No one can cry another’s tears. I learned that over and over as I attended victims of
Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans Louisiana. Pain vibes were palpable and I laid my hands upon their bodes, but only they could experience what ached and throbbed inside.
I struggled to assist all who were placed in my care during the early days following the storm, but the healing that they needed was far greater than that which could be offered by clinical services. They were injured spiritually mentally and physically. The distancing offered by the passage of time was as important to their recovery as anything medical science could offer.
Like them, I had property loss and a few dear friends had lost their lives as a result of Mother Nature’s fury coupled with man’s indifference. But unlike the sick and wounded that I cared for, I was able to flee before the worst of the storm arrived. For a long time, I felt guilty for this.
I was angry at city officials for not having a comprehensive evacuation plan that
included the inner-city dwellers who had no personal transportation. I was angry with the state for not having the political clout to get the richest nation in the world to rescue her citizens in the face of disaster. I was disappointed in a nation that cared more about people in other countries than those living in the Gulf region of the United States.
I questioned God; I lost faith in the idea of truth, justice and mercy. I was lost while standing in full sight of those around. I was desperate to do something to make things right. Why did bad things happen to good people? I looked for the answer to that question. I pelleted God with queries about abandonment and punishment. I read and re-read the book of Job growing angrier with each pass. I read the Book of Psalms seeking comfort in David’s laments. I sought counsel from the ministers who told me to be patient and that my despair and sense of forlorn would pass with time. I felt that time was running out.
I suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome; the past and present collided in indistiguishable heaps and I was unable to decipher them. I felt transparent. I was invisible. After many hours of worry, tears and prayer , came an epiphany. I could change my circumstances by changing my perspective and mode of operation. I could not reverse the disaster of Hurricane Katrina; I could not preside over this nation or the state Louisiana or the city of New Orleans, but I knew that God had dominion over all and He was as close as a prayer.
I reviewed a passage in the Bible (Corinthian II, verses 4-9) “We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.” that redirected me. God was answering my questions and I was slowly learned to listen. I can not fix everything, but with God, I can be whole. Being angry was not changing anything. Being sad and afraid were destroying me.
My healing was facilitated by journaling and reading the writings of others. It was the work of Marianne Williamson that made me smile again. Although what she writes in “Our Deepest Fear” is insightful and serious, it called back that “little girl” in me who “could do whatever she wanted as long as she was willing to accept the consequences.” Ms Williamson words that captured me are as follows: “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. You are a child of God."
As I was re-assured of my first identity, I began to regained confidence in my professional identity. I am on a journey of becoming the best that I can be, and now I am a whole lot closer than I was three years ago.
