Usually by this time (10 p.m.) on Sunday night I'm not quite dreading the work week in front of me, but I'm at least trying to store up some adrenaline for it. Having run on adrenaline and only about 2 hours sleep per night for 5 staight days last week, my energy supply is lower than that of Nashville's clean water.
So it's a good thing that this week I'm actually looking forward to a Monday, for a change. I have a brutally busy schedule with about 3 things due that I had budgeted to start on last week but didn't get to. I was actually scared to attempt any important legal work due to the frazzled stupor in which I spent last week, so there's a lot on my desk.
I can't say I'm looking forward to any particular task in front of me, so much as just returning back to a normal work day-- one that doesn't include calls to FEMA, the rescheduling of unreliable contractors or frenzied callls from loved ones upon hearing the lastest image on TV.
As the workweek begins, life is slowly returning back to normal for those fortunate Nashvillians who still have a place to call home and an office in which to work. The media is always quick to measure each disater of this type in dollars, but I think the most difficult part of something like this isn't financial at all. The worst part is that it throws you, without warning, into an entirely different and unrecognizable life. A life where you have to find reasons to get out of your house because it's too hot to stay inside; one where you cut out any sweat-producing activity because you can't take a shower; where you can't make evening plans because you are waiting on a contractor; where every guest in your house is someone who will leave requiring payment for their services. The worst part is the break from normalcy, which serves as a constant reminder that your life isn't the life you'd come to know.
I often find myself getting bored when my life falls into a predictable rut. But at the moment, nothing thrills my soul more than the idea of a day of utter predictability. Even if that day is a Monday.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
Faith and the Storm
"God was not in the tornado, but in our response."
So says an inscription in front of an East Nashville church that was in the path of a 1998 tornado that ripped through that part of town. I've always liked that quote, but I can't say I've ever fully understood it until now.
I have faith in God despite this storm, but I now have faith in humanity because of it.
We've gotten help from so many places. People I don't even know were at my house helping to clean out my basement yesterday. We've been offered more fresh water and fans in the last 36 hours than we can use. A contractor, after sitting in an hour of traffic on a road closed by flood waters, took an additional hour-long detour to get to our house to help pump our water out. And he gave us a below-market deal because we didn't have flood insurance. A neighbor three houses down from us lost a moving truck full of possessions-- thousands-upon-thousands of dollars of stuff-- but had the audacity to ask if they could do anything for us.
I want to repay this kindness. But I'm likely to do more harm than good with most any imaginable tool in my hands, so my opportunities are somewhat limited. I signed up with the organization that is managing the volunteer efforts (Hands on Nashville, www.hon.org), but it's almost impossible to find a spot that isn't taken already. I did finally manage to find an opening handing out bottled water on Sunday. I'll be thrilled to help with conservation efforts in the face of our water shortage and to help give someone else a "Plan B" if they suffer the same water outage issue we did.
One volunteer sign-up isn't much, I know. I hope to do more as opportunities present themselves. But I feel noticeably less stressed just in the five minutes since I signed up to be part of the recovery. Partly, it is empowering to feel like I have a stake in my adopted hometown's recovery. But I think the greater satisfaction is just in answering that voice that's been calling on me to do the right thing.
Apparently these are lessons that everyone else here in the Volunteer State already knows. I've never witnessed such a large collection of people offering services from which they get no tangible benefit just because a voice inside of them tells them they should. There is no Darwinian explanation for this, so I'm stuck believing that the same God who allows these tragedies to happen also inspires us to fix them and to love one another more along the way.
A couple days ago, I wrote about not being able to find God's hand in the flood. In the recovery effort, however, it's been unmistakable.
So says an inscription in front of an East Nashville church that was in the path of a 1998 tornado that ripped through that part of town. I've always liked that quote, but I can't say I've ever fully understood it until now.
I have faith in God despite this storm, but I now have faith in humanity because of it.
We've gotten help from so many places. People I don't even know were at my house helping to clean out my basement yesterday. We've been offered more fresh water and fans in the last 36 hours than we can use. A contractor, after sitting in an hour of traffic on a road closed by flood waters, took an additional hour-long detour to get to our house to help pump our water out. And he gave us a below-market deal because we didn't have flood insurance. A neighbor three houses down from us lost a moving truck full of possessions-- thousands-upon-thousands of dollars of stuff-- but had the audacity to ask if they could do anything for us.
I want to repay this kindness. But I'm likely to do more harm than good with most any imaginable tool in my hands, so my opportunities are somewhat limited. I signed up with the organization that is managing the volunteer efforts (Hands on Nashville, www.hon.org), but it's almost impossible to find a spot that isn't taken already. I did finally manage to find an opening handing out bottled water on Sunday. I'll be thrilled to help with conservation efforts in the face of our water shortage and to help give someone else a "Plan B" if they suffer the same water outage issue we did.
One volunteer sign-up isn't much, I know. I hope to do more as opportunities present themselves. But I feel noticeably less stressed just in the five minutes since I signed up to be part of the recovery. Partly, it is empowering to feel like I have a stake in my adopted hometown's recovery. But I think the greater satisfaction is just in answering that voice that's been calling on me to do the right thing.
Apparently these are lessons that everyone else here in the Volunteer State already knows. I've never witnessed such a large collection of people offering services from which they get no tangible benefit just because a voice inside of them tells them they should. There is no Darwinian explanation for this, so I'm stuck believing that the same God who allows these tragedies to happen also inspires us to fix them and to love one another more along the way.
A couple days ago, I wrote about not being able to find God's hand in the flood. In the recovery effort, however, it's been unmistakable.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Mind in the Sewer
My mind is in the sewer. I'd give anything if it weren't, but I just can't help it.
I'm not speaking of abstract notions of morality. I'm talking about our toilets.
Bad news usually comes at night. Last night was no exception. Just as the local news was reporting that the city's clean water supply crisis was starting to ease, our water flow went dry (after briefly turning brown).
And that was the best news of the evening.
The worst news was that after flushing a very small bit of toilet water about the same time, a rumble roughly equaling that of a large earthquake shook through our house. Our pipes sounded as if they were going to explode, and the noise went on for several minutes. I can't even describe the stuff that oozed up to replace the toilet water.
This happened at just about the worst possible point in the evening. Had this happened at 7, we just would have gone to a hotel (in the closest county with running water) for the night and dealt with it in the morning. But when your home becomes uninhabitable at 10, it's just late enough that you feel silly driving to an out-of-county hotel for a brief stay. We were already halfway ready for bed, anyway. So after we drove to the nearest 24-hour grocery store to use the bathroom, I decided to call the water company. After enduring the five minutes of number-punching needed to be transferred to an actual human, I was immediately disconnected.
But my second call went something like this:
Operator: Operator number 888 speaking, how may I help you?
Me: I have brown stuff oozing out of our pipes and almost no water pressure.
Operator: What's your address?
Me: (Giving my address)
Operator: Why don't you run kitchen tap for 10 straight minutes and see if it gets better?
Me: Aren't we in a water shortage?
Operator: Yes. But otherwise we'll have to send someone out there.
Me: Ok, but I also have it coming up our toilets, and the house shakes like a thunderclap after we flush them.
Operator: Just call us back in 10 minutes.
So after 10 minutes go by and nothing changes, I call again:
(New) Operator: Operator number 999 speaking, what is your address?
Me: (Giving our address)
Him: How may I help you?
Me: I just called a while ago. I have almost no water pressure and black stuff coming out our taps and up our toilet. The entire house shakes when we flush it. The operator told me to call back in 10 minutes if the problem wasn't fixed.
Operator: What's your address?
Me: (Giving our address)
Operator: Oh, that's right. You know, sometimes when you flush the toilet not everything goes down in one flush.
Me: Yes, but what comes up shouldn't be darker than what went down.
Operator: Ok, I just need you to flush your toilet 3 times and call me back if the problem isn't solved.
Me: If I do that, I think our piping will burst.
Operator: If your pipes burst, that's not our problem.
Me: Look, I have sewage coming up our toilet. I've already called 3 times. I need someone to fix it.
Operator: We'll send someone out, but it may be awhile. And I need your address.
At 4 a.m., I awoke and decided to check things out. The situation had not improved, so I called back. On my fourth call, I reached the same guy.
Me: Hi, I called at 10 about sewage back-up. It still hasn't been fixed.
Him: Ok, I remember you. Let me look in your file... I see a technician went out to your house at 11, but he couldn't work on your system because it was dark outside.
Me: Why does the technician work at night if he can't do anything in the dark?
Him: It's complicated. Sometimes they can work at night, but they don't like to be walking around people's houses at night for safety reasons.
Me: Then why did he drive over to my house in the first place?
Him: (Long pause.) Umm. Anyway, I will send him back out in the morning. But I'm going to need your address.
A utility truck was in fact working on our sewer when I left for work this morning. But for the life of me, I don't know how he ever found our house.
I'm not speaking of abstract notions of morality. I'm talking about our toilets.
Bad news usually comes at night. Last night was no exception. Just as the local news was reporting that the city's clean water supply crisis was starting to ease, our water flow went dry (after briefly turning brown).
And that was the best news of the evening.
The worst news was that after flushing a very small bit of toilet water about the same time, a rumble roughly equaling that of a large earthquake shook through our house. Our pipes sounded as if they were going to explode, and the noise went on for several minutes. I can't even describe the stuff that oozed up to replace the toilet water.
This happened at just about the worst possible point in the evening. Had this happened at 7, we just would have gone to a hotel (in the closest county with running water) for the night and dealt with it in the morning. But when your home becomes uninhabitable at 10, it's just late enough that you feel silly driving to an out-of-county hotel for a brief stay. We were already halfway ready for bed, anyway. So after we drove to the nearest 24-hour grocery store to use the bathroom, I decided to call the water company. After enduring the five minutes of number-punching needed to be transferred to an actual human, I was immediately disconnected.
But my second call went something like this:
Operator: Operator number 888 speaking, how may I help you?
Me: I have brown stuff oozing out of our pipes and almost no water pressure.
Operator: What's your address?
Me: (Giving my address)
Operator: Why don't you run kitchen tap for 10 straight minutes and see if it gets better?
Me: Aren't we in a water shortage?
Operator: Yes. But otherwise we'll have to send someone out there.
Me: Ok, but I also have it coming up our toilets, and the house shakes like a thunderclap after we flush them.
Operator: Just call us back in 10 minutes.
So after 10 minutes go by and nothing changes, I call again:
(New) Operator: Operator number 999 speaking, what is your address?
Me: (Giving our address)
Him: How may I help you?
Me: I just called a while ago. I have almost no water pressure and black stuff coming out our taps and up our toilet. The entire house shakes when we flush it. The operator told me to call back in 10 minutes if the problem wasn't fixed.
Operator: What's your address?
Me: (Giving our address)
Operator: Oh, that's right. You know, sometimes when you flush the toilet not everything goes down in one flush.
Me: Yes, but what comes up shouldn't be darker than what went down.
Operator: Ok, I just need you to flush your toilet 3 times and call me back if the problem isn't solved.
Me: If I do that, I think our piping will burst.
Operator: If your pipes burst, that's not our problem.
Me: Look, I have sewage coming up our toilet. I've already called 3 times. I need someone to fix it.
Operator: We'll send someone out, but it may be awhile. And I need your address.
At 4 a.m., I awoke and decided to check things out. The situation had not improved, so I called back. On my fourth call, I reached the same guy.
Me: Hi, I called at 10 about sewage back-up. It still hasn't been fixed.
Him: Ok, I remember you. Let me look in your file... I see a technician went out to your house at 11, but he couldn't work on your system because it was dark outside.
Me: Why does the technician work at night if he can't do anything in the dark?
Him: It's complicated. Sometimes they can work at night, but they don't like to be walking around people's houses at night for safety reasons.
Me: Then why did he drive over to my house in the first place?
Him: (Long pause.) Umm. Anyway, I will send him back out in the morning. But I'm going to need your address.
A utility truck was in fact working on our sewer when I left for work this morning. But for the life of me, I don't know how he ever found our house.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Splashville follies
There's often a tinge of humorous absurdity in tragic situations. In moments where it seems better to laugh than cry, our city is providing plenty of material:
News stations are showing pictures of sportsmen fishing in major public roadways. People are literally catching their dinner in their driveways. I didn't read the article closely, but it appeared from a headline I saw that one guy caught a record-sized carp in front of a shopping center (No, the center didn't include a Bass Pro Shop). People started fishing in the streets almost as soon as the river waters overflowed into them (the streets, that is). I can't say I understand the mindset of someone who's first response to this type of tragedy is to break out the rod and reel, but whatever floats one's boat, I suppose.
My neighbor got a workout by kayaking through his basement. He's very proud of the pictures.
The Opry Mills Mall, which is completely flooded inside and out, contains a business that operates a small indoor aquarium. Reports are that the fish tanks have been subsumed within the flood waters, and there are now piranhas drifting freely around the mall. No word on whether the sting rays have escaped as well. Either way, they are going to have to pay some adventurous contractors a WHOLE lot of money to clean up that mess. I've heard that shopping can be dangerous, but this is ridiculous.
The city (which locals are now referring to as "Splashville") is on the verge of running out of clean tap water (ironic, isn't it?) and is asking people to conserve as much as possible. So yesterday when we wanted to rinse the grime off of some dishes to put them in the dishwasher (to be run when the water supply increases) we made good use of our basement spring flood water.
Those free-roaming bison I mentioned yesterday still have not been captured.
Seriously, if you have piranhas swimming through your mall, how do you fix that? It seems too dangerous to go in there before the water is gone, but if you drain the water into the nearby Cumberland River, you risk populating it with man-eating carnivores-- who haven't eaten since the mall closed several days ago! But if you empty the water in any other direction, those street fishermen are going to be in for quite an unpleasant surprise.
The social event of the year in town, the Iroquois Steeplechase, is a Kentucky Derby-like event where people sit around in fancy hats, sip mint juleps or some similar concoction and possibly wager on the races. Despite the flooding, the race is still on for this weekend. This year, though, the emerging favorite is not a Kentucky Thoroughbred or a Tennessee Walker. It's a seahorse.
I'm sure there will be more to come as we swim out from this mess. In the meantime, God bless. Please pray for Nashville and text "Redcross" to number 90999 to give $10 to the recovery efforts.
News stations are showing pictures of sportsmen fishing in major public roadways. People are literally catching their dinner in their driveways. I didn't read the article closely, but it appeared from a headline I saw that one guy caught a record-sized carp in front of a shopping center (No, the center didn't include a Bass Pro Shop). People started fishing in the streets almost as soon as the river waters overflowed into them (the streets, that is). I can't say I understand the mindset of someone who's first response to this type of tragedy is to break out the rod and reel, but whatever floats one's boat, I suppose.
My neighbor got a workout by kayaking through his basement. He's very proud of the pictures.
The Opry Mills Mall, which is completely flooded inside and out, contains a business that operates a small indoor aquarium. Reports are that the fish tanks have been subsumed within the flood waters, and there are now piranhas drifting freely around the mall. No word on whether the sting rays have escaped as well. Either way, they are going to have to pay some adventurous contractors a WHOLE lot of money to clean up that mess. I've heard that shopping can be dangerous, but this is ridiculous.
The city (which locals are now referring to as "Splashville") is on the verge of running out of clean tap water (ironic, isn't it?) and is asking people to conserve as much as possible. So yesterday when we wanted to rinse the grime off of some dishes to put them in the dishwasher (to be run when the water supply increases) we made good use of our basement spring flood water.
Those free-roaming bison I mentioned yesterday still have not been captured.
Seriously, if you have piranhas swimming through your mall, how do you fix that? It seems too dangerous to go in there before the water is gone, but if you drain the water into the nearby Cumberland River, you risk populating it with man-eating carnivores-- who haven't eaten since the mall closed several days ago! But if you empty the water in any other direction, those street fishermen are going to be in for quite an unpleasant surprise.
The social event of the year in town, the Iroquois Steeplechase, is a Kentucky Derby-like event where people sit around in fancy hats, sip mint juleps or some similar concoction and possibly wager on the races. Despite the flooding, the race is still on for this weekend. This year, though, the emerging favorite is not a Kentucky Thoroughbred or a Tennessee Walker. It's a seahorse.
I'm sure there will be more to come as we swim out from this mess. In the meantime, God bless. Please pray for Nashville and text "Redcross" to number 90999 to give $10 to the recovery efforts.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Surviving the Storm
Yesterday morning, in the midst of Nashville's catastrophic flood, we were awakened to a strange noise outside our bedroom window. Two exotic-looking birds--of a species I've never seen here before-- were sitting on the window ledge staring at us, as if they expected us to show them the way to the ark we had stowed somewhere out of view.
Such is life in Middle Tennessee these days. Exotic birds appear two-by-two. A country music star lost her fencing in the flood, and now her resident bison are wandering loose somewhere in the carnage. I'm sure they too will eventually show up at our house, expecting answers.
I grew up on the beach and have lived through several hurricanes, but I've never experienced anything quite like this. Things started getting bad on Saturday when 6 inches of rain fell in about 4 hours. We got somewhere between 9 and 15 more inches on Sunday, depending on which estimate one believes. Our basement flooded, but we got still lucky. Elsewhere in town, entire neighborhoods are underwater. Rescue boats are saving people from rooftops in a matter reminiscent of the aftermath Hurricane Katrina. Opryland Hotel, 1.9 miles from our house, has 10 feet of water in the lobby. Most of our city's landmarks-- the Country Music Hall of Fame, the Grand Ole Opry, the new Symphony Hall, both our sports arenas-- are flooded. One of my neighbors has a yardfull of destroyed furniture outside his house.
When news broke about a nearby dam leaking and Opryland evacuating 1500 guests (which, like all really bad news, happened late at night), we packed up our most treasured possesions into 2 suitcases and a few grocery bags and put them by the door, thinking there was an even chance we'd have to flee to God knows where (interstates were closed with rainwater in all but 1 direction) and never see the rest of it again.
We didn't live through Hurricane Katrina, but practically every loved one in our lives did. We watched enough images back then, as we breathlessly waited to hear from our families, we suffered through this ordeal not only because of the oddly cheery pessimism displayed by our local news anchors, but also the mental image of what might be next.
But the news wasn't as bad as it might have been. The levees appear to have held. One water treatment facility has managed to hang on by a thread, so we can still use tap water. The waters finally started receding, about 24 hours after they were supposed to. Lots of people lost everything, but that seems to be the exception rather than the norm. We lost only a few thousands of dollars worth of heaters and a few mornings of hot showers. A small sump pump that's been flowing non-stop for 72 hours, has finally caught up with the rising flow of underground water and managed to lop an inch or two off our basement water level.
The first water damage mitigation company that came to our house had quoted us one price over the phone but raised it 300% when they arrived on site, citing increased demand. Apparently it had not occurred to them until 48 hours after Nashville flooded that our house might not be the only one. But after we dismissed them, reported a price gauging complaint to our local officials and made a few calls, we were finally able to find a plumbing company that has agreed to clean our basement without seeing this catastrophe as their ticket to untold wealth for generations on end. Of course, I'd be happier about this find if the company's trucks could actually reach my house from its side of the river, but for the moment, I'll take what I can get.
I rejoice in our water salvation. But that doesn't mean I don't have a few complaints. Local officials knowingly mislead the public by presenting an unrealisticly rosey picture about conditions. Emergency officials insisted that the river would crest just below the doorline of downtown businesses, even as they were already flooded. The water ultimately invaded downtown by five blocks. Similarly, the public initally was told that Opryland (which is now under 10 feet of water) was evacuating its 1500 guests due to fear of a potential power outage. We never believed that story, but when your government is telling you something so ridiculous that you dismiss it immediately, it makes it hard to take its legitimage warning seriously. Perhaps not coincidentally, the city is on the verge of running out of clean water because people have ignored the mayor's pleas for conservation.
Some of our other frustrations and traumas could have been avoided. No one bothered to sandbag the downtown portion of the river because the city couldn't find any sandbags. Long after they would have been most useful, an enourmous supply was found in a department of correction warehouse. The scariest moment in our 4-day trauma was late Sunday night when news broke that both downtown and the Opryland had begun evacuations due to unexpected rising water. But this didn't stop EVERY local news broadcast from simultaneously signing off for the evening at 11, just moments later. I know newspeople have to sleep, but they could have worked together to stagger their broadcasts if they were interested in serving the public good rather than maximizing ratings. As soon as the bad news stopped and the recovery began, local news ended their broadcasts. These same local news people failed to warn us about any of this in the first place. The national media, meanwhile, has barely mentioned the destruction here at all, so we may not get the resources necessary for a quick recovery.
But we will recover.
On a larger scale, though, the issue I've been struggling with since long before this flood, is why God created a world where these things happen. An All-Powerful God could have created a sustainable physical world that didn't randomly destroy its inhabitants. I would never stock a fish tank full of fish-imperilling booby traps that go off at random intervals. But for reasons I can't comprehend, that's the type of world in which we live. Whether it was this way since the Dawn of Time, or (as some claim) humanity made it so by failing to reach a standard of absolute perfection that was beyond human capacity to achieve in the first place, makes no real difference to this puzzling moral calculation.
I don't expect to be able to answer this type of quesiton. If it were within human understanding, someone would have figured it out by now. I'm sure there is a reason for stuff like this that will make sense when we find out on the other side. That's the best explanation I have to offer at the moment.
But if I ever get the chance, this will be the first question I ask God. That is, after I ask what to do with those exotic birds and bison He sent me.
Such is life in Middle Tennessee these days. Exotic birds appear two-by-two. A country music star lost her fencing in the flood, and now her resident bison are wandering loose somewhere in the carnage. I'm sure they too will eventually show up at our house, expecting answers.
I grew up on the beach and have lived through several hurricanes, but I've never experienced anything quite like this. Things started getting bad on Saturday when 6 inches of rain fell in about 4 hours. We got somewhere between 9 and 15 more inches on Sunday, depending on which estimate one believes. Our basement flooded, but we got still lucky. Elsewhere in town, entire neighborhoods are underwater. Rescue boats are saving people from rooftops in a matter reminiscent of the aftermath Hurricane Katrina. Opryland Hotel, 1.9 miles from our house, has 10 feet of water in the lobby. Most of our city's landmarks-- the Country Music Hall of Fame, the Grand Ole Opry, the new Symphony Hall, both our sports arenas-- are flooded. One of my neighbors has a yardfull of destroyed furniture outside his house.
When news broke about a nearby dam leaking and Opryland evacuating 1500 guests (which, like all really bad news, happened late at night), we packed up our most treasured possesions into 2 suitcases and a few grocery bags and put them by the door, thinking there was an even chance we'd have to flee to God knows where (interstates were closed with rainwater in all but 1 direction) and never see the rest of it again.
We didn't live through Hurricane Katrina, but practically every loved one in our lives did. We watched enough images back then, as we breathlessly waited to hear from our families, we suffered through this ordeal not only because of the oddly cheery pessimism displayed by our local news anchors, but also the mental image of what might be next.
But the news wasn't as bad as it might have been. The levees appear to have held. One water treatment facility has managed to hang on by a thread, so we can still use tap water. The waters finally started receding, about 24 hours after they were supposed to. Lots of people lost everything, but that seems to be the exception rather than the norm. We lost only a few thousands of dollars worth of heaters and a few mornings of hot showers. A small sump pump that's been flowing non-stop for 72 hours, has finally caught up with the rising flow of underground water and managed to lop an inch or two off our basement water level.
The first water damage mitigation company that came to our house had quoted us one price over the phone but raised it 300% when they arrived on site, citing increased demand. Apparently it had not occurred to them until 48 hours after Nashville flooded that our house might not be the only one. But after we dismissed them, reported a price gauging complaint to our local officials and made a few calls, we were finally able to find a plumbing company that has agreed to clean our basement without seeing this catastrophe as their ticket to untold wealth for generations on end. Of course, I'd be happier about this find if the company's trucks could actually reach my house from its side of the river, but for the moment, I'll take what I can get.
I rejoice in our water salvation. But that doesn't mean I don't have a few complaints. Local officials knowingly mislead the public by presenting an unrealisticly rosey picture about conditions. Emergency officials insisted that the river would crest just below the doorline of downtown businesses, even as they were already flooded. The water ultimately invaded downtown by five blocks. Similarly, the public initally was told that Opryland (which is now under 10 feet of water) was evacuating its 1500 guests due to fear of a potential power outage. We never believed that story, but when your government is telling you something so ridiculous that you dismiss it immediately, it makes it hard to take its legitimage warning seriously. Perhaps not coincidentally, the city is on the verge of running out of clean water because people have ignored the mayor's pleas for conservation.
Some of our other frustrations and traumas could have been avoided. No one bothered to sandbag the downtown portion of the river because the city couldn't find any sandbags. Long after they would have been most useful, an enourmous supply was found in a department of correction warehouse. The scariest moment in our 4-day trauma was late Sunday night when news broke that both downtown and the Opryland had begun evacuations due to unexpected rising water. But this didn't stop EVERY local news broadcast from simultaneously signing off for the evening at 11, just moments later. I know newspeople have to sleep, but they could have worked together to stagger their broadcasts if they were interested in serving the public good rather than maximizing ratings. As soon as the bad news stopped and the recovery began, local news ended their broadcasts. These same local news people failed to warn us about any of this in the first place. The national media, meanwhile, has barely mentioned the destruction here at all, so we may not get the resources necessary for a quick recovery.
But we will recover.
On a larger scale, though, the issue I've been struggling with since long before this flood, is why God created a world where these things happen. An All-Powerful God could have created a sustainable physical world that didn't randomly destroy its inhabitants. I would never stock a fish tank full of fish-imperilling booby traps that go off at random intervals. But for reasons I can't comprehend, that's the type of world in which we live. Whether it was this way since the Dawn of Time, or (as some claim) humanity made it so by failing to reach a standard of absolute perfection that was beyond human capacity to achieve in the first place, makes no real difference to this puzzling moral calculation.
I don't expect to be able to answer this type of quesiton. If it were within human understanding, someone would have figured it out by now. I'm sure there is a reason for stuff like this that will make sense when we find out on the other side. That's the best explanation I have to offer at the moment.
But if I ever get the chance, this will be the first question I ask God. That is, after I ask what to do with those exotic birds and bison He sent me.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Water Apocalyspe
Police are driving around in boats. It has rained as hard as one can possible imagined, non-stop, for two days. If you air lifted Middle Tennessee and dropped it in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, it would not look much different than it already does. Our house has water. So does most everyone else's.
We went to the grocery store when there was a period of relative calm. When we came back to our house, there was, literally, a sea gull sitting on our front patio.
I'll post more later...
We went to the grocery store when there was a period of relative calm. When we came back to our house, there was, literally, a sea gull sitting on our front patio.
I'll post more later...
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