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When the flood came
Originally appeared on spirituality.com
It was 1973. I was sitting on a bluff along the Mississippi River near St. Louis and gazing out over what was literally a flood plain. Normally, the Mississippi and the Illinois Rivers, which flow through that area, would have been two different bodies of water. But a week or so before, one of the 20th century’s great Mississippi floods had rolled in, and the two rivers had merged.
Where beautiful farmlands and residential communities once stretched below, there were now just a few rooftops and trees visible above the water. I felt helpless and overwhelmed in the face of such devastation.
I had volunteered, with other college students, to help people along the river whose homes had been flooded. At first, it seemed we were lessening the tragedy as a group of us worked together, praying and singing as we filled sand bags. Our efforts and encouragement gave hope to homeowners, and we loved supporting the folks who were trying to get their lives started again.
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