A Week

A week. 7 days. 168 hours. 10,080 minutes. For some, it's a blink of an eye. For other it's a lifetime. Here's what I've been through in this amount of time: A historic, once in 1,000 year flood. A week...It's long enough to sit in fear, watching the water level rise in front and in back of our house, praying that you'll be spared. It's long enough to survive the flood while 90% of our town didn't (105,000 our of 134,000 people have complete loss because of the flood). It's long enough for a family of 6 to move into your house, becoming more like family than neighbors. It's long enough to acquire "Survivor's Guilt"....why was our house the one that set the trend for the rest of our street not to be flooded? Why did our next door neighbor's house get an inch of standing water but only a square foot of carpet got wet in our house? Why did so many of our friends lose everything (including their cars)? Why are we getting as much for Rob's truck as most people are getting to rebuild their entire house? It's long enough for our 3 year old to be fearful of rain, to come crawl into bed with us every night and not want us out of his sight. It's long enough to feel physical and mental fatigue. It's long enough to wonder if you'll ever see your mail delivered again. It's long enough to forget days and only remember moments.
Surviving something this catastrophic is personal, private, something you can only share with the people who survived it with you. I tell people about the flood. I post pictures of it. But I don't let people in on everything. I can't. That's reserved for people who holed up in their houses, watching the flood waters rise; for people who walked into their homes after the water receded, holding their breath as they took in the damage; for people who waited in line at Walmart for supplies only to find out that the store is closing earlier than expected or that the supplies you need are not available; for people who have lost phone service and can't fill out the FEMA paperwork because of it; for people who only have the clothes on their back as their only possession; for people who got in a boat, wondering when they'd ever see their house again; for those who have to plug their nose to keep from gagging from the after smell of their house; for those who have so many tears but can't shed them because they are overwhelmed.
I will share the moments, the things that have defined this past week for so many people in Livingston Parish. Last Friday we went to bed, praying for our friends, praying that the rain was done. Saturday we hung around the house since my car couldn't make it through the standing water. In hindsight I wish I would've slept all day Saturday but instead we watched the flood coverage, thankful that it wasn't near us. Saturday night we went to bed only to be woken up two hours later to our neighbor pounding on the door, telling us to prepare for the flood water that had seeped into our subdivision. For 7 hours we put things up high to save them, watching the flood water inch closer to our house. It's ironic what, at the time, I found valuable enough to worry about (bread maker??? DVDs????). We lifted my hope chest up on our bed, the boys' toybox onto the guest bed. We put photo albums up on the tallest cupboards in our house, knowing that we couldn't replace those pictures from our younger years. After everything was up high we sat...and waited....and prayed....and feared for the worst....and talked about a game plan for evacuating. It's funny that, when I lived out West and would watch the news media of a hurricane I'd think "They knew it was coming. Why wouldn't they evacuate?" Now I know. You don't evacuate because you don't know where you'll end up. You don't know when you'll see your house again. Sometime during the day Sunday our neighbors moved in with us. Their house was filling up with water and, with 4 young kids and family members flooded worse than them, they had nowhere to go. We welcomed them with open arms and are blessed to have them living with us at the moment. By the time we went to bed Sunday night we knew, unless something crazy happened, that we had been spared. We moved furniture back in placed, put photo albums back on the bookshelves and put mattresses down for our new house guests. I can't remember much about Monday other than borrowing our neighbor's Hummer to get to the store. We were all craving a Coke and didn't have any in stock. I was almost to the point that I would've paid $100 just for a sip of one. Crazy what you miss when you can't have it. Rob was finally able to get to the store later in the afternoon (with our neighbor's Hummer) and stood in line for 40 minutes while Walmart only let in 5 people at a time just to bring us home a case of Coke. Another thing I remember is the spiders. I have never in my life seen so many spiders! Every time you open a door about 10 of them come in the house. Tuesday morning Rob was able to get to work but I had to pick up my Highlander where he had parked it. Our neighbor needed to get tubs to store what could be salvaged so he took me to get my car. I can't begin to describe the devastation that we saw. It looked like the End Times. A fire truck stranded in the middle of an intersection. A military vehicle on its side in a ditch. Store fronts shattered with merchandise exposed and in abnormal positions. It wasn't until Wednesday that life seemed to return to "normal", whatever that means. The kids and I were able to get out of the house without complications. I was able to get to the one Walmart in the general vicinity that is open. We were able to get Pizza Hut for dinner.
But the new "normal" includes our friends gutting their houses and starting to rebuild, businesses posting on FB that they can't recover from the flood and will close their doors permanently, not being able to shop for things easily, wondering if the gas station you're filling up at got water in its tanks, seeing FB posts for volunteers to help pull carpet and remove furniture from the church. The new "normal" also includes a sense of community like I've never been a part of before. It includes people helping each other before they help themselves. It includes countless hours of giving yourself. It includes a bond that is indescribable.
I praise the Lord that we were spared. I praise Him that we have the resources to help others. I praise Him that we never had to go to a shelter. I praise Him that we are able to be servants to so many during this difficult time. If you'd like to help please contact me in a comment below or via text/FB (if you have access to that info) and I'd love to tell you how you can bless someone's life during this difficult time. One thing is for sure...Louisianans are resilient and will come back stronger because that's who they are!

Our church foyer after the water receded

Military rescue truck coming through our neighborhood

Our neighbor's house which took on 10" of water

View from our front door most of Sunday

How we gauged the water level, knowing if it got past 6" we would get water in the house

Our church Friday before the real flood happened

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Pictures taken in the community (I don't know who to give photo credit to because they were compiled on FB):

A local pizza place that the boys had eaten lunch at just a couple weeks ago

A local church (and no, that is not a lake)

Range, where we spend so much time

Sonic

The main exit for Denham Springs

Ariel view of Range

Bass Pro

#lousianaflood2016

Yesterday I woke up, excited to know school had been cancelled, knowing I'd get to spend the day with the boys. Last night, I went to bed, exhausted, emotionally drained but so thankful for the "little" things in life. Because yesterday there was a historic flood that overpowered SE Louisiana. Because yesterday I saw something live and in person that I could never wrap my head around just by watching it on TV. Because I was part of a church family that helped those who could not help themselves. Because our boys ministered to people more with their young lives than most adults could do. Because we lost some but not as much as so many others. Because we were able to help when no one else could. Because we saw mass destruction that the media will never be able to get you to understand with news broadcasts and interviews. Because friends were stranded and had no idea what to save first. Because my husband was "Superman". Because we were a team.
When waters started to rise, Rob got antsy. He wanted to help. So we got in his truck and headed to one of our church family's house who was starting to take in water. Along the way I was floored by the amount of water already seeping into homes. After meeting up with another church family who had loaded their SUV with sandbags, we put them around the base of the doors, hoping and praying it'd help. Then we got a call that my co-worker, a single mom who has 2 teenage daughters (who are my students) and a young son, was taking in water. She is strong and didn't want help but that didn't stop us with meeting up with 2 more families and heading her way. Rob and another guy unloaded the flat bottom boat that we had brought and filled it with sandbags. After some unnecessary drama (some drunk guy tried to get in Rob's truck to fight him for "pushing water into his house"), Rob and our friend Scott were able to sandbag my co-worker's house. From there we reconvened to see who needed help next because, at that point, so many people were asking for sandbags. We decided to help our children church's pastor and his family. He had been so busy helping another church family  that he didn't realize that the water was too close to his house until it was too late. A group of men pulled the boat full of sandbags to his house and then we were going to call it a day because of the mandatory curfew that was quickly approaching. Just as we were loading up the boat and getting ready to head home, our pastor called and asked if we could come get him and take him to the church to sandbag because we were the only ones with a big enough truck. Long story short, we did what we could. On our second trip back we took a route around the church that would be our demise. Rob's truck, which had handled so much all day long, couldn't withstand the rising water. Thankfully, we were able to pull it to dry land but not before it had been 3/4th submerged under water. As sad as we were at the loss of his beloved truck, we know it could be so much worse. We are still in our house. We slept in our own beds last night. We enjoyed a hot breakfast this morning. We have running hot water. But, most importantly, we are alive!
Here are some things that stick out to me about yesterday:
* Seeing a guy wade through waist deep water, carrying his dog to a boat.
* People paddling boats and canoes to houses to help with sandbags.
* Rob and several men wading through deep water to help people.
* Me wading through chest deep sewage water without thinking about what I was walking in.
* Watching Rob's truck being "towed" by a bus onto dry land.
* A group of men piled in the back of a pick up, riding together, to help.
* Being so incredibly, bone chilling cold. In Louisiana. In August
* The boys NEVER complaining despite being tired and not eating more than a bag of chips since breakfast.
* P eager to help, lugging a sand bag to his dad's truck, knowing he was part of a team.
* The water quickly rising in Rob's truck while we tried to save what we could and get to safety.
* 4 families working together, forming a team, organizing ways to help people in need.

And the thing I hope I never forget happened at the end of a very long day......P happily sat in our friend's pick up, singing a praise song at the top of his lungs, knowing that there was still so much to be thankful for.