A lesson from a disaster: Help – and love – prevailed

In his extensive preparations, Bryan Korbel believes he is protecting himself and his family from disaster, natural or man-made ("Prepared, not necessarily paranoid," May 7). But having lived through one of the greatest natural disasters in the history of our region — the Grand Forks flood of 1997 — I can say with certainty that no such preparation is needed. The reason I say this is simple: If trouble comes, so does all the help you could ever need.

The flood provided abundant evidence of this. Our house was 50 yards from the Central Park dike. On the day Grand Forks fell, we had noticed a leak early in the morning. We called for help for hours, but no one came. Suddenly, about noon, buses carrying several hundred people showed up. "Where have you been?" I asked the man next to me in the sandbagging line. "Lincoln Park," he said. "I just watched my house go under."

I stopped. "What on earth are you doing here? Your fight is done."

This total stranger handed me another sandbag: "Maybe I can save yours."

As anyone who lived through that experience can tell you, help — and love — were everywhere. Volunteers from across the country mucked out our basements — a toxic, disgusting job — and rebuilt our homes. One group's mission was simply to walk around looking for those who needed someone to sit with them while they grieved what had been lost. The food and household goods never stopped coming — whatever you needed was available for the asking.

People gave generously, according to their means. McDonald's heiress Joan Kroc wrote an unrestricted check for $15 million that helped thousands of families. Caterer Texas Lil drove a tanker filled with beef brisket thousands of miles so the town could have a hot dinner. A group of farmers found a way to bake potatoes, and one of the Fargo Burger Kings sent up orange drink for all of us. Filthy, exhausted but deeply appreciative, 10,000 of us dined in the University of North Dakota football stadium.

Support and kindness came from people of every age and walk of life. Our tiny congregation of 30 families received help from around the country. We got quarters taped to Post-it notes that said in children's handwriting, "I hope you get better soon." We also received five-figure checks that allowed us to help our members, particularly those who had no flood insurance and had lost everything.

We started with no money. Not knowing what else to do, we prayed for $100,000. A few days later, we got a call from the mayor. "Someone just wrote me a personal check for $40,000," she said. "Do you want it?" Within a week, we had the entire amount, which came to us from dozens of sources none of us had even imagined, let alone solicited.

Two months later, we received a $2 million check from an anonymous group of farmers in Iowa. But the best part of the story is that Lutheran Brotherhood said it would match anything we received. It matched the entire amount, making VICtoRy's total budget over $4 million. Every person who requested help received it.

There is a story about a man who was given his choice of heaven or hell. In hell, there were banquet tables laden with the finest food. The spoons, however, had very long handles, and when people tried to feed themselves, they could not get the food near their mouths. Heaven had the exact same banquet table and long-handled spoons. But in heaven, each diner used a long-handled spoon to feed the person on the opposite side of the table.

I truly hope disaster never again strikes any of us. But if it does, I trust Mr. Korbel will discover that love works and fear doesn't. Learning how to trust, share and support others may be all the preparation anyone needs.