May 21, 2011

May 21, 2011, was not about a day of impending apocalypse for me.  Instead, it was about a note written on a rear window of an old car that simply read:  Tuscaloosa Thanks America.  I wish I had taken a photo of it as I knew it was heartfelt...and in a simple way, it expressed my complex thoughts.   As I read that little note, I thought, "Yes, yes, we do."

I should explain that I was not personally affected by the April 27, 2011 tornadoes.  My house was in no way harmed.  My family are all safe and sound.  I haven't even lived on 15th Street in Tuscaloosa since July 2006.  That's almost five years.

But a part of me will always call it home.

As a drove down the street that used to be so familiar, I was devastated.  I don't know what I expected to see.  I had seen countless photos of the damage.  I knew it was bad...really bad.  But nothing prepared me the path of destruction that tattered the landscape.  Favorite restaurants and houses where I used to hang out with friends were reduced to piles of bricks and splintered wood.  The apartment where I lived for three years escaped with only minor damage...but barely.  A little bobble in the cyclone, and it would have been gone, too.  It has been almost a month and work has continued around the clock, but it seems that barely a dent has been made.  It was disheartening and overwhelming, especially as I know awareness of the struggle is fading from the public eye.

In the midst of this, though, I found hope.  I found it in a map at the Volunteer Registration Center, where volunteers placed their initials over their home states - a map that had initials stretching almost nationwide.  I found it in the sweaty faces of guys unloading truck after truck and van after van as they dropped off supplies.  I found in the helping hands, faithfully sorting food, clothes, and everything else imaginable.  I found it in the Tuscaloosa native, who, having weathered the storm with no damage, was choosing to serve others.  I found it in the group of Navy personnel from out of state, heading out to clear debris.  I found it on the sign written on a piece of cardboard box and hanging above a distribution center doorway that read:  People who say it can't be done, please don't interrupt the people who are doing it.

Everywhere I looked there was a glimmer of hope.  A smile on a face, a tireless effort, a willingness to do whatever it took.

I pray this is true for other areas affected by the storm.  I pray it's true for states and countries that have recently weathered extensive destruction due to other heart-wrenching disasters.  Hope is what keeps us moving.  It's what gives us the strength to put one foot in front of the other.  It's what keeps our focus on the horizon.  Without hope, we might as well fold up, go home, and wait for the world to end.  Without hope, there would be no point.

A place I still consider home is broken, but it hasn't lost hope...and neither have I.  We're all thankful for the support from across the nation, and we have faith that the effort won't end until the final task is complete.

I'm grateful that my May 21, 2011, was not spent waiting on the world to end.  We're told that only God knows the hour and the day, so why should we waste our time trying to guess?  I used my day to give my tiny offering to the healing process.  I used my day to give hope.  I pray, in some way, you did, too.

We are Tuscaloosa.  We are Alabama.  Roll Tide Roll.