Joan reflects ...
"We all travel in our track - neighbourhod, job, friends, parents of your children's friends. No matter how big a city gets, the only way to live in it, is to live in your village. You get to a certain age, and the next person you meet has a logical connection to the ones who came before - a friend of a friend. Nick and I weren't suppose to meet. You couldn't create another sequence for his life that leads to me. Or for my life that leads to him. After Sept 11th, all over the city people jumped tracks."
Through the rebuilding effort, an opportunity was made for me to jump tracks and visit a community in East Biloxi. I was able to meet people who due to our differences in geography and life circumstances - otherwise probably would have never met. They received me with such a warm embrace and I was blessed by their candor as the shared their stories of journey through adversity and God's provision in the midst of tragedy.
All the homes we worked on were with in a few blocks of the stadium. The whole time I was there I probably travelled no more than a mile each day. I realized a real sense of neighbourhood and living in community which I have not felt since living in Canada. One of our team members described what he calls 'porch time'. You see in this area everyone has front porches - and they use them. People sit outside and talk and visit. In California, we are always rushing too and fro. Everyone is always so *busy* with *important* things. It can take a month to connect and arrange to share a meal with someone. However, we arrived in Biloxi and at the drop of a hat each evening there was someone wanting to have us for dinner and in no time the house would be full and alive with friends and family. The introverted part of me wanted to go back to the stadium and process the day - but the listener and observer in me was thrilled not to be rushing off someplace or working to meet a deadline - but rather enjoying an evening sharing in community.
During these evenings I sat and listened to people's stories. I don't talk alot large groups -- but I am quietly present in the moment and soaking it all in. This for me was truly the highlight (well my first hot shower in 5 days runs a close second!) of the trip. Everyone had a different story - but they all shared the same theme of losing everything and walking through the valley of the shadow of death -- to find the gradual revelation of restoration, hope and abundant blessings on the other side.
One lady told the story of how she evacuated, but her elderly neighbour refused and stayed in her home. They were on the phone with each other as the storm descended. Her friend gave her a play by play from her porch as one roof flew off and then another. As the water came, her neighbour went into the house to wait out the storm. Her friend was sitting on the bed with her toes in the water and then the phone dropped and the line went dead. It would be weeks until she would learn that her friend had survived the storm. I met her friend the day before - sitting on the porch beaming and anxious to chat with anyone that passed by!
Another lady stayed in her home and she sat on the kitchen counter, her head inches from the roof. The water rose and rose and rose until it reached shoulder height. Just when she thought all was lost - the water stopped rising. Outside the water had risen over her head, but her doors and windows held - the water came up through the floor and never reached the heights it has outside and she was spared. She is now plays a key role in identifying people in need and connecting them with volunteers.
One family shared of being relocated to a variety of different cities - and when they first came back they slept on air mattresses in the yard. Wild dogs, pets who had been abandoned and were hungry that would circle their campfire at night. When a storm came they went into the house to sleep and became ill from the mold. They now live in FEMA trailers on their property. They hope to be back in their home by Christmas.
It was sad to hear the stories of those who did not make it through the storm. Heart breaking to hear of those who lost hope. Many came back and were overcome with despair and died in the months following Katrina.
Two of the men (Mr. Electrical and Mr. Drywall) from our team were on the ground North of New Orleans a day after the storm. They also were in Indonesia after the Tsunami. They have been trained by their church to do mass cooking/feeding. When disaster hits the Red Cross calls them to volunteer in mobile disaster relief kitchens. They worked cooking for several weeks in trying circumstances after Katrina hit. The meals that they cooked would be shipped out - but they never saw the faces of the people who rec'd them. One night we were invited to be the first dinner guests at the home an earlier team from San Diego had helped restore. As we sat around the dinner table and listened to stories - the conversation shifted to the first days after the storm. Several people described sitting in despair, having lost everything - and not knowing how they would even eat (there were no stores or gas stations open anywhere in the area) ... when down the street appeared the Red Cross with towels and blankets and meals. In that moment - sitting across the table from each other were the men who cooked those meals as a labour of love and tangible expression of their faith and the very grateful recipients who received the meals declaring them manna from heaven. That evening was a divine appointment.
I helped with drywall and other tasks - but at the end of the day the people I met in Biloxi gave me so much more then the little drop in the ocean of help I was able to provide.
I will lie down and sleep in peace,
for you alone, O Lord,
make me dwell in safety.
Psalm 4:8
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