A Cry and a Holler
As I embraced Susan, weeping over the loss of one of her sons while the other remains unaccounted for, I found myself becoming emotional. 27 days after the initial flooding and landslides that decimated the greater Asheville area as well as countless square miles of western North Carolina, Susan through tears and loss for words mumbles, “Swanannoa is gone.” She is one of countless stories that remain to be written. Shell shocked by the devastation that surrounds them and crippled by the uncertainty that lays ahead.
We came to Swannanoa, roughly 10 miles east of downtown Asheville, looking to offer our hands and our presence however we could. Of the many disaster relief operations ongoing, we joined up with two churches running a joint operation of distribution and search and rescue. Generation Church and Restoration have been in the thick of it, just a stones throw away from some of the worst hit areas by the natural disaster. At the 8am briefing, we met everyone from locals, to those who driven from as far as Michigan and Utah, seeking to come to the aid of those in need. We didn’t meet national guard, FEMA, or any other government agency. We met American citizens, Appalachians coming to the aid of their neighbor near or far. It’s times like these we put aside our own priorities to come to the aid of those in need. Under the shadow of a looming election, highlighted by the talk of an impromptu visit from President Trump, there wasn’t talk about politics, race relations, abortion, etc…there was only neighborly care and a desire to see all people and all tongues be taken care of.
Seeing people put their lives on hold, leave their businesses to employees back home, leave their families to come take care of those who have no one to take care of them. The beauty of this republic shone bright amid the changing colors across the hills. Carnage dotted through a landscape that seems to be mourning alongside its inhabitants in the most beautiful and gracious fashion.
At this point in time, most clean up efforts have been followed through in town. However, Monday morning driving to deliver turnout gear to a volunteer fire department in the valley of Bat Cave, NC, the reality of the long journey ahead could be clearly seen. Roads caved in, houses still filled with mud, hundreds of feet from where they once stood, await rebuilding. The reality of what lies ahead can be seen as much as the mind can imagine what is needed.
Further up the holler, families who have lived there for generations remember floods as far back as 1913 that decimated the valleys. Resilient and strong, they lean on each other as the outside world remains quiet and distant. Some not expecting power to return till the first of the year remain in the homes they were raised in and have raised their children in. Having seen this through in the past, they hold on to what they have and the loved ones they cherish most. They remind us of the wariness some communities have to outsiders and the fragile trust that holds us together. But times like these are about taking risks. Taking the risk to be trusted, to show compassion, and to enter into a culture rich with history and community with a respect to understand them on a human level, not as people to be saved but as neighbors and friends.
Back in town, we met a man named Orlando. Here he stands next to what is left of his car. Weeks before the storm, he began building a tiny home in the back of his grandmas house just to see all his work washed away in the blink of an eye. With nowhere to go, he held tight as a house was washed downstream, just to stop feet from his home, pinned to strong trees that he now plans to build a treehouse. “If they stopped a house, I think they would be a good foundation to build on.” In the aftermath of such a cataclysmic event, people can’t help but think how they can avoid this in the future. Shellshocked by the unexpected, anxiety looms around what happens next time there is significant rainfall.
As we talked with Orlando, other locals began milling about. We met a man with untreated wounds, made worse from infection due to contaminated water. We were able to bring a nurse to tend to him, provide antibiotics and gave them directions to free clinics in the area to maintain treatment.
One thing is for certain. The storm may have passed, but the recovery is only just beginning. Keep your eyes and your prayers on Western North Carolina, and if you have the means, find a local church in the area and see how you can offer your hands and feet as well. The work may not be sexy and crowds may not stand and applaud, but there are lives, even if just a few, who could stand to benefit from a compassionate and gracious hand. You may not save a life, but you might touch a heart, even just with a hug and eyes that see someone in their need.
