Evacuation Nightmare...

I walked up the long and narrow sidewalk to the covered awning that stretched between the two buildings of the church like a suspension bridge, hovering to shelter the small army of volunteers which traveled between its doors. A kind-hearted gentleman met me and Hannah, the girl I'd met a mere 10 minutes earlier as we rushed from our volunteer stations at Central Baptist Church to answer a call for help just up the road at Hillcrest Baptist Church.

"God bless you," the words spilled difficultly from his lips.

What was the big deal? I thought to myself. We'd supposedly been sent to help load people back onto buses, just another disappointing and probably frightening failure in their quest for a shelter from the pains of leaving behind their homes, friends and in some cases, parts of their families to run from a storm that could send their entire life into chaos. The whole thing was horrible, of course, but we had been turning away families in droves from Central for the past 5 hours of my stay there. All the shelters in College Station were filled, most beyond capacity, and we had been sending people to Waco, until receiving word that they too were pushed beyond their limits. Our alternative for these road weary warriors was Austin - a destination another potential four to five hours beyond here on the snail trails we once called highways. For some, like the woman, her husband and four children who had already been on the road for 36 hours, this was hard to fathom. For us, too. How could we turn them away? How could we stomach the sickening arrows flying from their eye; arrows of weariness, fear and pleading that pierced our hearts?

But we had no choice.

So what was the big deal? I said to myself. We could get these people loaded and sent on their way in a few minutes and return to the normalcy (if you can call it such) of the evacuee village now living between the walls of Central.

"There are about eighty five folks here," he began, "sixty two of them are severely disabled, mentally retarded, or wheel-chair bound.
"Severely," he said again, continuing, "it was horrible. They got here about an hour ago, having been in the cars, vans and trucks that brought them from their home outside of Houston, for twelve hours. They were exhausted, hungry, and desperately in need of a place to stop. While we couldn't offer them shelter, we did offer them a place to eat, to rest and to clean up.

"It was horrible." The words came again, hitting the strings of my heart like a sledgehammer.

As I heard him explain about the woman who ran around screaming for thirty minutes after getting out of her cramped "vehicle of salvation," the inhumane degradation of the soiled clothing, extreme hunger, and cramped conditions of their journey, unavoidable in the bumper-to-bumper and inexitable roads, a chill ran up my spine. How can this be happening, I thought to myself. We live in America...people shouldn't be forced to face such things. As I shook my head in disbelief, I proceeded through the glass facade and almost lost my composure as I surveyed the pitiful people that stretched out before me.

He was right - this was horrible.

About eight workers were madly working to help feed and comfort those who could not do it themselves. One sweet middle-aged woman, seemingly mentally retarded, came up and shook our hands - "Do you like me?" she asked. "Of course I do," I replied. In a sea of confusion, frustration and sheer exhaustion, this one woman managed to have a magnificently positive outlook. But her moment of joy was met with dozens of others with a completely opposing view.

A mixture of ill-prepared food, medicines, body fluids, and soiled clothing - the smell was nauseating and inhuman. The revolving bathroom doors seemed to never stop as the white garbage bags of clean clothes entered with a patient and a worker and exited without. Patients in wheelchairs where wheeling other wheelchair-bound patients to and fro, a strange dance that was touching to witness, while workers hauled Wal-Mart bags of medicines, leftover food and personal belongings back to their cars. Mary, a gentle older woman, sat in her wheelchair, wringing her hands in puzzlement and suddenly began screaming. She, like the others who approached me simply to say “I tired” was exhausted beyond words. She should have been safe in her bed, resting, instead she was in a strange place, surrounded by strange people and probably still only halfway to a place where she could actually stay.

Mary finally calmed down, and we did get all of the people back out to and subsequently loaded into their vehicles. Seven in the small car, eighteen or nineteen in the van, once again crammed into their evacuation prison.

I sat at home last night having had an extremely long and crazy day at school, bored (as has been typical lately with my lack of in-town friends) and reading an e-mail sent to the membership of Central about volunteering at the church for hurricane evacuees. I left the comfort of my home to see what I could do to help, not realizing that I would return fourteen hours later with an entirely new and different outlook on life. God often uses situations and circumstances to teach and shape us. Last night was one of these defining moments. I am exhausted physically, yes, but perhaps even more I am exhausted mentally and emotionally. May I never forget the people whose fatigued and terrified faces I saw, and may God continue to use me to help my fellow man and show them His love. Last night impacted me on so many levels. I have been changed.