A Post-Hurricane Breakfast: Chlese Jiles

After the April 2019 tornado that swept through Ruston, destroying the home of me and my two roommates in the process, I didn't think it would be so soon that I would again wake up and go into town to see toppled trees and downed power lines. The Friday morning after Hurricane Laura passed, I woke up only partially ready to face the day and all its post-hurricane features. I walked into the living room with my phone, already dying, to where the windows stood open to let in somewhat cool air, and the smell of leftovers slowly began to creep out of the fridge. It had already been nearly 24 hours since Ruston lost power, and I could feel the temperature beginning to rise on its way to a predicted 94 degrees - 20 degrees hotter than the day before. A friend of ours lay sleeping on the couch, marooned at our place by a 7 pm curfew and the fact that we got a flat tire when we attempted to drive her to work the previous morning. A fellow intern came over and helped me put on the spare before my sister and I headed out early in search of a gas station with power and an air pump. As we drove down Tech Dr. (the main road in town), we could see cars backed down the street, trying to get into Chevron. Resigning ourselves to the chance that someone would have a portable air pump, we headed on to the Wesley. 

Pulling up to the building, the first (and most conspicuous) thing we spotted was a tree, felled and stretching from our backyard to the corner of the parking lot. After spending the last 2 months working on fixing up our building, I felt my stomach drop at the sight and we hurriedly got out to inspect. But praise God! It became immediately clear that the tree had fallen right in the space between our building and the apartments next door. 

Within 10 minutes the rest of the interns arrived, and we were all in good spirits. We marveled at the tree, walked around the building, checked for damage, and saw that our power - like in most of the city - was still out. But remembering that the Wesley has gas burners, we hatched a plan to kill two birds with one stone: use the food that would otherwise go bad in our fridges and make ourselves a good breakfast. This plan was simple, but it soon transformed the day for me.

We gathered for morning prayer, thanking God for his protection and praying that he would continue to protect and provide for us and everyone affected by the hurricane. After prayer we split up, some going back to our houses to grab food and others staying behind to begin morning work. It didn't take long for someone to suggest we call our other neighbors on the street, no doubt hot and hungry, and invite them to breakfast. Then we were inviting other friends in town, some answering the phone with sleepy voices and promises to let us know when they were on their way. After grabbing a good haul of breakfast items, we got back to the Wesley and started cooking. The heat was rising fast outside, and as I stood over the gas stove, scrambling eggs and cooking up hashbrowns, I was definitely working up a sweat. But while cooking, the sound of couch conversation and singing accompanied by piano streamed into the kitchen; I couldn’t help but smile. It felt like our building was coming to life again for the first time since that Friday in March when we locked up the building and entered the shelter of our homes. 

I know that I have not had to be alone throughout quarantine like so many others because I’m fortunate enough to live on a street with people in my community, but it was during this simple, post-hurricane breakfast that I realized I haven’t felt fully like myself in a while. I’d missed it so much: the experience of being gathered. In the grand scheme, there wasn’t necessarily anything special about that breakfast, but I felt something like my spirit unfurling the way a morning glory does when the sun begins to rise.

Perhaps what I was feeling were those old reflexes awakening, remembering all the movements of a shared life: we cooked for others and set up the tables and chairs like at so many Laid Back Lunches, we sang the Canticle of Zechariah* after we blessed the food like we did after taking communion at so many Friday Morning Eucharists, we asked breakfast questions like we did every morning on so many mission trips, and we sang the Doxology when we parted ways like at so many Wells. I think I felt more like myself because I was getting the chance to leave myself behind and serve others. It felt like worship, this chance to commune with the Christ in each other and share ourselves with joy. 

I bowed my head and tried to join as we sang the Canticle, but I was so overcome that the words caught in my throat at the sound of our body singing with one voice. I cried. It was such a sweet sound, unlike another, to be gathered in this place together again, even if only a few of us and even if only for a little while. 

*Below is a partial recording of us singing the Canticle of Zechariah before we enjoyed our breakfast together. I hope that it brings you as much joy to listen as it brought me to be a part.*

Chlese is a second year missionary intern at the Wesley and a Studio Art alum of La Tech. She loves drawing, singing, dancing, and laughing with friends. When her internship is over, Chlese hopes to pursue a life of ministry and art.