Steve and Samaritan's Purse volunteers surprising my daughter with her finished room.
October 29th
is the anniversary I never forget. Not my wedding day, but the day of the
biggest storm to pummel our city of Long Beach in 2012. Stepping on crunching
leaves and smelling the crisp fall air sweeps up memories of all the days that
followed Superstorm Sandy. We lost a lot in one day. Flooding destroyed our
home. We had to rip up floors and gut the walls to prevent mold growth, and we
tossed out everything wet, from furniture to photos and paintings and clothes. Our
boiler was submerged, so we didn’t have heat or hot water. Gene and I had five
kids and my mother-in-law to worry about. Hopelessness felt endless as if our
home would never be the same.
One year later as we
still walked on plywood floors, Tall Steve showed up with Samaritan’s Purse
volunteers and his huge smile. He was one of the team leaders whose mission was
not only to help people rebuild their homes, but to repair hearts as he shared
God’s love. He towered over most people at a height over seven feet and was
probably asked if he played basketball by someone every day. He didn’t but
welcomed the opportunity to talk about someone bigger than he, his wonderful
Savior.
Samaritan’s
Purse Ministries set up their base at our church. Volunteers traveled from other
states across the US and slept in sleeping bags in the children’s Sunday School
classrooms. They stayed for a week until the next group came. Volunteers cooked
meals with donated food and held a “share” time every evening during dinner. Steve
and the other leaders often invited the families of the homes they were fixing
to be the dinner guests. They wanted to hear the stories of how God was working
in people’s lives. Sounds great, but not to our family made of mostly
introverts. We were thankful but didn’t care to speak in front of a huge group
of people we just met.
One
night, as we drove to the church dinner, my husband said, “I hope Steve doesn’t
ask me to say something. I am exhausted. Someone else can share tonight.”
My
mother-in-law, Clementine, and I agreed. There are other families that can say
something. We planned to avoid eye contact with Steve as we ate, so we wouldn’t
get called on like students who didn’t know the answer.
But
I think from Steve’s bird’s eye view of us, he could see us hiding our faces in
the baked ziti. While our mouths were still full, he said, “Clementine, would
you like to share any experience you had this week with the volunteers?”
My
mother-in-law answered, “No, but I think my son, Gene, does.”
My
daughter and I nearly burst out laughing at the surprised look on Gene’s face. My
husband knew if he started to speak of how he felt receiving their help he
would choke up. And he did. My eyes watered too as we thought about the
kindness of these people. I think Steve wanted to see tears, to see hearts
open. He knew the joy that would follow. He thrived on bringing people out of
their comfort zone.
My
mother-in-law was so impressed by Steve, she painted a scene of the ocean with him
glowing in the rosy sunset and standing on the shore next to a lady. He is pointing
to the water as if amazed by the awesome view of God’s presence. She captured
his size and his heart in the painting.
Years
later, Tall Steve asked if we could make a short family video sharing something
to bless his upcoming marriage and be added to a montage, he would give his fiancé
on their wedding day. It was an honor to be included, but once again, he
dragged us out of our comfort zone. I think we created the most awkward video,
but our hearts were in it.
One
year after his wedding, at the beginning of the pandemic, we heard Tall Steve
went home to be with the Lord. His beautiful memorial was shared on YouTube to
be viewed by people around the world. Even in his death, he was able to share God’s
light in a huge way.
Clementine’s painting hangs
in our living room. Sometimes I stare at the cerulean blue ocean as Steve
points from his God’s eye view. And my heart fills with joy. This anniversary
reminds me what we lost can’t compare with what we gained from God’s love.
Painting by Clementine Judge (my mother-in-law)
*****
* First written for Faithwriter's Weekly Contest. Received an Honorable Mention Award.
* Check out my other blog at Doodle Stories & Oodles of Art
and my author/illustrator website: francesjudge.com
