Sunday - Arrival Day - 1-28-18

When we touch down, we aren't sure what to expect. Spirits are high. We joke. When we pick up the rental car, there is an issue with availability and the agent tells us a vehicle is available but hasn't been detailed (fancy word for cleaned), Todd pipes up, “Is there any Pizza left under the seat, 'cause we're hungry.” The girls behind the counter laugh, and apologize, “Sorry, there is no pizza.” We go to Whataburger for lunch instead.

We get the vehicles and head to the first church located in Pasadena. Under the overcast sky, the church looks tired on the outside like the rest of the houses in the neighborhood. The house next door to the church has an RV in the back yard. A woman rinses a plastic bowl with a hose. There is a pile of trash, rotten drywall, pieces of wood, bits of stuffing and other indiscernible household items piled in a heap behind the house.

We enter the church building and Mrs. Garcia welcomes us. We sit and listen as the church service concludes. The song is beautiful. The singer sings first in Spanish and I pick up a few words. Dios (God). Gloria Dios (Glory to God). Across the front of the church in big letters, it reads Christos, Nuestros Salvador (Christ, Our Savior). I nod in ascent. Then they start singing in English and I join in. Pastor Garcia steps forward and speaks. In broken English he praises God and thanks us for coming.

“Gracias,” he says.

“De nada,” we think. (You are welcome.) We are glad to be here.

Then the service lets out and we mingle. A few families make up the church. They are happy and gracious to see us. They make us feel like heroes. We talk and visit, thankful that they speak English. I marvel at their smiles and laughter. Hurricane Harvey struck, but is refilling. 

Philip and Mary Lou share their story with us, how they came from six hours away after Hurricane Harvey. Philip came to help with electrical and plumbing needs after the hurricane. He says he is exhausted and overworked, though he says it with a smile on his face. Every day he is going to help someone, often staying to 9pm or later at night to help them get their homes back together. He will go this afternoon, he says, to help an elderly lady who can't get out and needs her plumbing working again. I think, it's been six months. Philip is shocked that it's been six months since Hurricane Harvey. It feels much shorter, he says.

We go outside and the Texas sun makes its first appearance. It is bright and comforting. The blue sky is beautiful. Jeff Stock and Mike Krape begin a game of Frisbee with the children. The kids giggle and laugh. They're not half bad at the game. But an errant wind lifts the Frisbee up onto the roof. Jeff Stock hauls out the ladder from the church and fetches the Frisbee. Kim Kessler joins in the game. The children are laughing. It is great to see the smiles on their face. The Frisbee goes back up on the roof. A mop and a step ladder bring it back down this time. 

We leave Pasedena now. We drive past oil refineries, so large they stretch on for miles.

I think how big and flat Texas is. How there was nothing to stop the water, no valleys, no hills. The levees stopped it for a time, but even they had to let go before they burst. 

We arrive at Templo Emmanuel, a church located in the community of Bay Town. We wait awhile for Pastor Carlos Caban to arrive. His wife Ruth and their five year old daughter Aliana (Ali) are gracious and friendly. Pastor Caban takes the team leaders around the church, pointing out the issues, the improvements desired. 

I hang out with Ali. We play in a puddle for awhile, we have a styrofoam bowl as our boat and a stick monster that attacks the boat and takes all the fresas, queso, and papas fritas (strawberries, cheese, and potato chips). She says the boat is taking the supplies to Nicaragua where her brother went once.

I can't help but think how full of life she seems. I ask her about the flood. Did she have to leave her home? She says no. She says that mommy had to go out for groceries.

I share my little doodle journal with her, and she wants to draw. She isn't sure what to draw, so I ask her to draw a story about Hurricane Harvey. She scribbles frantically on one page and tells me not to look until she is ready. “This is the house,” she says, pointing to one scribble, proud of her artwork. “And this is the storm,” she says pointing to slashes of pen strokes across the page. “This person is smiling because she is happy that she gets a new house.” She turns the page and draws some more. It is a picture of the house with the family. She says not all of them live together. She draws another picture, of two trees, one tree is standing tall, another is fallen down. “Because of the storm,” she says.

Then she tells me to draw a picture. So I draw two stick figures holding hands, one larger like me and one smaller like her. “Can you be my friend,” she asks. I beam and say yes! 

Tomorrow will be another day. I, Priscilla Cash, fall asleep exhausted, but somehow refreshed too. I've seen the hand of God today, and it is good.