Binding The Wounds

Tornadoes don't happen in the mountains. Ask anybody.

The weather in the Appalachian Mountains of Virginia, where I live, promises to be the safest on earth. Our weather is tempered by the mountains we love, and though we are not as high as the Rockies, when tornadoes infrequently touch down, they are swiftly sent packing up the next slope, and into the sky. That's the way it's always been until now.

It happened late at night, when the powerful tornadoes swept through Alabama, and five other states. My community, in southwest Virginia, was the only thing standing in their way.

One. Two. Three. Four tornadoes, raced past the Tennessee/Virginia border and into the small town of Glade Spring. Then they hit Chilhowie, and barreled on. But the greatest destruction remained in Glade Spring, along with a tragic loss of life.

It chills me to realize that we are talking about life and death. Their community, just like ours. Their homes, just like ours. Their families, just like ours. Their hopes and dreams, shattered, just as ours would be. Their grief was so palpable that it tore through my heart, as I realized it could have been me. It could have been my house flattened, as we slumbered in our beds. It could have been my family, and my husband gone.

"No man is an island, entire of itself," wrote the great Churchman and poet, John Donne, "every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main... any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

So, for those of us who fared well, who woke up the following morning and wondered who is going to mow my grass? I hope we remember to thank God that is was not us. I hope we remember well, that a powerful, uncontrollable natural disaster just may come our way.

Before the night was over, the rescue sirens were blaring, and every volunteer was on his way. That means half of three counties. Betty Blevins was pulled from the wreckage by young hands who wrapped her in their shirts and jackets to keep her from going into shock. While one stayed to comfort, the rest moved on to others and everyone, believe me, everyone showed up.

The next day, people took vacations to help with the clean-up, and it didn't take long, with hundreds of volunteers, to uncover what was left. Nothing.

Nothing except prayers, tears, and a hand to hold. Inexplicably, FEMA refused aid, because the cleanup was so fast. We couldn't possibly need help, because we had so many volunteers, and it was up to the churches to move in and rebuild.

Wow. So the churches have stepped in, as they always do, along with local aid agencies of every scope. When donations were requested, empty cupboards and pockets dug deeper still to find enough to share and to heal.

You see, it doesn't take much money to bind the wounds of a small town. It doesn't make much press. It merely takes a heart.

So, if in the future it is your life that is wounded, I pray that you are near a town like Glade Spring, as I am blessed to be, where binding up wounds is not just what they do, but it is who they are.

~ Jaye Lewis ~
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<jayelewis at centurylink.net>

Jaye Lewis is an award winning inspirational writer, who lives and writes in southwestern Virginia. Jaye is a contributing author to Chicken Soup for the Soul, along with other well known anthologies. Visit Jaye's website at: Entertaining Angels and her blog at: Encouraging Words

[ By: Jaye Lewis Copyright © 2011 (jayelewis at centurylink.net) -- {used with permission} ]