After Irma

 Red brake lights glowed as I approached the St. Johns River bridge. 

            On, no. With a traffic jam, I wouldn’t get to church on time for lunch.

            As I crested the bridge, lights dimmed with no evidence of a crash. My eyes locked on the caravan in the right lane. White power company trucks stretched as far as I could see down the interstate.

            News reports told of workers waiting at the Daytona Speedway to begin repairing electrical lines after the hurricane passed. But actually seeing the trucks brought tears. I thought of millions in Florida without power because of Irma.

            When I neared the trucks, I saw they were all from Maryland. They left their jobs, families and friends to engage in dangerous work to serve Floridians. 

            An Indiana cousin’s coworker’s husband had been dispatched earlier. Workers from several states worked in areas hit by Harvey and then came to the disaster in Florida. 

            Thank you, Lord, for sending us help.            

            Throughout the time before, during and after Irma, people stepped up to help one another. I wanted to personally thank the drivers but couldn’t do that in expressway traffic.  I waved but from their high perches they probably couldn’t see me. I was so thankful for them.

            Their destination was a mystery. Perhaps they stopped near Orlando or traveled further to south Florida. Wherever they ended up, their presence blessed Florida. 

            At church, I joined an army of volunteers preparing to serve a free, hot lunch to our weary community. A day earlier, church staff decided we needed to be Jesus to those affected by Irma. An invitation spread on Facebook and Z88, a local Christian radio station. Volunteers and hungry residents shared the news and hundreds showed up. 

            Tables, chairs, volunteers and staff prepared the large foyer. Grills began cooking hot dogs and hamburgers.  For almost three hours, nonstop cooks stood over stifling grills. Tables of lemonade and water waited for hot, thirsty visitors.

            Before the designated time, people arrived. With so many coming, we began serving early. The grills couldn’t keep up with the demand. As people waited at my table, we talked to them and listened to stories. Most had no power. Some had no water. 

            We offered food, cool drinks and encouraging words. The never ending line extended beyond my sight. Church friends and strangers passed by me. They came from communities around Orlando. All thankful for the respite. 

            An assortment of people passed by. Elderly in wheelchairs rolled past. Young parents with children in strollers. Families with several children. Middle aged parents with teenagers. Volunteers stepped up to help carry plates and get drinks. They prayed for individuals. 

            Because no one knew how many people would show up, food ran low. Staff made trips to find additional food in a community with few open stores. Boxes of bagged snacks next to me dwindled to nothing and then more boxes appeared. Hamburgers and hot dogs cooked on an additional grill. Pulled pork, pulled chicken, slaw and baked beans appeared at the end of the lunch. 

            Visitors could also take home a meal for a friend or family member who couldn’t attend. Those meals ran out too but more appeared. 

            Volunteers of all ages cooked, served food, provided drinks, cleaned tables, welcomed visitors, and most of all loved like Jesus. As some volunteers came from powerless homes, they put aside their own problems for the day to serve someone else. After days of stress and uncertainty, the festive atmosphere lifted spirits of everyone.

            When I looked at the variety of people in my church who were talking, laughing and praying together, I knew we were being the church without even entering the sanctuary. We didn’t talk about theology but just loved those around us. What a way to be Jesus.