Virginia.”
Amelia continued reading the computer message. “Several areas have been inundated with floodwaters from the Tug Fork River, a border stream between West Virginia and Kentucky.”
Before Amelia had finished reading the account of death and destruction, Tom laid a fax sheet on her desk—a call for help from the West Virginia Red Cross. She experienced an overwhelming urge to answer that call. Amelia wasn’t naturally impulsive, so her reaction to this emergency surprised her, as well as her supervisor.
Tom had stared at her with incredulous eyes when she volunteered. A fourteen-year employee of the American Red Cross, Amelia had been exposed to many national tragedies, but she’d always been content to remain at her desk to do her part in helping the unfortunate.
“We’re very busy, as you know,” Tom said slowly, “but we must send help. Speed is of the essence in a calamity like this. If you can get ready to go today, I’ll round up other volunteers to follow you as soon as possible.”
The sudden devastation that had wrecked almost five thousand homes was enough to stir anyone’s sympathy, and Amelia had felt a wave of compassion that she’d never known before. She was a warmhearted person, but never until this moment had she felt the need to physically help others.
By midafternoon, Amelia had left Philadelphia and was on her way to West Virginia. After her sudden decision, she’d made arrangements for a volunteer worker to take over her office duties. She’d gone to her apartment, packed her car with everything she thought she would need for three weeks and headed south in her Buick, a Christmas gift from her parents. Only then had she taken time to consider her hasty action.
Having been pampered by rich parents for years, Amelia decided in her late twenties to seek a more worthwhile life than the one she’d had up to that time. She’d gained a new social perspective when she became a Christian, and a sense of mission had led Amelia to work for the Red Cross. She knew she’d been of service as an office worker, so why did she have this sudden urge, at the mellow age of forty-three, to become personally involved?
Last night, during her devotional time, Amelia had read the apostle Paul’s experience in the first century when he’d received a call to take the Gospel into Macedonia. “After Paul had seen the vision, we got ready at once to leave for Macedonia, concluding that God had called us to preach the Gospel to them.”
Paul’s experience fresh in her mind may have been the reason she’d responded so readily to the plight of the flood victims. But, to Amelia, it seemed more than that—it felt as if she’d had no control over the decision she’d made. As if there was no option at all—that God was directing her life in a way He had never done before.
“Why, God?” Amelia asked more than once as she traveled. When she reached Charleston, West Virginia, the next day, she still didn’t have an answer.
She was welcomed heartily by the representatives at the Red Cross office on Virginia Street. The secretary informed Amelia she couldn’t drive into the flood-ravaged area.
“Traffic is at a standstill in that part of the state,” the woman said. “Roads and bridges have been destroyed, and many communities are completely isolated by the floodwaters. The National Guard is sending helicopters to rescue stranded people. The next flight goes in an hour, and they’re taking a few volunteers. There’s room for you. Take only absolute necessities. As soon as the water recedes, you can come back for your car.”
Amelia wasn’t thrilled about a helicopter ride, but she accepted it as readily as if she flew to work every day. She gathered a few changes of clothing and her toiletries, dumped them in a duffel bag and headed for the airport, where she parked her car and boarded the waiting helicopter.
The mountainous region didn’t have enough flat land for an airport, and Yeager Airport was located on a wide expanse that had been formed by leveling several mountain peaks and filling in the valleys. The noise from the helicopter’s whirling blades discouraged talking with the ten other volunteers on board, so Amelia focused her attention on the scenery. She looked with interest at the tugboat traveling northward on the big river that divided the city of Charleston. The golden dome of the state’s Capitol gleamed in the midday sunlight.
The city was soon lost to view and the terrain became more rugged. Wooded mountain areas were bisected by narrow valleys, and to Amelia, who’d always lived in large cities, the scenery was breathtaking. At the higher altitudes, the trees were leafless, but dogwood and redbud trees decorated the landscape with a mist of white and fuchsia blossoms. Numerous towns had been built along the banks of mountain streams. Frequently, the barrenness of strip mines marred her enjoyment of the scenery.
As they approached the flooded area, Amelia noticed that the mountains had been timbered. Discarded branches, left behind after logging, had blocked many streams. The absence of vegetation had no doubt contributed to a swift runoff of melted snow and heavy rains.
Amelia couldn’t believe the havoc she saw when she looked down upon the flooded area as the helicopter neared the town of Williamson. The major business district was protected by a floodwall, but in the outlying districts, uprooted trees were coated with layers of mud and trash. Roads were washed away. Piles of rubble filled entire hollows where neighborhoods had once stood. Only the tops of automobiles and trucks protruded from the muddy water.
The helicopter landed on the pad at Williamson Memorial Hospital where a van waited to take them to Red Cross headquarters at Mountainview Church. As they rode toward the church in the van, Amelia sat beside a young woman, who was probably still in her teens.
“Hi, I’m Vicky Lanham,” the girl said. “I live in Ohio, near Columbus. Our church keeps a semitrailer outfitted for emergencies like this. Two of our members brought the truck to the area, but I took a plane into Charleston. I’ve never seen anything like the destruction we saw from the ‘copter.”
“I work for the American Red Cross in Philadelphia,” Amelia answered. “I usually stay in the office and handle the paperwork, but I volunteered to come onsite, and here I am.” She paused, wondering if her doubts were apparent to the young woman, but then continued. “I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into.”
“It’s gonna be a lot of hard work, but my parents prodded me into coming,” Vicky said. “I think God is calling me to be a missionary, and Dad said that some primitive living and hard work here will be a good introduction to what I can expect on the mission field. Why did you volunteer?”
“I’m not sure,” Amelia admitted. “I just had the overwhelming belief that I should take this assignment.”
“Maybe God was pushing you, just like my parents prodded me.”
Amelia laughed. “You might have a point there. It will be good for us to gain a new understanding of how God’s work is accomplished on the raw side of life.”
The van labored up the steep incline and stopped before a sprawling, two-story stone church building. “If this is our headquarters, life can’t be too bad. By the way, my name is Amelia Stone, and I’m looking forward to working with you.”
The church was built on a mountain above the floodplain, and the Red Cross had opened a service center in the building. After the volunteers had introduced themselves, the director of Red Cross operations in the region—a tall, gangly man in his fifties—assigned Vicky and Amelia to jobs immediately.
“I’m Rick Smith,” he said. “And you’re as welcome here as the flowers in May.” To Vicky, he said, “Your church’s truck has
