I’d like to tell you a story…

I’d like to tell you a story about something that happened one night several years ago.  When you think that God is too busy to notice you, when you think that an infinite and all-powerful God has better things to do than to deal with you and your concerns, read this story.  Read this story and be reminded that God created you in His image.  Did you catch that?  You.  In His image.  He created you and He loves you.  He’s preparing a way for you before you even know you need a way.  He’s got it.  He’s got you.  Every step of the way.

One Night In Baton Rouge

The captain’s voice filled the airplane, “Ladies and gentlemen, depending on when and where we run into Hurricane Rita, your flight may be diverted.  But we are going to do our best to get you to Baton Rouge on time.”  It was September 2005 and Hurricane Katrina had just devastated the Mississippi Valley four weeks earlier.  The majority of the other passengers on this plane, like me, were headed to Louisiana and Texas to help with disaster relief.  Everyone had different reasons for feeling the need to respond, but the one thing we had in common was the desire to help. 

My job was managing staff shelters – the places where the disaster relief workers slept.  There were procedures to follow, paperwork to complete, and lots of counseling to be done.  So many of my colleagues were experiencing terrible sights in the field – homes destroyed, loved ones missing or dead, and a sense of hopelessness. Even the most steadfast of hearts was pushed to its limits by the sadness and destruction that was encountered day in and day out. 

After a few weeks in Baton Rouge, I got the call. “I need you to open an emergency shelter.”  My supervisor was ordering me to change shelters.  The replacement worker I’d been training would take over my current shelter and I was to go open a shelter for 50 new arrivals that couldn’t be processed that day.  “Just open the shelter, feed them, let them sleep and get them back to HQ tomorrow for processing and their assignment. Some of them have been travelling for two days.”

Some of the new arrivals were already waiting when I arrived with the key.  We were going to be housed in a park’s old recreation building that was no longer used.  The faded red bricks were worn, but still strong.  And there were floor to ceiling doors that we could open on both ends for airflow. Those 50 new arrivals soon became over 100 as the vans continued unloading relief workers.  I didn’t have cots for that many, but the early arrivals were quick to offer their cots to the newcomers and just throw out a bedroll or sleeping bag on the hard gym floor for themselves. 

The first thing a shelter manager does is identify who is in her shelter, especially people that would be able to assist in an emergency – people with a background in law enforcement or military, health care and spiritual care.  I found a nurse, an EMT, a pastor and 9 men with military or law enforcement background.  Nine.  That kind of saturation in one shelter was unheard of.  You were lucky to have just one.  Little did I know then, that those nine men being in that shelter was more than just a statistical oddity. 

The loud chatter quieted to a low rumble of murmurs as people were fed and settled in.  Card games, dominoes, and lots of “what made you decide to come here” questions were all around.  I was just enjoying the realization that the hardest part of that night was complete, when Jeff, one of the military men approached me.  “Ma’am, we’ve organized a security detail, and the other men and I will keep watch all night, rotating shifts.”  I chuckled, and said “I don’t think that’s really necessary.”  “Well if it’s okay with you, ma’am, given our location and the proximity to the drug house across the street, we’d feel better keeping watch.” “Drug house?  What drug house?”  It was Jeff’s turn to laugh.  “Where are you from? he asked as he led me outside and gave me my first lesson in neighborhood crime watch.  We watched car after car drive down the street, blowing their horn at the same spot, going around the block, pulling into the driveway, someone would come out of the house, go to the driver’s side, return to the house and the car would leave.  Oh my. Okay, just 12-14 hours till we could get vans from headquarters and get everyone out of here.   “God, please watch over us.”  What I still had yet to realize was that He was already doing just that.

We watched a police car drive by the drug house, slowly.  Then it came back and pulled into the shelter parking lot.  The police officers welcomed us to the neighborhood but urged us to be cautious.  It seemed the recent hurricanes had doubled the population of Baton Rouge but almost halved its police force, as the officers had to leave to tend to their own families.  They assured us they would be in the area as often as they could, but the high demand on their time didn’t promise much of their company.

The buzz in the shelter quieted even more as the night cooled and the weary travelers gave way to sleep.  All except the security team and me.  They kindly allowed me to do patrol with them.  As we were doing a perimeter check a car pulled into the parking lot, doors flew open and gunshots rang out.  Jeff yelled, “Get out of the light!  Hug a wall!” Just as quickly as the car and gunmen appeared, they disappeared. 

My heart was pounding.  My knees were shaking as I walked to the door of the shelter and looked at the dozens of people sleeping soundly, (the industrial fans we found in a storage closet were helping to circulate the humid air but they also masked the sounds of the gunshots) people who had walked away from their own lives to be here – some of them for weeks and months – all because they want to help.  These were the people who were being threatened; they were the ones at risk.  And I was the one responsible for their safety that night.  My first thought was, “I need to get these people out of here now!”  Then reality set in.  If I woke them, chances are, I’d have to deal with a panic if they knew we had been under fire.  Secondly, there were not enough vehicles in our parking lot to transport that many people.  And until headquarters opened the next morning, there was nowhere for us to go.  The weight of that dilemma and my own fear threatened to take my breath away.  “Dear God,” I prayed, “I don’t know what to do.  I’m so afraid. Please help me.  And please keep these people safe.”

I gathered the entire security detail, waking the ones who were sleeping before their shift began.  I informed them, with more calm than I was feeling, of the issues facing us and asked, “Can we keep these people safe tonight and until we can get the shelter emptied tomorrow morning?” Jeff answered, “Ma’am, none of us have weapons with us.  But we all will do what we can to protect you.  We will give our lives for you if that’s what it takes.”  The other 8 men nodded in agreement.  Tears flooded my eyes.  Touched by their commitment, but more than that, touched with the realization that God had sent 9 men willing to sacrifice themselves to stand watch over these people.  God had answered my prayer before I even said it. 

Our shelter came under fire twice more that night.  No one was hurt.  And no one but the security team and I knew we were under fire.  The next morning, the security team informed me they would be the last to leave the shelter, with me.  For three hours, vans shuttled relief workers and their luggage to headquarters.  After the last load of workers was gone, I padlocked the door to that shelter and climbed into a van with 9 men who just happened to end up in my shelter for a night. Do you buy that? Nahhh. Neither do I . God’s hand was all over that night. And every night. We just need to pay attention.