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Friends United Meeting |
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October 2000
Help Can't Wait
By Jane Kohut-Bartels
In my fifties now, my brothers and I joke we were "raised by wolves." In reality, we were raised in a "howling wilderness." Both our parents were agnostics, more likely atheists; my father an alcoholic, my mother neurotic. Early on we were Catholic, but as status and money allowed, we became "high" Episcopalians. By the time I was 20, I broke from all of this and became an active Communist: gunrunner, demonstrator, plotter against the government, and organizer of "cells." Anything "spiritual" was ridiculous. This life continued until 1980, when my marriage to another Commie ended. Almost immediately I married a man eight years younger, who had absolutely no interest in politics or my former lifestyle. Soon, we adopted three-year-old Christopher. I tell you all this only because of the radical rupture which soon happened in my life.
On the first day of spring, 1998, north Georgia was hit by a class 5 tornado in the early hours after dawn. The path was 12 miles long and 1/2 mile wide. With no warning, twelve people died from its effects. An early riser, my delight is to rise in the pre-dawn hours to watch the sun and light appear. Also, as a bird painter, I love the solitude of the morning to prepare, read and watch the birds. So it was I heard the first reports of the tornado as they came on TV. I could not disengage myself and became glued to the TV, continuing to watch what happened for two solid days. Finally, my husband turned it off, making attempts to comfort me, but I was in shock at the devastation.
On First Day, I asked the clerk to read a little announcement to find out if "anyone else was as moved as I was, and, if so, to see me after Meeting to talk about some relief." Only two women answered my message; I was very disturbed and disappointed. All that day, I wrestled with the question: I had to do something, but where was I to go for support? Never did it cross my mind I had any other choice in the matter. I felt this overwhelming sense of urgency to collect and bring aid to the victims. Perhaps you will laugh at this, but I also knew I was to collect dog and cat food, and sanitary supplies.
Doing a lot of crying, ranting and raving for the next four days, I went to a Quaker friend to ask why no one had answered "this call." I was told it was "my call" and others had their own calls. Also, because the tornado had hit between monthly business meetings, I could not yet be supported by the meeting, but only by individuals. I was devastated.
The question then became: Where does God want me to go to organize this relief? I had naturally thought God would want me to go among those I had most agreement with philosophically, but it wasn't working. No one was answering "my call." So I began making phone calls to my neighbors and visiting them, and not one of them refused. Not rich nor comfortable, my neighbors are mostly black and each of them brought forth plentiful supplies. My neighbor to the right, on a fixed income, gave me $10 to "go buy manual can openers." (This proved to be prophetic because without electricity, the mountain of canned food collected by the Salvation Army could only be opened with manual can openers!) Not one black person equivocated even though the vast majority of victims were white, country people. No one said, "let me think about it." These people, my friends and neighbors, answered "my call." Everything was delivered to my house, and placed under my grand piano. I laughed at the comparisons; me, with my Jaguar and piano, delivering stuff to people who had absolutely nothing.
What irony...everything was turned upside down. My expectations of Quakers, my trepidation of my black neighbors, time sequences, everything. In spite of all this, everything was done. Yet all I did was wail about what could have been.
On Friday morning, Christopher and I left early for Gainesville, promptly getting lost. Stopping at a gas station, we immediately met an elderly gentleman who said, "I haven't anything better to do so follow me." Good thing, too, because we would never have found the Salvation Army! When we got there, people of all descriptions were workingÑblack, white, men, women. I can't tell you how many tears we all shed.
Feeling our task was not done, we left and drove several miles to the tornado area. A radio kiosk stood tall on a hill against a beautiful blue sky. Huge white clouds floated like clipper ships across the hill. On top of the kiosk was a yellow banner with the message: "Help canÕt wait." My son looked at me with eyes as large as saucers and said, "Mommy, God is talking to us!" This definite sign I could not deny. All week people had asked, "Was this help really needed?"
When we stopped for gas, a man asked us to visit his area where none of the "cleanup" had started. We were invited to witness the fury and devastation. It was like a giant blender had dropped from the sky and left huge pits in the earth. A baby stroller twisted like a pretzel. Trailer homes flattened to a foot high. Trees uprooted and thrown like matchsticks. Thirty-foot-long pieces of metal twisted around tree branches 20 feet from the ground. Roofs blown completely off. Refrigerators blown to the side of the roads. And everywhere one looked the barren, desolate pits of earth, nude of grass, trees and homes, took on the view of a moonscape. Yet beside this devastation was a peaceful pasture, with trees, grass and a young cow grazing quietly. My son grew quieter and quieter until there was nothing left to say. The sameness of the devastation was numbing.
On the way back, I broke down and cried--not from the devastation, but because of the spirit of compassion and love I saw everywhere among people. These gentle, proud people were facing a disaster that we could only guess at. And I was trying to love and honor the Friends back home...
On that road back from Gainesville, God touched my heart. I felt a presence that soothed and comforted me. I also felt transformed. We had made a drop in the sea. It didn't matter materially, but it did, too. Once home, I was so elated I could not stop talking about the experience. Understand, this task had little to do with me. I was just a mule. God was fully in control and all obstacles came down. My life normally doesn't work in such a fashion. I labor to get things organized. Yet all I had to do here was make a few phone calls and rant and wail. God did it all. It was through me but not of me.
As I search my heart, I believe this experience was of God's direction and making. And my reward was for that moment, I was a part of God's being--I was God's toenail! I remember very clearly looking out the window and seeing the dogwoods in full, tender blossom. It was almost as if the blooms were telescoped into my face as I clearly saw the cross within the bloom. And with this vision, I also realized: "Ah, we are comforters. God wants us to be comforters." I now had a purpose and a reason for existing.
With all my heart, I knew I had been given a task to do, and I had been of service. My neighbors said they were all in the back of the truck with me on the way to Gainesville, and they were. This call would not have been answered without their service too. I was told the proper form for Friends to contribute was to write checks to either the Salvation Army or the Red Cross. But to me, then, that was a sanitized version of "Christian charity." This was not Bosnia, or Angola; these were our neighbors across the pasture. If we cannot extend ourselves in immediate ways, what needs to happen for us to do so? Now, after the experience, I say, send it all--checks, food, supplies, and don't tell God what to do! Let Him decide what is needed and just carry out your call. Don't try to second-guess God....
Two years later...
I still struggle with what this "leading" means in my life, but I can't deny it happened, nor can I deny it was the most profound event in my life!
My relations with my neighbors, especially those who contributed their own love to this small effort, have deepened significantly. There is an unspoken bond between us--something that touched me first, also profoundly touched them. We all know it, and feel it. I have learned through their sense of humanity, compassion and love to trust my own feelings on these issues.
I still struggle with the bigger concepts of God, religion, my place in all of this. But I do know that somehow, I, a significantly broken vessel, was called upon to do something of God's work. And I also knew right then: there was never a chance to refuse, nor did that idea ever cross my mind. That to me is quite the miracle!
For me, the "lessons" about leadings are simplified by this experience. I listen more closely when friends come to me with their own leadings. I try not to filter it through my own interests or ego. Considering their leading is as much from God to them as mine was revealed to me, I will respect their leading and try to further their discovery of it. These leadings may be rare and precious, but people have the discernment given by the Spirit to understand what to do.
Copyright (c) 2000 Friends United Meeting
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