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A homeowner in Seabrook, Texas, near Galveston, walks across his yard filled with wet drywall and ruined furnishings. The home took in two feet of water. Other areas took in water as high as six feet. Photo by Bonnie Pritchett |
A gracious neighboring church welcomed us in and made us feel right at home; no small feat considering some of us could not return to our homes following services for Sunday dinner and a little “Baptist hour” of fellowship.
The dining table for most folks, if salvageable, was still drying out and all bedding had been pitched to the curb onto an ever-growing mound of sodden belongings. For some of my church family Hurricane Ike had done its worst. But still we gathered to worship. Although I wouldn’t be disturbed to learn that some of my friends found going to church more of a distraction than a time of worship. They are godly people, but they are godly people in shock and in need of a respite from the heartache of lost possessions and the frustration that seems to be a part of dealing with insurance companies and FEMA.
My church family is scattered among the communities that stretch from Galveston Bay to the east, and Pearland and Friendswood to the west?all areas susceptible to the ravages of a hurricane. My church building is situated in a neighborhood notorious for flooding. It is a lovely bedroom community across the street from NASA, but it is also situated on Clear Creek and a small man-made lake. The creek empties into Clear Lake which then becomes part of Galveston Bay. Therefore the creek, which meanders through many communities in this region south and southeast of Houston, is susceptible to the tide and tidal surge when a storm approaches.
Although the storm surge did not spare many homes in Nassau Bay, it did spare the church. Winds damaged the roof and blew rain in through the doors in the newer part of the facility. The original building leaks like so many other 40-year-old structures but the damp and dank smelling carpets will be cleaned and ceiling tiles replaced. Power was finally restored Sept. 21.
But it will take more than a ShopVac to repair the damage to our sister churches in the Galveston Baptist Association. Not all churches have been accounted for, but as of Sept. 21, of the 60 GBA churches, one quarter of them sustained significant damage. Of those, eight had major damage and two are completely gone. Two pastors also lost their homes.
And before anyone starts quoting Matthew 6 and admonishing people here about “worldly possessions,” try this: Take everything in your home that can absorb moisture and is situated four feet from the floor on down, including major appliances, and throw it out in your yard. And watch all your neighbors do the same.
And watch as an oversized garbage truck with an attached crane and claw lumbers down your street and carelessly, thoughtlessly snares the mounds a mangled portion at a time, and dumps them in the truck. Sobering, isn’t it?
I had half joked, as my family evacuated to my in-laws home in Austin, that I hoped for just a little bit of flood water in our house. I really need new carpet and a new kitchen floor. And the possibility of flooding was very real. The people who know how to calculate such things have drawn official diagrams showing that my neighborhood, if hit by a Category 3 hurricane, would take on water. Ike was predicted to do just that. But a slight jog to the east and sustained winds just below 111 mph kept him at bay.
At least for my home.
My home in League City remained intact. Downed fences and trees littered our small neighborhood. We only lost branches. And power. We returned Sept. 16 and by that afternoon we had electricity. The weather following the storm was blessedly cool, truly a Godsend for those laboring to clean up during the day and seeking some semblance of comfort at night.
After cleaning our yard and helping our neighbor do the same, my family wasn’t going to be able to sit at home and enjoy the air conditioning. We were finding out, via word of mouth (home phone and Internet accessibility were spotty), that our friends and fellow church members had been flooded out of their homes in Seabrook. Compassion mixed with a healthy dose of guilt spurred us to help.
Like most people, I’ve only seen pictures of the destruction a hurricane can cause. I watched local and national news broadcasts during our evacuation and saw familiar places and roadways submerged or strewn with debris. Driving to our friend’s house my boys, Robert and Sam, and I were astounded at what we saw. My heart ached for the losses these people were suffering and the realization of the work that lay ahead was daunting.
But many hands make light work. I’ve said that to Robert and Sam all their lives. We caught up with my husband, Steven, at the Seabrook home of our friends Damon and Trisha. Two days of volunteer work had almost completed the requisite disposal of flooring (Trisha’s wood flooring was only six weeks old), drywall (up to about two feet), and just about anything else that had once been submerged under the tidal flood. Steven helped finish drywall removal while Trisha scouted out an apartment they would call home for the next few months.
For the next two days our family helped two other families?Jim and Cheryl live next to their daughter and son-in-law, Jill and Cary, and their four children. Two to three feet of water surged into their homes from Galveston Bay that usually laps placidly at the end of their street.
Church members and other friends, co-workers, and family members scurried about removing and sanitizing what was salvageable and disposing of what was not. Time was of the essence. The longer the water-logged walls, floors, carpeting, and furniture remained in the homes, the harder it would be to combat the noxious mold that wastes no time setting in and taking over.
Cary worked hard to get his home ready for reconstruction as Jill cared for the kids at a home provided by another church family who are temporarily out of the country (Cary, along with the volunteers, took orders from our mutual friend David who stepped up and took charge as impromptu foreman.).
September 19 was Jill’s birthday and she, for the first time, came to see what had become of her home. We all teared up as we hugged and tried to give an encouraging word. Jill’s oldest son, Kirby, 13, looked concerned for his mom but she assured him the tears weren’t for the loss but for the overwhelming sense of love and concern shown by all who had come to help.
All I had done was rip out nasty smelling drywall and sanitize their few remaining possessions. But together we had accomplished a lot. Ann, our church secretary, acted as command central. From her home she posted e-mails announcing who and what was needed and where. And those who couldn’t work in the homes ministered in important ways as well.
Sharlene and her grade-school aged kids, Bethany and Jonathan, made up what I called “The Cookie Brigade.”
