I collected donations for nearly three weeks, mostly from very generous people in my area but some from as far away as Washington State. Clothing, toiletries, baby needs and food were quickly being piled up in my garage until I had to start turning donations away due to the inability to hold any more. It was inspiring to see how many people gave items to donate to the affected residents. I felt amazing knowing that my truck load would be used to help those who needed it. I quickly began following blogs and Facebook posts from different volunteer groups, organizations and people who were going to the affected areas and making a difference. Almost as quickly, though, I began to hit some snags. Several of the organizations required groups of five or more people and a monetary donation per person to stay while helping. My husband and I could not afford, after gas and traveling expenses, to pay the fee nor did we have a group that size. I began to feel increasingly frustrated in the process until I just decided that we would pack it all up, drive down to Missouri and see where we could help.
We made a reservation at a campground in Joplin and packed as minimal as we could. We used a tent that was donated to us by a local woman and we prepared ourselves for a day of helping. At 9 am on June 23rd, we began driving through the town of Joplin and, at first, it looked like a great town full of life and charm. The churches and houses were quaint and lovely. It was only a few yards down the road when we began to see signs that this was no ordinary small town, that something was strikingly different. First, all of the trucks and heavy equipment on the roads filled with debris and rubble. Then we started seeing cars and trucks that looked as if they were left out for days at a driving range, peppered with holes and windowless. And then we were in it. It was so fast that I had to turn around to see how went from a perfect little main street to a scene from a war zone. It was unbelievable how one street was untouched and the next was demolished, seemingly wiped out by the hand of God. God was with these people. It was spray painted on buildings, remnants of homes, churches, schools and cars. God had blessed them.
It was difficult to breathe. I felt my whole body just dissolve into a state of disbelief. This is the true power of nature that man will never be able to harness. My husband, an Iraq war veteran, turned to me and said that it was worse than a bomb- a bomb incinerates leaving nothing behind but bits and pieces. This was not the case. Here, there were remnants, shreds of metal twisted in towering, stripped trees. Shells of cars lying upside-down in former building parking lots. Plots of land that used to bear homes now stood empty less the plumbing stacks or singular walls eerily standing in solidarity. Welcome to Joplin.
We made our way through the busy, chaotic streets to the Salvation Army oasis and told them we came down from Chicago with a truck full of donations and strong hands and backs, willing to work doing whatever they needed us to do. The director shook my husbands hand and thanked us then he directed us to a part of town where we would be working for the day. We made our way to a series of warehouses a few blocks down the street where we first needed to unload the donations. The woman and man who were in charge were radiating joy and positivity. We chatted about where we were from and they thanked us for coming down and for helping. It was not easy to take the compliment, it felt uncomfortable to say anything, really. How could someone thank us for doing what was right? Who wouldn't feel the sense of charity in a time like this, with people so warm and kind? After about 10 minutes we headed to the other warehouse for work. When we got there we saw the overwhelming need of the towns people. Car after car drove through asking for food, clothing or homeless resources. Truckloads of donations poured in through the back. We were given our directions for the morning and got to work.
My husband and I worked side by side with two older women, in their late 60's or early 70's, who were from Arkansas and a much older man whom reminded me of my own grandfather. These three older folks were the hardest working, warmest and genuinely funny people I had met in a long time. A large group of high school church volunteers were there as well, but I think they were a bit overwhelmed by the situation and possible embarrassed that the old guys were working ten times harder than they were. Our task was to organize all of the food by like types, box it up and move the boxes and shelving to another large warehouse to turn into a makeshift grocery store, all while allowing the "customers" to shop for what they needed and help them in whatever way we could. We worked constantly, breaking only momentarily to take a drink of water to help cool us down.
At noon, we were taken to lunch at the other Salvation Army building a block away. The young kids ate their fill and said goodbye while the older people who had been working with us told us what was next on the list. We were going to unload pallets of food and stock up the new grocery building making it as easy as possible to find products just like a regular store. My husband and I headed back and got straight to work. We worked with about six or seven Vietnam era men who made the trip from all over the country to help. One was from Southern California, another from Washington State, one from Massachusetts and the others from Missouri and Oklahoma. The men talked about their families, about their military experiences and about their desire to help. One man was a first responder when Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf coast and compared that disaster to this one.
Towards the end of the day, a three year old boy came through with his mother to get some groceries. He was zooming around in a blue wheelchair with one leg bandaged from his big toe all the way up to his knee. When a volunteer asked him what happened to his leg he simply said "tornado" and off he went. His mother, also in poor shape, said that he was hit with something and it had split his leg wide open from top to bottom. Another time, a man pulled up in a battered car with his young daughter and just stopped. He looked at one of the volunteers and said, " I just don't know what to do or where to go". The overwhelming feeling of helplessness filled my heart and I was left with no words of comfort. How do I help someone who has been through so much? An entire community was left broken, forced to pick up the pieces and move on.
It took us the remainder of the afternoon to work all of the donations into the shelving systems and get the backup pallets organized into workable shape so that it would be efficient enough to restock once the products ran low. Hundreds of jars of baby food, endless supplies of canned green beans and corn, pre-packaged rice and protein packs and shelves of soup all lined up and neatly arranged, making it as simple as possible to find what is needed. At 6pm, we closed up and met with the director. She told us that she was not scheduled to open up the food bank until Saturday (it was Thursday) because there was so much to do and how wonderful it would be to have it up and running a day early. She thanked us for our help and offered to have us back if we could make it. The other men that we had been working with shook our hands and simply said "thank you". We told them what an honor it was to work with them and help out such a resilient community. I wish we weren't leaving the next day. I wanted so desperately to stay and help.
We left the warehouse and started to make our way back to the campsite. We took a side road through streets with no names, past where the high school once stood, where kids played in a mangled playground. We could see block after block of decimated homes, splintered trees and twisted wreckage. My heart ached and my stomach twisted. I felt weak and helpless. Our one day here was over and yet there was so much to do. It would take months to clear away all of the debris and years more to rebuild. Generations to come will live with the memories of that day in May when the sky darkened and the tornado ripped a whole through their hearts. My hope is that the town of Joplin, as well as her sister cities, will not be forgotten and left with the burden of rebuilding. It has been six weeks and could take that many years to recover some sort of semblance to what once was. I know that this will not be my last trip to the area, in fact I am hoping that I can make a trip down there every few months. Knowing that there is still so much work that needs to be done, and so many people who will continue to suffer until they can rebuild, makes it difficult to live my life at home. I will never forget the people that we met working in Joplin that day, nor will I forget the wreckage that consumed the town. The perseverance will, someday, payoff and Joplin will be rebuilt but until that day comes, it will continue to be a struggle for daily life.
No comments:
Post a Comment