins? My husband is a cop and he is working a late shift so the house is empty and our street is still dry. Please come stay with us.” We spent that night and the next day camped out in her living room. Her entire family welcomed us and fed us. You see, God took care of us through the kindness of strangers-now friends.

A lot has taken place since then…in our family and in our community. So many families lost EVERYTHING. Let me repeat that: many families lost EVERYTHING. Can you wrap your mind around that? When we realized our house was going to be unlivable for a few months due to the flood damage, we thought it best if I took the twins up to Illinois where my parents live.And so, that is where the twins and I have been for the past few weeks. Although I am hundreds of miles away, my heart breaks for our community.

To the flood victims: I know so many of you are exhausted and you just wonder when things will go back to normal. You walk into rooms that you barely recognize. You try to salvage a decades worth of memories in print. You wonder how you will provide for your family because you didn’t have flood insurance and government assistance hasn’t covered a fraction of what it will cost to rebuild your home. I am hurting with you. But, one thing I do know for sure is that we will rise from this and we will grow and become stronger through it. I don’t say that to diminish the loss or pain you/we are going through. I say to encourage you and remind you that there is hope. And that Hope is Jesus Christ and that is what I am clinging to.

It can be overwhelming when you look around at what is left of your house. Memories may flood your mind of what used to be there; the room that you rocked your baby in for the very first time; that special corner in your living room where you put up your Christmas tree every year; the kitchen table where you shared meals together. Although the flood may have destroyed the physical things-those waters will never be able to take your memories. But more importantly than those precious memories is the overwhelming reminder that this place is not our eternal home. The Lord has always used trials in my life to remind me of this. I am not going to sit here and try to make sense of the flood. I just can’t wrap my mind around it. However, I am quite certain through my own trials, that God does not waste anything. He is sovereign and in control of ALL things. God did not waste my cancer. God did waste my miscarriage. And God isn’t going to waste this flood. God creates beauty out of the mess and muddy waters.

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IkNnKAU1-pc)