Joplin, again.

Joplin, day two.

I was on the phone with a woman wanting to donate childrens' toys when AGTS called to tell me I've been accepted into seminary. I walked back out into the waiting room to a man who told me he'd lost his family in the tornado. He looked stricken. Honestly, I just wanted to sit down next to him so we could look stricken together.

Another woman refused clothes, didn't want any food or shampoo, but finally said she'd accept a case of water. Her brother lost everything in the tornado, but he had a chemo treatment this afternoon, and the doctors said to drink lots of water.

Another woman came in pregnant. Her husband, and four children had been killed around her.

Others just stared at me, half-smiled.

We're working out of Family Services, providing support and encouragement to the staff, and attempting to fill the needs of the families who come in, under the umbrella of James River's Cherish Kids ministry. As people come in to speak with case managers regarding their financial assistance, or the status of their children, we meet them in the lobby, and have the opportunity to ask them what they need--food, water, clothing, hygiene items, etc. A lot of them are hesitant to say they have needs. When we find out how we can help, we have a room set up down the hall from the waiting area with donated items. We put bags together, and bring them back out to the person while they're meeting with Family Services staff.

Other churches and individuals are also contacting us to find out how they can help support us--today we received the most amazing donation of boxes and boxes of clothes. This is important, because we had turned away people who needed them only moments before. Tomorrow, we're looking at getting food donations--food is running low. One woman called saying the Lord had told her she needed to bring new toys--a total God-send, as we're attempting to minister to kids in the waiting area.

It's basically triage at this point. There's a lot of confusion about what's needed where. So, for instance, the people who brought the clothes had stopped at six other places and been told they weren't needed there, before arriving at us. There's still a boil-order in the town, so there's bottled water everywhere. Certain parts of the destruction are blocked off--you can't drive in, or you have to snake around to get to where you're going. People seem generally confused about where to go to get resources--like food or clothing. People who've lived there their entire lives say they get lost in their own neighborhoods because the street signs and landmarks are gone. When you're out in the worst of it, you just see people climbing around in the rubble, setting aside piles of things that are salvageable. There's still search and rescue going on.

Though you focus on the details at hand--getting someone a case of water, or chatting encouragement with a staffer--the destruction is unfathomable. It's almost like it didn't happen. While I'm out there staring at it, I can't believe it. I mean, I see it, I understand cognitively what happened, I comprehend the basic dynamics of a tornado, but I don't get it. It's unreal.