After the Storm

     Over the past week, many of us in the southeastern quadrant of the country watched Hurricane Isaac make its way through the Gulf. Even though I'm not on the coast anymore, growing up in Florida, I'm hardwired to keep alert of dangerous weather. Less than a week since the twenty year anniversary of Hurricane Andrew, I took some time to think about the event and its aftermath.
     I don't think there is anyone who was living in South Florida at that time who doesn't remember vividly the night Andrew made landfall. The center of the storm was headed straight for our area, but made a last minute jog south and hit Homestead, FL. My family stayed up together in one room, watching a small battery powered television. My sister and I had leaks in our windows, our chimney suffered damage, but we made it out okay. For those further south, much more was lost. The damage done over that one night took years to repair. Looking back now, I can't help but see how one storm changed the course of my own history.
     That winter, my church youth group was supposed to go to skiing. Instead, we housed a group our age from Michigan and together we spent a week in Homestead working with displaced migrant families and repairing damaged homes. My first experience in the mission field prepared my heart for the future. It was a springboard for more local mission work as well as my involvement in global missions as an adult. Now, I'm not saying I wouldn't have a heart for missions if Andrew hadn't hit South Florida. God always provides a way to where He wants us. But the storm shaped my path.
     It also brought me one of my dearest friends. Andrew hit the weekend before my first day of high school. Afterwards, schools in surrounding areas saw an influx of students who were displaced from Homestead. One boy and his family made the move to our district and we became friends. We've remained so ever since. We attended college together and I'd often give him a ride home for holidays. My mom always felt better about those trips with him in the car. When I went through my first break up, he was there to make me laugh again. We kept in touch after college and now he is a family friend. My children call him uncle. If Andrew hadn't hit we may have never met.
     Another uprooted family moved in down the street from mine. At the time, their son was four and their daughter barely a year. I became their Saturday night babysitter. For the first year, I often had to stay with A until he was nearly asleep because he was afraid another hurricane would come in the night. I watched him grow out of that. I also watched him grow into a caring, intelligent kid. When his sister J was around 3, she had to have surgery. I went over to see her and several local family members were there. She started crying and her grandmothers went to her side. But she was calling for me. I realized that to this little girl, I was part of her family. Moments like this have prompted me as a parent to create a community for my children that extends beyond biological ties; to put people in their lives that will comfort and shape them. One of my top priorities when I was pregnant with AP was to find a babysitter. Leaving your children with people you trust has benefits for the children as well as for the foundation of a family - the marriage. My husband and I still get to date, and that is invaluable. 
     I do want to point out that I did not live through the destruction of my home. I never had to leave my possessions and hope everything was okay when I was allowed to return. I didn't see all my memories destroyed by wind and water. I am not trying to say that a hurricane is a good thing. What I am saying is that in life we will encounter storms of all kinds. Some are bigger than others. Out of them, we learn, we grow, we are changed. I am reminded of Deuteronomy 31:8, which says "The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged." During Andrew, God was still there. He was working in the midst of the madness. Twenty years later, the beautiful results in my life remain.  



 

Going It Together

     The first week of school for AP was fantastic. She loves her school, her teachers, and her new friends. She especially enjoys riding the bus. So much so that she became concerned she would miss it. This caused her to begin waking an hour or more early to remind me that I needed to get her up in time. When you're already getting up at the crack of dawn you can imagine what time we're talking about.
     I reassured her that she would not miss the bus, that Mommy would remember to wake her. KP arrived home end of the week and after both being woken in the wee hours, assured her that she would not miss the bus.
     Friday morning, I visited a dear friend of mine. She asked me how the first week was going and I mentioned our tiny problem in the midst of an otherwise successful start. She, having a kindergartner herself, suggested her own alarm. She said her son was also anxious about missing the bus and that helped.
     I took note and headed home. We enjoyed a blissful weekend with Daddy home and no bus to miss. Our AP slept in both mornings, allowing everyone to catch up on some well deserved sleep.
Then yesterday afternoon, I told her about the alarm idea. I explained that each morning, one of her favorite music cds would come on when it was time to get up. She was sold.
      It worked! She sleep each morning until her alarm. That first morning she was excited that it worked and said she was able to sleep knowing it would tell her when to get up. And Mama wasn't disturbed.
     This got me thinking about something. In April, KP and I took a trip to New York. My birthday present, it was a weekend spent rekindling my love affair with that amazing city. One thing we tried, on another dear friend's suggestion, was a trip to the Tenement Museum. In Manhattan's Lower East Side, the museum is housed in an actual tenement building from the 19th century. When it was discovered, the curators dug into the history of the building and pieced together actual stories of the immigrants who lived there. KP and I took one of the tours. Listening to the guide, one thing that struck me was the importance of the small yard at the back of the building. The women would gather there to hang their laundry out and would often wind up comparing notes on home making and child rearing, among other things. This became a way of fostering community and support for women who were far from home. And the advice of others helped them to solve problems with their children, in turn making their homes happier ones.
     When I heard this, I thought of the mom's group I attend at my church each week during the school year. We haven't started yet and I find myself missing it so. A place to learn, grow, and off load, I find it an essential part of my children's school year. That room is our tenement building backyard. In a culture that tells us you can do anything, it often fails to mention the fact that you can't do it alone.
  These days, the immigrants have fanned out across the country. They married, had children, and did it again. Their descendants are American. They are you and me. And just as before, parents still can't do it alone. They need the support of those around them; those who have gone before, and those who are doing it right alongside them. I am thankful for my community, and chances are if I offer a suggestion to you, it didn't start with me.

A Divided Heart

This week my four year old started public school. The luck of the draw, or as I prefer to say the Maker’s hand, put her in the pre-k class at our local elementary school. So on Monday morning we woke her before the sun and put her on the school bus. KP stayed in town for the occasion and then caught a late morning flight back to his client site.

Before they left, my house, and my person, felt complete. Now it feels as if parts of my heart are elsewhere. My husband packed up and placed a piece of me in his suitcase. My schoolgirl lugged a piece up those bus stairs for the first time. And both traveled in different directions.

Everyone tells you that the first day you watch your child leave on the bus is poignant. After three years of schooling at a local church, I thought watching AP leave would be bittersweet and exciting, but didn’t expect this. And KP? He leaves every week. He has for nearly a year now. I’m used to the fact that his commute involves crossing multiple states in an airplane.

But suddenly both were gone at once, and both in situations I couldn’t control. I don’t drive the bus and I can’t fly the plane. I’m not a teacher and I’m not a consultant. I’m the one leaving the light on out front. Waiting on the return of those I love, one by one.

Today is the third day of school and the wound in my heart has scabbed over. The ache remains but it’s dull now. MP has proved an excellent physician. It doesn’t hurt that she is currently in a “let’s play doctor” stage. She is offering bandages and medicine around the clock. Time with my little healer gives me a chance to reflect on this change.

I love to travel. I love adventure. Yet I’ve never really stopped to think about the fact that every time I go anywhere, or embark on a new phase in life, I may be packing a piece of someone’s heart along with my necessities. I know my mom’s is in there. Kevin too. And now my children’s join the mix. I’m not used to being the one who stays behind. It’s humbling. It’s a little lonely. It’s also defining. And currently my heart is reshaping itself for letting go.

            Today it’s the bus, tomorrow it’s the same mission trip to a developing country I just took a bunch of teenagers on this summer. And I want those things for my children. I also want my husband to love what he does and to support him wherever he goes.

This spring I started a Couch to 5K program. I’ve never run in my life and thought it was about time. Over the course of the program, I conditioned myself to run just over three miles. It was a slow and steady approach. But now I can run it without feeling like my heart is going to burst out of my chest.  I realize this week is just the beginning of a lifetime of conditioning my heart to be divided amongst those I love, wherever they are. The thing is, it sounds painful, and indeed it can be. But there’s also a tremendous amount of joy. And I’ll take one for the other.