By Allyson Whittaker

I never thought heaven could exist in an open back door, a borrowed generator and fan, a cooler full of ice and some good conversation. But as my husband, dogs and friend Powell sat at the back door with a fan blowing cool night air through our rickety old house on Shotwell Street I felt like it was, indeed, heaven.

For the last six days the conversation has been, “Hey! How are y’all! How’s your house?” Answers vary. But one commonality exists: we were lucky. We were fortunate. We were spared.

Even families overwhelmed with trees through their roofs or on vehicles express humility and thanks for what could have, but didn’t happen.

Good is a cup of ice water and a hot meal. Good is a cool night to calm the senses. Good is seeing folks helping one another. Good is seeing God’s provision amid scary circumstances.

Good is watching trucks from all over the southeast pour in to help a struggling community that is bent, battered and bruised.

But not broken.