When tragedy strikes

A tragedy has again caused the heart of America to beat with love and compassion. The worst circumstances have stirred the best in people, as we have seen repeatedly. Hurricane Harvey, with all its fury and devastation, has brought countless stories of selflessness and courage.

The media coverage has been ongoing -- too much for me to absorb. I looked for other places to look because, frankly, there's only so much I can take. I don't do well with hour after hour of the scenes the storm has brought us: the babies, the animals, the fear, the cries. Personally, I cannot sit and incessantly take it in, and I really don't think the massive amount of coverage is necessary. So I check in occasionally and pray for those suffering such an unfathomable nightmare. Even my prayers are a struggle. I just have trouble finding the words sometimes in the face of what is going on. Seeing what unfolds and feeling for the people make it difficult to formulate adequate words, but, as always, I find hope in knowing God hears my heart when my words are inadequate.

In these times, I am always blessed by the people who risk their own safety to tend to others. Interwoven in the heartbreaking images are the scenarios of which we are made aware -- the real-life stories that remain long after the waters recede: agencies and churches opening their doors; neighbors on boats picking up fellow neighbors; strangers gathering cats and dogs, even shepherding cows and horses; a president giving a million dollars of his own money; a second lady leading a community in prayer; a national day of prayer.

From the highest level to the lowest -- or vice versa -- doesn't it seem that it takes the worst to bring out our best?

Have you ever noticed that when reaching out to help, no one asks political party affiliation? No one cares where someone stands on Obamacare. No one takes a poll of who voted for President Trump. No one asks immigration status. I am not suggesting that none of these things matter. I am just observing that in the worst of times, people just help. They share warmth, offer a bed, pray.

Consequently, when such tragedy strikes, we hear the hopeful sentiment: "Maybe everything will be different this time. Maybe the partisanship will end and we will 'all just get along.'"

"You think we'll play nice from now on?" someone asks. The answer, of course, is no. I hate to break the news, but that's the truth. In fact, throughout Harvey, a few could not refrain from finding a political point to posit or an agenda to advance -- the first lady's heels, photo op accusations, which big-name pastor wasn't doing enough, points about race. Some people cannot help themselves. Thankfully, however, that's not most people. And thankfully, that's not even many people who are in the thick of the tragedy. Those people don't have time to play political games; they're too busy trying to survive and help those around them survive.

We know that after tragedies, business as usual resumes, and people who forgot about the issues that divide us tend to allow the issues that divide us to ... well, divide us. This is bad news, of course, but I find some good news in it. The things that people are passionate about don't disappear even on the other side of loss and devastation, as much as we hope that "this will be the time when we'll walk hand-in-hand and get along forever"; it just won't happen. We live in a fallen world, and we are imperfect creatures. But these times reveal that when the rubber meets the road, as they say, when it matters most, most people are more passionate about people than anything else. And often, without a second thought, they allow that, not politics, to govern them. The next month or week -- perhaps the next day -- they will fight again, but together, they will live to see that day. Hey, we'll take what we can get.

My prayers abound for those who are affected by Harvey. God bless them all.

Adrienne Ross is owner of Adrienne Ross Communications and a former Southeast Missourian editorial board member. Contact her at aross@semissourian.com.