Pray for Texans, and be grateful
Ever been grateful for a toothbrush? Imagine moving from your home to a gymnasium/shelter, having only your clothes on your back — and those soaked.
I pulled the covers back from our bed last night and thought of all the submerged mattresses in Houston and the army cots that will take their places for who knows how long.
The vehicles sitting safe and dry in our carport reminded me of how long it will take Houston to remove all the thousands of totaled cars sitting like submarines in carports. Scrap yards may have a tremendous rise in employees.
The morning cup of coffee that is a routine part of my daily wake-up shouldn’t be counted as routine. It’s a blessing.
My mind has traced the frantic desperation of dialysis patients who cannot survive without their scheduled treatments. Pregnant women nearing delivery times or those with complications may be stranded from clinics or hospitals that are also held hostage by flood waters.
Worship will no longer be associated with a certain sanctuary or church facility in Texas. It will be in shelters where Christians will seek out fellow believers to pray with and search for answers.
Houstonians will learn what we all should learn — that we eat to live; not live to eat. Simple fare will be fine dining for the millions that are stranded from their home kitchens and restaurants.
When stripped of all material goods and properties, need will be the common denominator among all the flood victims.
Hopelessness will use the swift flood waters to navigate to all the homeless, jobless, traumatized Texans. There will be too many questions beginning with “How,” When,” and “What if” to answer. Those who have never prayed will probably begin, and those who do will take it much more seriously.
Despair can invade and paralyze, and Texas will be prolific territory for it to flourish. Even those of us removed and “dry” can sense a portion of their distress and despair.
With a mixture of emotions over this catastrophe, I’ve thanked God for the routine, a hot cup of coffee, vehicles on dry pavement, and neighbors walking, not wading, on their streets. I’ve not had a single thought of where I can find bottled water or who will provide our next meal.
As I’ve prayed for the millions of victims, I remembered Joseph in the Old Testament. As a youth, he was sold into slavery and carried to a strange land and culture with nothing but the clothes he was wearing. Years of tribulation later, he reigned as second in command over all the land.
There is nothing too hard for God. I pray the seeds of his power will fall into the broken hearts of all Texans, take root and bring forth fruit glorifying to our Father.
Letters to Camille Anding can be sent to P.O. Box 551, Brookhaven, MS, 39602, or e-mailed to email@example.com.