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Print I saw the flames dancing in her black eyes, intense glassy orbs, while she stared toward her house, the apartment. The mother had assembled all of her essential goods including photos, files, and her two children on a small patch of grass in the parking lot, her front-row seat to disaster. She watched helplessly as the storm raged, then the waters flooded and she must have felt as if her world was sinking into the earth. I walked by her several times, and finally stopped to speak and ask about the boy and girl. I was assured that they were fine and that the boy was sound asleep. I leaned over some boxes and spoke to the boy, “Shake hands with a fireman?” Instantly a tiny three-year old arm shot up in the air from under the covers, reaching into the darkness for assurance. I shook his warm hand and he held on to mine. I waited until he released my hand and then reached toward the girl, about sevenish. She giggled and offered her soft fingers for a second, not sure whether touching a stranger covered head-to-toe in soot and insulation and sweat was the right thing to do. For these two children, it must’ve been the ultimate school field trip: “Class, today, we’re going to watch Tommy and his sister’s apartments become totally engulfed in flames and the firemen come to the rescue.” It was not a thrill for the mother, judging by those eyes. I see. I saw as the world watched destitute folk in New Orleans after the city was sideswiped by a hurricane. I know. I perused newspapers, magazines, and the Internet to learn all I could stomach about the sunken city and her new disaster. I do. Only a few weeks after Katrina, I understand as I do my part to staunch the flow of destruction (even though I am paid to do so) and perhaps lift up a soul with my actions. I helped put out the fire that raged through the twelve-unit complex. I ran with heavy salvage covers to cover up furniture in downstairs apartments before the thousands of gallons of water from our fire hoses began leaching down the walls and ceilings of the upstairs units. I collected a bag of framed family photos and handed them to the resident. And I shook hands with a brave boy and his sister who lay on a blanket across from their home, now entangled in catastrophe. Yet no one, including firemen, was hurt in the two-alarm fire. The residents were all relocated that morning into furnished apartments in the same complex. And I conveyed the message to the woman with the kids that fire hadn’t even touched their place. Jesus offered a solution to all of us, despite the earthly pain, when he said, “Peace is what I leave with you; it is my own peace that I give you. I do not give it as the world does. Do not be worried and upset; do not be afraid” (John 14:27 TEV). Still, I hope they’re okay.
ninetyandnine.com © 2005, Stuart D. Kent ----- Stuart D. Kent lives in Macon, Georgia in harmony with his wife, two sons, cat, and dwarf hamster. Not including the raccoon that raids the cat dish every night. |
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