Helene Relief Phase 2: Rebuild Lives, Restore Hope

A testimony from Vickie, Old Fort, NC

We came back to the house hollowed by dread. Two weeks of not knowing had stretched thin our hope. Floodwaters had swallowed everything, and as we stepped onto the front porch, we felt it all crash down.

We sat. We wept. The mud was thick—caking everything. Our belongings, our memories—ruined. The weight of it suffocated us.

So we just left for lunch.

When we returned, a flyer clung to the front door. I picked it up and dialed the number.

And the next morning—someone came.

I remember the first group that showed up. It was three young girls in dresses, two blonde boys, their dad, and a few friends. They didn’t look like what I expected, but they walked straight into our mud-covered home and started helping. That’s when I knew: God had seen our pain. He had sent angels.

They walked into our wreckage as if it didn’t scare them. Straight into our mud-soaked living room, and without pause, they began pulling out what was left.

That’s when I knew. God had seen us. He had felt our pain. And He had sent angels.

More came. Again and again. A rhythm of kindness we never could have orchestrated. They brought no grand solutions—just willing hands, open hearts. They dug out the mud. They scrubbed. They listened.

They stayed long enough for us to believe we weren’t invisible.

That maybe, just maybe, we weren’t alone.

I’m grateful beyond words—for the ones who chose to come. To this little forgotten place. For people like me. Not once, but over and over. They weren’t just fixing floors or scrubbing porches. They were repairing something deeper. They were helping us believe again.

This morning I stood over the fragments we’d managed to keep—furniture caked in hardened mud, bits of the life we used to know. I covered what I could with tarps and tents. It’s raining again.

Even my phone had to stay inside—it’s waterlogged.

But I’m still out here, brushing and rinsing, scraping what’s salvageable.

That’s what you do when you’re rebuilding.

You go piece by piece.

Prayer by prayer.

I’m worried about what’s underneath—what damage still hides in the unseen places. But I believe someone’s coming. I believe people are still praying. I believe God hears.

I said a prayer this morning too—for the volunteers’ safety, for strength to keep going, for peace to believe that this story isn’t over.

We’re still here.

And that means something.

— Vickie, Old Fort, NC

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