I write this from the public library of Bolivar County, Cleveland Mississippi. We withstood some tropical storm force winds last night even here. As I talked during stormy weather with my friend Danny in Pensacola, I realized that a storm that spanned from the Mississippi Delta to the Florida Panhandle was nothing short of catastrophic. Yet, even that word and the other words... horrific... unbelievable... hell on earth ... leave me a bit speechless and empty. I can't see my house. I can see the damage everywhere else, but I recognize that until I know that MY house has been destroyed, I have a kind of uncertain certainty. The real uncertain certainty is, however, that I have lost my home. I might entertain some notions of rescuing some items of interest, but between hurricane force winds, rising flood waters, looters, and other potentials I haven't even considered, there is nothing left. I'm pretty sure I'm not just being pessimistic, but actually being realistic. Certainty. I have cancelled a weekend with Marvin Phillips to take place in a few weeks, and a men's retreat to take place next month. Those were easy things to do. Now where do I turn for help? How do people do this? And while I'm trying to figure it all out, so will a million other people around the Coast. Still, I'm thankful to be among my wife's family. I am thankful not to be trapped in an attic in New Orleans watching water rise. I'm thankful that I have my loved ones around me. My children are safe. We just have no home. It feels very remote even writing that. I'm sure I do not yet believe it. But that is my uncertainty facing the certainty...the truth. And that's about all I can say at this point.