Crosstown Church of Christ Tulsa Ok School of Arts and Sciences

TULSA, Okla. — Oh, Kenneth Hearrell has stories to tell.

About how he rode a horse five miles to his ii-room schoolhouse from kickoff through fourth grades.

About how he used a bootleg row boat to drive cattle to dry land afterwards a large rain swamped the Texas side of the Red River.

About how his Morse code skills got him sent to Germany, while the residuum of his U.S. Army artillery platoon was dispatched to Korea during the war.

"So the code saved my life," the retired air traffic controller said.

But enquire the 87-yr-old Hearrell nearly his role as the "disaster deacon" for the Crosstown Church of Christ — a 300-member congregation that served for virtually a month as an emergency shelter for victims of celebrated flooding forth the Arkansas River — and he has less to say.

It's as if he can't sympathize why anyone would need to ask why he feels compelled to help.

"I do it because I can," said Hearrell, sporting a red-and-white American Ruby-red Cross volunteer vest over his button-down Sunday shirt, "and because they need me here because I know where everything is. I've got a fundamental to every part of the building."

In May and early June, 20-plus inches of rain fell in parts of Oklahoma, causing widespread damage in and nearly the land's 2d-largest city.

Weeks of flooding, tornadoes and storms left half dozen people expressionless, 118 injured and hundreds of homes destroyed in the Sooner state, co-ordinate to state emergency management officials.

The Reddish Cantankerous shelter at the Crosstown church building was the outset to open in Tulsa. At the height of the disaster, it housed shut to 100 people a night.

Susan Robinson, 76, with her dog "Little Bit," at the Crosstown shelter. RNS photo by Bobby Ross Jr.

As many evacuees received federal disaster assistance, that head count slowly shrank, only victims such as Susan Robinson, 76, who fled the Sandy Park Apartments with her 15-year-onetime Pomeranian, "Little Fleck," depended on the church building for weeks.

"The people here have been so kind, so information technology feels like home," said Robinson. "The Red Cross has been good, and the government minister has been by every twenty-four hours."

Sam Duvall, 43, and his wife, Alicia, had an 60 minutes to gather of import papers and a few belongings when flooding forced them out of their residence. They stayed in a motel for virtually a week.

But they somewhen ran out of money.

"These people are wonderful," said Duvall, belongings a Bible after attending the Crosstown church'southward morn worship assembly. "You know, I've never stayed in a shelter before, and they're great — the church and Red Cross both. I couldn't ask for a amend grouping of people."

Just later ix a.m. on a recent Dominicus, a few shelter residents snoozed on cots scattered across the gymnasium floor. Others saturday at tables, eating cereal and drinking java in plastic foam containers. A few smoked outside the church building as members arrived for Bible form.

Before heading to the auditorium to preach, minister Robert Prater mingled with the increasingly familiar faces. He bodacious one man that it would be no problem for him to worship in shorts.

Prater said he makes it a point to be bachelor for the flooding evacuees — to offer hugs and spiritual support.

"Information technology's almost like I have two congregations right now," Prater said. "Considering these people, they really exercise need pastoring. … I'yard going to be there until the last one."

Across the Midwest, 28 Crimson Cross and customs shelters in five states have tended to hundreds of victims.

Many of those shelters are at houses of worship, such as Corinthian Baptist Church building in Dayton, Ohio, and Evangel Temple Assembly of God in Fort Smith, Ark.

Here in Tulsa, the Crosstown church first opened its doors to strangers needing a place to eat, slumber and shower every bit thousands fled New Orleans afterward Hurricane Katrina in 2005.

Minister Robert Prater, right, visits with J.D. Morgan at the Crosstown Church building of Christ shelter. RNS photo by Bobby Ross Jr.

The urban congregation overlooking Interstate 244 had dedicated its new activity center a month before Katrina hit.

"Y'all got a large building out there, I understand," a Reddish Cross official who chosen Hearrell said, as he recalls the 2005 conversation. "We've got a bunch of people coming in from New Orleans. Can we employ the church as a shelter?"

Hearrell replied that he'd ask the church building's elders.

"The Scarlet Cantankerous needed the space, so we moved all of our stuff out and turned it over, I call back, for 52 days, and they basically took over," said former elderberry Tom Conklin, still a Crosstown member.

Since then, the church has opened the shelter after disasters ranging from apartment fires to tornadoes. "We're the first identify that opens up if they need a place for overnight stays," Conklin said. "I call up it'southward the heart of this church building."

A big part of that center, he stressed, is Hearrell.

Kenneth Hearrell, correct, with Mark Guilds, an American Red Cross volunteer from Albany, N.Y. at Crosstown Church of Christ in Tulsa, Okla. RNS photo by Bobby Ross Jr.

"He'south a very uncomplicated human, and you might await at him and call back, 'What's his worth in the kingdom?'" Conklin said. "But he's had a huge bear on on a lot of different people, just by beingness a hard worker and by existence a big, positive impact."

Hearrell stood at the door of the activity center one Sunday morning time a few weeks ago, greeting shelter residents as well equally church members arriving for worship. Since the facility opened, he has worked most days from 7 a.m. to 6 p.chiliad.

"This is his church, so to have him hither has been then helpful," said Matthew Griffiths, a 25-year-old Tulsa waiter volunteering equally the Ruddy Cantankerous shelter'south manager. "He's been so great, taking all the towels (to the laundromat every afternoon) and making certain they're clean for people that need to take showers."

Hearrell lost Martha, his wife of 57 years, about vii years ago. The couple raised two daughters. He has 8 grandchildren and sixteen groovy-grandchildren. They call him "Papa."

"He's a funny guy merely has a corking story and is truly an inspiration to many," Prater said of the disaster deacon.

Besides overseeing the church building's response to storms, Hearrell jokes that he works with a different kind of disaster — the democratic process.

Two precincts vote at the Crosstown action center, and he coordinates that process with election officials.

"So I'grand a disaster human being," Hearrell said with a express joy.

(Bobby Ross Jr. writes for The Christian Chronicle, where this story first appeared. The original version of this story can exist found here.)

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Source: https://religionnews.com/2019/06/17/at-87-disaster-deacon-opens-his-heart-and-church-to-flooding-victims/

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