It was Sunday, August 28, 2005, in Gulfport, Miss. Like most every Sunday, I went to church, shook hands, hugged necks, and spent thirty 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)

Les Ferguson Jr. grew up in Vicksburg and is a 1980 graduate of Warren Central High School. He holds a B.A. in Bible from Magnolia Bible College and an M.A. in New Testament Preaching from Johnson University. He lives and ministers in Oxford, Miss., and is the author of “Still Wrestling—Faith Renewed through Brokenness.” He can be reached at lfergusonjr@gmail.com.