Loading...During the landfall of Hurricane Harvey into Houston, Texas, a longtime friend of mine who works with the Red Cross reached out to me and asked if I would consider being deployed as a provider of Spiritual Care to those who were suffering from its path of destruction. How do you say no to a question like that?
Soon after that call, she asked me to hold off and see how Irma made landfall – they knew it was going to be a major event. The predictions were not wrong. Irma devastated southern Florida and wreaked havoc as it made its way up the state and into southern Georgia.
So, roughly a week ago I landed in Miami and made my way to Marathon, Fla., which is about 60 miles down the Keys from Key Largo, and about 50 miles north of Key West.
The damage from Irma is already obvious in Miami and simply grows in intensity with every mile driven southward. The amount and diversity of debris and wreckage on the right side of Hwy. 1 is both mind-numbing and dangerous as much of it spills over into the right-hand lane. Boats, chairs, household items, washers, refrigerators, trailers, cars, paddle boards, siding, lumber, crab and lobster pots – you name it – and it has been washed across the Keys from one side to the other, lined up in rows from the pulse of the water.
Arriving in Marathon, I drive to the Emergency Operations Center (EOC) and await my instructions. By the luck of the draw as I am sitting out in front of the building the Governor of Florida, the U.S. Congressman from the district covering the Keys and U.S. Senator Marco Rubio show up to show their support to the many organizations which make up the team at the EOC. They all three shake my hand and thank me for all the work I’m doing on behalf of the Red Cross (every other person was inside waiting to get a photo op with them) – I felt like an imposter, and told them all I’d just arrived.
The Red Cross has three shelters on the Keys and continues to try to get permission to set up a fourth one in Key West. These shelters house people whose homes have been destroyed or are not habitable under the present conditions. For the naked eye, those folks – as young as 3 months and as old as 82 – laying on their cots in a gymnasium may look like simply rows of broken humanity, but they are in fact not. They have grit, and each other, and the love of their communities. They are conchs – it’s what they call themselves. Conchs produce that beautiful shell we all recognize as the one where we can listen to the ocean by placing an empty one up to your ear. But while alive in those shells, Conchs are strong, they stay put. But the reality of a Conch is that although it may seem tough and self-sufficient, it is dependent upon the ecosystem around it to survive. It is no different than any other living thing. We cannot live in a vacuum. Our strength and toughness serve us well. But it is our becoming vulnerable and branching outside our selves – outside their shells – that will bring them wholeness and new life.
Below are pictures of people and places I’ve seen so far. If you want images of the totality of the devastation you can check out the Red Cross website or other news sites. I am working 15 to 18-hour days and as of today have had interactions with over 506 adults, children, staff and community partners – I’m required to keep count and report on a daily basis.
Keep the folks of Texas, Florida, the western states and fires, Mexico, Puerto Rico and other places around the world where tough people become vulnerable and renewed by letting others reach out to them in love.
Pictures from Brad Whitaker; click on an image for larger picture:
