We hear the two sounds that follow natural disasters

There are two sounds that follow natural disasters. The first is an eerie, unnatural silence. No traffic, no car doors slamming, no children’s voices, dogs barking or birds chirping. Just a disquieting quiet.

The second sound is that of motors revving and gears whining, followed by the deafening buzz of chain saws slicing into downed trees.

My husband and I covered the aftermath of tornadoes, forest fires and the explosion of Mount St. Helens in our younger days as newspaper photographers.

There are 59 “one another” verses in the Bible: directives to love one another, forbear with one another, be kind to one another, comfort one another and pray for one another. I believe I have witnessed all 59 of those “one anothers” kick into action on the heels of natural disasters.

This spring I was in eastern Indiana where tornadoes ripped through at 165 mph, ravaging several small towns and the peaceful countryside, injuring more than 80 and killing four.

An old man with bloodshot eyes sat dazed in a chair on a neighbor’s porch, staring at a giant oak now lying on the middle of his house across the street.

The orange shirts were there, the volunteers with Samaritan’s Purse. They come from every direction. They know how to work with heavy equipment — the really big stuff they roll in on tractor trailers. The volunteers range from retired and middle-aged to thirtysomethings and college students.

A man in orange approached the gentleman on the porch and said, “Would you like us to get that tree off your house?”

The old man quietly said, “Yes. How much?”

“No charge. It’s what we do.”

The old man’s lower lip quivered. He stifled a full-body sob, but there was no stopping the tears.

This is a thank you for all the first responders who rush in to help while the rest of us watch the unthinkable unfold on screens and feel absolutely, positively, utterly useless.

This is for neighbors who help neighbors, churches that open their doors, chaplains on the front lines, organized volunteer efforts, corporations that send semitrucks with supplies, National Guard members, FEMA workers, people who loan personal helicopters and small planes for rescue efforts, and for regular ol’ people with 4-wheelers loaded with bottled water and courage, who simply get behind the wheel and go.

This is also for those who can’t physically be of help and have the brains to stay out of the way. That said, most of us have a little piece of plastic that can help.

“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

Sometimes we are at our best when we are at our worst.

Borgman is an author, speaker and columnist for Tribune News Service. She may be contacted at lori@loriborgman.com.

TNS