Sunny Pathway

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

The Snowman and the Flood

The hardest thing about floods is that they take so long. I can’t really remember when or how this began. I only know I initially felt guilty for saying I loved blizzards when the aftermath of too many blizzards is a flood.

Because we’re in no danger, I unintentionally began reliving and working through the negative emotions left by the flood of ’97. It’s been cathartic and healing. I realized yesterday morning that our experience in ’97 wasn’t as bad as I had let myself believe. I don’t think I’m minimizing or denying anything by saying that. In fact, at the time I didn’t feel overwhelmed—the overwhelmed emotions came when thinking about the event later. Somehow, I gave it all to God—and now it’s neither a good or bad memory—just a memory of a stressful event that’s over.

Much of the fatigue during a flood comes from the intense focus. Are other things really happening in the world?

Television coverage has included pictures of farm families leaving homesteads surrounded by a ring dike. Leaving knowing they are probably going to lose it all. And they’re upbeat. While I know a special grace covers such situations—it covered us in ’97, too, even though we were far from evacuating—their attitude seems deeper than mine was. Perhaps, as farmers, they’ve learned to deal with the aftermath of unpredictable weather. Truly, all we stand to lose is stuff. That can be both good and bad. I’ve been downsizing ever since the flood— primarily because we’ve moved a few times. Downsizing has been liberating.

But in the end, whether or not in danger, an extended flood means fatigue. I can’t explain why, but it’s so. It might even be fatigue that makes the memories hazy and difficult later. So many of life’s little comforts are gone because life is dramatically disrupted. There’s the issue of conserving water. Streets are almost impassable because road crews are working on flood control. Authorities want us to stay home anyway—to stay out of the way. Little things, but they’re repeated inconveniences. We want normal again.

Then, consider the people who haven’t been able to go to work. I get my hair done at a shop in the mall. When I realized it was open Monday, I quickly called in for a haircut. “You know,” my beautician said, “a lot of people don’t get paid unless they work. And they’re not working when everything is shut down.” It didn’t take long to realize she was talking about herself. And that made me think of the many struggling because of the financial crisis. If we can be exhausted by a flood, think of the disheartened people who’ve lost homes and jobs to that front.

Relaxing in God’s Presence doesn’t come naturally for me when I’m tired or preoccupied. My mind wanders. But I’m not normally at the other side of the curve, either, and I’m certainly not into expletives or their substitutes. Nevertheless, yesterday I woke up with, “A pox on blizzards.” And I meant it! I wanted a new environment now, but another blizzard was dumping about twelve more inches of heavy wet snow that will eventually melt and drain through our bloated Red River of the North.

The short-term blessing is that accompanying cooler weather has delayed the melt-down and river levels are declining. But no one knows what will happen when this snow melts and our dikes will be about as tired as we are.

Then, although waking up as negativism personified, I opened the great room drape to see a snowman across the street. He had wobbly stick arms waving in the wind and a scarf around his neck. A neighbor couple formed it sometime after dark and there it was in the morning light.

Have you ever had something completely cut through your mindset, take you into another world? We don’t have many snowmen in our neighborhood—we’re all over 55. (The last snowman was two years ago last Christmas, created by our granddaughter Emily for our youngest daughter’s children when they visited.) But something about that brave creation yesterday, standing defiantly against the stress of flood reports, convinced me we still have the capacity to enjoy life.

To celebrate I made caramel rolls, but this blog is long enough so I won’t tell you about that. I’m just glad something penetrated me, took me beyond myself and the present trauma. I ended up ignoring my email inbox and spent much of the day writing. I actually thanked God for the snowman. It came as a present when I needed one.

Here he is—photographed this morning after his stick arms were removed by the wind and his facial features were distorted by the melting temps. I think he’s still rather elegant—and a very brave fellow. Just what the world needs in the face of a flood.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

nice!!!