by Carol Sindelar, Echo Hill Presbyterian Church

The van rolled slowly through the flooded neighborhood with its side door opened. A volunteer armed with a megaphone called out, "Free meals, ice cold water at the Petro-N-Provisions." My brother, Bob, had gathered us together that summer day in June 2008 to gut the family homestead in southwest Cedar Rapids, IA.

Growing up, we did not attend church. I married into a church family but Bob's church experience had soured him. His definition of church mission was, "do-gooders running off to far-off places to waste money just to feel good about themselves."

Now, disaster had struck. Five generations had grown up in this house built by our Jedda (Czech for grandfather). Our grandmother told of watching cowboys herd cattle down the street when she was a child. She would smile as she told how angry her mother would become as she tried to shoo the cattle out of her flowers, the same daylilies that now bloomed by the porch.

After working all morning, we were dirty, hot, thirsty, and unprepared for lunch. We also were unprepared to deal with the emotions involved in hauling a lifetime of memories to the curb.

The call of "ice cold water, free food" reverberated in our minds and Bob suggested that we go and "see what they have."

The corner store was like an oasis in a desert. There was water to wash, port-a-potties, sandwiches, chips, fresh fruit, homemade cookies, and ice cold water. God's people were there, too.

There were no neon signs declaring they were part of the body of Christ, but their actions spoke loudly as they  handed out food and drink generously with the name of their church printed on a small address label. "Have another sandwich. Take one with you for later."

They were good listeners when someone needed to tell their story of loss and they were respectful of those who wanted to be left alone. We left with our spirits refreshed.

Later that day, an inspector came by and posted a red X on the outside of the house, meaning it was slated for demolition.

As the inspector turned to leave, two girls appeared in the doorway and handed an envelope to my brother and another one to his step-daughter. No words were spoken.

On the outside of the envelope was another small address label — another church reaching out. Each envelope contained $100 and bit of hope at a time of great despair.

Brother Bob, as I call him, had never seen Christ in our midst. He viewed church as irrelevant. But then the flood of 2008 washed away his defenses, and Christ came to help him in the form of two churches he did not know.

He will tell you how amazing it was because just when he had the greatest need, “Bam, there they were.” Brother Bob will tell you churches can do amazing things. He has seen it.

Editor's Note: Bob was able to petition City Hall and have the red X removed. He and his family celebrated Christmas 2008 in the restored house.

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