From The Last English Prince:
“I searched for a man among them to repair the wall and stand in the gap before Me on behalf of the land, so that I should not destroy it. But I found no one.” Ezekiel 22:30 (Berean Study Bible)
My husband and I looked out at our yard on Friday night with a sense of foreboding. The flood waters from the box culvert had made their advance many times over the eighteen years we have lived in our home. We have sustained torrential rains nearly every year. But having advanced, the water molecules have also rapidly retreated once reaching the mid-point of our driveway.
We knew tonight would be different. Shortly before midnight our wheel-in shower overflowed with sewage which spilled into the bedroom. The guest tub filled with brackish water. Barricading our doors with every quilt and blanket and winter coats pulled from the closet we waited for the inevitable.
Early Saturday morning a river of water poured into our home, coming through the walls and under the doors. By three a.m. the water was above our ankles. Outside our front picture window a serene landscape of our own private lake, with lights twinkling in the windows of the home on the opposite side of the box culvert. But our home is not situated lakefront. We reside two blocks from Interstate 183.
God sends the rain. The flooding, was preventable.
As the waters mounted and marched, my husband and I discussed the Irving City Bond proposal of 2005. Drainage improvement. That was the vision sold to the homeowners. We voted for future hope. We voted for sustainable home ownership.
As the water moved toward our threshold we discussed the many broken promises. The box culvert would be deepened by four feet and widened by two feet on each side. Projected dates for beginning the improvements came and went. We talked about the first time we heard that Interstate 183 was to be expanded and how the flood control district planned for the drainage system to be updated last year. We talked about the fears expressed among the neighbors regarding changing drainage patterns. Our city had promised us something. We continued to hang onto that hope.
Talk is cheap. Governance requires stewardship.
The flood waters came. And homes which have stood the perils of the weather since the mid 1950’s found themselves under the onslaught of physics and the velocity of water. What we were least prepared for was the official response. We did not expect… taxation without representation. And this is what we have received.
I contacted our district Congressional representative Rodney Anderson via his website e mail. Poured my heart out like the water poured out of the ditch. Concerns were voiced: home devaluation; what if we flood again? Mr. Anderson called within minutes. We were heartened. We slept better. But then reality came calling.
We now firmly believe in the resurrection of the dead. Pontius Pilate resurrected the next day. He took the garb of a politician:
“Tammy, I just got off the phone with city Council member Kyle Taylor. He will have someone from the city reach out to you soon. If you have not heard from them by Thursday morning, please call me or e mail me and let me know. Kyle is excellent as your city Council member, and he is very much aware of the drainage and flooding problems that are now occurring in many areas of South Irving. He can explain the details for my city perspective, but he knows the hardship this has created for you and other homeowners and South Irving.” Rodney Anderson, State Representative
City Perspective? We knew the whitewash was to follow.
Kyle Taylor, CEO of “Irving Cares” opined that he had also suffered a home flood in the past and it was devastating. What we found lacking was the aspect of practical compassion. What could be done for us with immediacy? And which city agency could be brought to bear on our behalf? What about a twenty minute walk from your house to our own little shanty to check it out for yourself? Irving Cares… indeed!
We continued to search for a man.
My husband called City Hall. Could the city please provide a dumpster free of charge as we were tearing down walls, carpet was already out, built-in bookcase coming out, etc? My husband is a paraplegic in a wheelchair. The answer was simple. “No.”
Neighbors in their eighties had a child call the city. Could the city pick up their wet carpet? “No. The city does not provide that service anymore.” My husband was “that man” and has entered a verbal agreement with the city to haul off the remains of our homes. Today, I took this wonderful couple lunch. Their own structure has suffered miserably. They sit in their socks, feet on a stripped floor.
Assistant City Manager Ramiro Lopez paid a visit. He gave a number to call if we flood again. We can have sandbags! More sandbagging, no pun intended. (I was grateful to be away from the home when he showed up.)
My husband has developed a significant pressure sore since the flood. Perhaps pulling up carpet in the middle of the night and hauling it to the curb the following morning is the cause. Perhaps if the city had carried out the vision given to us thirteen years ago… but then again, bad luck is a bitch.
Not perhaps… because wishful thinking cannot wish this away.
We have searched for the man; the man to stand in the gap for us. We have found none. The optics are miserable. Not for the City Council of course. The optics are horrible for all of the rest of us; as we sit in our socks; as we see our property value plummet.
But then again, we are Flint, Michigan…to the south.
Tammy Swofford
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