An open letter to the home destroyed on Forestville road

The beginnings of these words seem irrelevant when I think of the terror you must have felt for those few minutes on the Saturday you will remember for the rest of your lives. These words, I offer with overflowing eyes, a heavy heart, and the humble nature of a servant of the Lord Jesus Christ.

I don’t suppose it would help to tell you that I complained this morning about the electricity and how its absence had only slightly inconvenienced me. As my aggravation grew with every passing hour that I could not get cold filtered water from the stainless steel refrigerator, the tornados yesterday seemed a lot smaller than the damage they wreaked across my precious home state.

And then came 9:45 Sunday morning. I headed outside with my un-blow-dried hair and my room-temperature water. I got in my car with all its windows still intact, my car that did not have a tree resting on its roof, my car that had not been flipped on its side. Less than one mile later, I started seeing trees down in my neighbor’s yards. It was getting worse. More trees. Then I started seeing windows outside of their frames, then trees through windows. The first devastated home I saw had been shifted off its foundation, and where its garage had once stood, there only lay the frame of a roof, resting on top of a pile of debris and broken wood.

I turned right on to Forestville road. I didn’t know where to look, I couldn’t find comfort in this landfill of the left-over’s of a tornado. I’m sure my mouth was visibly hanging open, my hand held my cheek in disbelief. I started seeing decks in piles, debris wrapped around trees, shards of metal in yards, likely the missing pieces from the destroyed mobile homes down the street. And then I saw your home. I saw what’s left of your home. I saw a lazy boy and a beautiful lamp in the middle of your yard and for some reason that’s what got me the most. I saw multiple people salvaging things from the inside of the place you lay your head and putting them in to a truck for you. These people, I can only imagine, are neighbors, members of the community recognizing a need and humbly offering the only thing they can; their hearts and their hands. I saw them walking the streets close to yours, dozens of them. I saw them talking with distraught home-owners. I saw them picking up trash. I saw them embracing one another. But I didn’t see you. Your home spoke louder than I imagine you could. The screams of a life of memories literally leveled. A lifetime of a place called home, taken down in a moment.

I write to you to offer all the sympathies and condolences my little hands can give. I write to you to tell you that there are scores of people praying for you and the other victims of this storm. I write to you to tell you that nothing I write will change what has happened, but that I hope you find some comfort in the knowledge that God chose to use you in my life and to be sure, in the lives of others: to humble me, to break me, and then to rebuild me. I pray that you will let Him do the same for the home you lost and for the life you begin rebuilding. I don’t know if you are a believer. If you are, I don’t know where you stand in your faith.

This is what I know, I am a 25 year old woman who has not a doubt about the saving grace of God, and the gift He gave us in Jesus Christ to make all things new. Be encouraged if you can. Trust Him if you can. And if you can’t, ask Him to help your unbelief. At the risk of quoting scripture you’ve heard one too many times, this comes from a heart firm in the belief that He works all things together for the good of those who love Him.

Blessings to you in this difficult time,

Your neighbor