Memories of Katrina rekindled by Helene
By Les Ferguson, Jr.
Columnist
It was Sunday, August 28, 2005, in Gulfport. Like most every Sunday, I went to church, shook hands, hugged
necks, and spent 30 minutes or so preaching from the Good Book. But the whole time, I was worried and
uncertain. Somewhere out in the Gulf of Mexico was a little lady named Katrina.
After church, I went home to try boarding up my windows. A friend helped me, and we debated whether we
wanted to evacuate all afternoon. I leaned heavily toward staying until my wife came outside and told us the
winds were hitting 175 miles an hour. At that point, the decision was made to leave.
Evacuating was its own ordeal. We quickly put clothes together, grabbed some picture albums and essential
papers, loaded the dog and kids, and headed to my parent’s house in Kosciusko.
Usually, what was just under a four-trip turned into about ten hours on the road. Bumper to bumper, we crept
along. It was stressful and scary.
As we traveled, questions stirred through our minds. Would we have a house to come home to? Would our
friends still be there? What would our town look like?
Katrina roared ashore on Monday morning, August 29, 2005, and was no little lady. The next day, we went
home to Gulfport. If the trip out was terrible, the trip home was terrifying. We moved trees out of the road,
marveled at the destruction we saw, and were amazed by an interstate covered in appliances. It was horrifying,
mesmerizing, and incredibly stressful.
Pulling into our subdivision, my anxiety was off the charts. But there was our house. The privacy fence was
destroyed, vinyl siding was missing from the south side, a few shingles were torn loose, and the ridge vents on
the roof were gone. But our house stood. There wasn’t inside water damage, just superficial, easily repairable
outside issues.
While I was relieved, so many others experienced horrific damage and even loss of life. Katrina was no
respecter of persons. She was capricious and arbitrary. Life would be irrevocably different on the Mississippi
Coast. Baby girls won't be named Katrina there anytime soon, if ever again.
In like fashion, so many people have suffered enormous losses from the devastation wrought by Hurricane
Helene. That name will no longer be appreciated. And like Katrina, life will forever be measured before and
after Helene.
My heart aches for the victims of Helene. I hope you’ll join me in praying for those suffering and finding a way
to help alleviate the suffering she has wrought. Relief agencies and church disaster relief ministries abound —
pick one and give. You’ll be an answer to prayer!
“God is our refuge and strength, a helper who is always found in times of trouble. Therefore we will not be
afraid, though the earth trembles and the mountains topple into the depths of the seas, though its water roars
and foams and the mountains quake with its turmoil.”
(Psalms‬ 46‬:1‬-3‬ CSB‬‬)