Not the Same
Last week, I drove by what used to be a car wash and saw a man calmly vacuuming out his pristine black sedan in the half of the car wash that's still standing.
Today, I drove to a UPS store that hasn't reopened since the hurricane. I missed the memo that it wasn't anywhere close to reopening. Six months later.
Last week, I heard a kid say that his favorite thing to do in the world was to ride his bike in his driveway. Then he asked his mom when he is going to get to go home.
A week before that, I heard a different kid say that the one place she wants to go in the world is back to her own bedroom. She hasn't spent the night in her room since the first week of October.
Every week I pass the crumbled building that used to house the Hurricane Preparedness team for Panama City. Out front they have a large sign which still reads, "Are you ready for hurricane season?" The irony is not lost on me. They were not ready for hurricane season.
None of us were.
Already we are gearing up for another season of hurricanes, but we still have not recovered from the last one. There are so many things that I could write in response to this, about how we can go from one crisis to the next, trying to catch our breath between them. About how it is hard to keep our heads above the water, when salt-heavy waves continue to pound us below the surf, filling our mouths and our lungs. About how some days we begin to remember the rhythms of normal life, but are worried we're being lulled into a false sense of security. About how we work to rebuild our routines and try hard to start dreaming again (instead of just surviving).
But for tonight, if you are one of those who are waiting to go home or waiting for normal or waiting just to be able to return to the place you left something once and hoping to find it still there...I want to tell you this: sometimes, really beautiful things happen in that gap time.
Sometimes in between swallowing sea water, we realize that we're doing more than just treading water. Sometimes while rebuilding our routines, we discover that we don't quite fit back in the old places because we've grown. Sometimes in between the dreaming and the worry, we discover that our worries are not the same and neither are our dreams (because we are not the same), and we are far closer to achieving some of those dreams than we ever imagined.
Yes, we are not home. And yes, we may not be ready for what's coming next. But we are also stronger and wiser (or possibly leaner and meaner) than we were before, and that's okay too. There is nothing for it but to keep taking small steps towards rebuilding and small steps towards preparing for what's next and small steps towards actually living real life, and trust God that's he's got the rest in hand. No matter what.
Oh, and celebrate the victories, no matter how small. Because we may not be ready for another round of hurricanes, but we also aren't the same people we were last time around. And that's nothing to spit at.
Today, I drove to a UPS store that hasn't reopened since the hurricane. I missed the memo that it wasn't anywhere close to reopening. Six months later.
Last week, I heard a kid say that his favorite thing to do in the world was to ride his bike in his driveway. Then he asked his mom when he is going to get to go home.
A week before that, I heard a different kid say that the one place she wants to go in the world is back to her own bedroom. She hasn't spent the night in her room since the first week of October.
Every week I pass the crumbled building that used to house the Hurricane Preparedness team for Panama City. Out front they have a large sign which still reads, "Are you ready for hurricane season?" The irony is not lost on me. They were not ready for hurricane season.
None of us were.
Already we are gearing up for another season of hurricanes, but we still have not recovered from the last one. There are so many things that I could write in response to this, about how we can go from one crisis to the next, trying to catch our breath between them. About how it is hard to keep our heads above the water, when salt-heavy waves continue to pound us below the surf, filling our mouths and our lungs. About how some days we begin to remember the rhythms of normal life, but are worried we're being lulled into a false sense of security. About how we work to rebuild our routines and try hard to start dreaming again (instead of just surviving).
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| Sometimes you learn to cross the monkey bars on a broken down playground. |
Sometimes in between swallowing sea water, we realize that we're doing more than just treading water. Sometimes while rebuilding our routines, we discover that we don't quite fit back in the old places because we've grown. Sometimes in between the dreaming and the worry, we discover that our worries are not the same and neither are our dreams (because we are not the same), and we are far closer to achieving some of those dreams than we ever imagined.
Yes, we are not home. And yes, we may not be ready for what's coming next. But we are also stronger and wiser (or possibly leaner and meaner) than we were before, and that's okay too. There is nothing for it but to keep taking small steps towards rebuilding and small steps towards preparing for what's next and small steps towards actually living real life, and trust God that's he's got the rest in hand. No matter what.
Oh, and celebrate the victories, no matter how small. Because we may not be ready for another round of hurricanes, but we also aren't the same people we were last time around. And that's nothing to spit at.
