Well, our week is nearly over; at this time tomorrow, we'll be on a plane back to Oregon. This part of any trip is always happy and sad- I'm very ready to get back to the non-humidity of Oregon, but as we finish our job sites and reflect on the experience, I realize how much I've loved this week.
When we first got here, I was worried. I've been on so many mission trips, and my last trip (I spent a month in Afghanistan in June of 2011) took a piece of my heart and kept it. As I flew to New Orleans this week, I wondered: would I find a place to care for this trip as much as the last? Or would I build with no feeling, attend because it was paid for, act happy but wish to be elsewhere? Did I have enough heart to care about another cause, another people?
I see now that I should't have worried. This week, I:
met students from across the nation, from sea to shining sea.
made friends from across the nation, friends who built with me and painted with me and sanded with me and gardened with me.
tasted alligator sausage, fried alligator, grilled alligator. Loved them all!
SAW not one but four live alligators.
learned new styles of praising God.
heard amazing testimonials from residents of New Orleans and from the other members of my groups, stories of flood and abuse and destruction and loss followed by stories of love and trust and mercy.
remembered again how lucky I am.
painted on a ladder for HOURS; almost fell off the ladder more than once.
stood in line for the shower for 20 minutes.
rode in a metal boat in the middle of a lightning storm.
played Spoons, Taboo, Double Solitare.
made friends from Puerto Rico, and heard about mountains and beaches I didn't know existed.
heard Amazing music downtown, on the job site, in the bathroom, during devotions.
stayed up until 2 am during one very dramatic night in the dorm.
ripped out a billion bamboo roots.
marveled at new friends I made, and their abilities and knowledge- trivia, languages, first aid, history, music, basketball, placing sheet rock, so much more.
saw waterlines near the roof, shopped in a WalMart that was once completely under water.
met a man who lost everything and still has faith in God.
played the piano and almost couldn't see the music through my tears.
saw the levee that was once broken, the homes that were once destroyed, the smiles on faces that had once forgotten how to smile.
witnessed transformations that only have come from God.
had an experience I'll never forget.
This week, I discovered that my heart still had room. Maybe I won't live here or buy a house here (sorry Warrenetta!), but I think I'll be back. I may have found another mission that kept my heart, but that doesn't mean New Orleans doesn't get to have a part of it forever.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Storytime
When I was a kid, we used to go sometimes to storytime at the library. We'd read about Max and the Wild Things or Noisy Nora, and my overactive imagination would put myself into the story, picturing me as the ruler of the beasts or the obnoxious sister (although, that one might not be complete fiction...)
As I've worked on two different sites in the last two days and talked to two different survivors about their experiences, I had a harder time putting myself into their stories. Not just because I didn't want to, but because it seemed like a work of fiction. I felt like I'd gone to a reading of one of those sappy soap operas we all watch and won't admit to. But this wasn't a soap opera, and it was anything but sappy.
The first gentleman I spoke to was Henderson, the son of our homeowner at the painting site. Henderson was living in New Orleans when Katrina came. He heeded the early advisories and sent his wife and kids out on Saturday while he stayed behind with his sick sister. When the mandatory evacuation came on Sunday, brother and sister left by car to meet the others near Baton Rouge. The usual 1-hour trip took 8 hours, including several to just pass through New Orleans.
They made it to Lafayette, and stayed in a hotel for a few days before they realized they wouldn't be going back anytime soon, so they got an apartment. It wasn't until November that they returned to their house, which looked untouched... at first. They went inside and saw all the furniture in place. They started to celebrate, and then they opened a drawer and it fell apart. They eventually had to throw away almost everything that had been soaked in water up to the countertops for days. Much of the wood of the house was destroyed, and there was mold everywhere. The rest of the family fared no better- even now, six years later, Henderson's mom still hasn't made it back into her home (but we did finish painting it today, and it looks pretty darn good, if I do say so myself.)
The second story I heard was at a different site, a church where I was sanding sheetrock. (I got so dirty and dusty! When I blew my nose, it had dust in it!) Steve, a long-time volunteer at that church, told me his story, which was so much more exciting that it was almost unbelievable. To be honest, I'm not sure I do believe everything he told me, but I'll report it anyway. His wife was in a wheelchair in their St. Bernard Parish home when the water came, and he had to break through the tin roof to get her out of the attic. When rescuers pulled him out, he cut his leg deeply and was bleeding profusely. He saw a medic, but by the time he could get to a real doctor a few days later, the leg was healing and Steve wasn't in pain. The doctor said that was impossible; Steve pulled out a keychain that said "In God, all things are possible."
It was an interesting story, and as he told me about losing his wife to cancer eight months after losing his home, his faith was very apparent and inspiring. I don't know if I believed him about the conspiracies he's discovered, the miracles he's seen, the million-member prayer chain he runs. But I do believe that his story can teach us something. No matter what we've gone through or are going through, all things are possible through the Lord. If He can deliver people safely through hurricanes, floods, injury, and more, who are we to doubt Him?
I know it's not always that simple, but going to two storytimes in two days has put things in perspective for me. I guess that's what storytime is all about-putting yourself in someone else's shoes and imagining what it would look like for you.
As I've worked on two different sites in the last two days and talked to two different survivors about their experiences, I had a harder time putting myself into their stories. Not just because I didn't want to, but because it seemed like a work of fiction. I felt like I'd gone to a reading of one of those sappy soap operas we all watch and won't admit to. But this wasn't a soap opera, and it was anything but sappy.
The first gentleman I spoke to was Henderson, the son of our homeowner at the painting site. Henderson was living in New Orleans when Katrina came. He heeded the early advisories and sent his wife and kids out on Saturday while he stayed behind with his sick sister. When the mandatory evacuation came on Sunday, brother and sister left by car to meet the others near Baton Rouge. The usual 1-hour trip took 8 hours, including several to just pass through New Orleans.
They made it to Lafayette, and stayed in a hotel for a few days before they realized they wouldn't be going back anytime soon, so they got an apartment. It wasn't until November that they returned to their house, which looked untouched... at first. They went inside and saw all the furniture in place. They started to celebrate, and then they opened a drawer and it fell apart. They eventually had to throw away almost everything that had been soaked in water up to the countertops for days. Much of the wood of the house was destroyed, and there was mold everywhere. The rest of the family fared no better- even now, six years later, Henderson's mom still hasn't made it back into her home (but we did finish painting it today, and it looks pretty darn good, if I do say so myself.)
The second story I heard was at a different site, a church where I was sanding sheetrock. (I got so dirty and dusty! When I blew my nose, it had dust in it!) Steve, a long-time volunteer at that church, told me his story, which was so much more exciting that it was almost unbelievable. To be honest, I'm not sure I do believe everything he told me, but I'll report it anyway. His wife was in a wheelchair in their St. Bernard Parish home when the water came, and he had to break through the tin roof to get her out of the attic. When rescuers pulled him out, he cut his leg deeply and was bleeding profusely. He saw a medic, but by the time he could get to a real doctor a few days later, the leg was healing and Steve wasn't in pain. The doctor said that was impossible; Steve pulled out a keychain that said "In God, all things are possible."
It was an interesting story, and as he told me about losing his wife to cancer eight months after losing his home, his faith was very apparent and inspiring. I don't know if I believed him about the conspiracies he's discovered, the miracles he's seen, the million-member prayer chain he runs. But I do believe that his story can teach us something. No matter what we've gone through or are going through, all things are possible through the Lord. If He can deliver people safely through hurricanes, floods, injury, and more, who are we to doubt Him?
I know it's not always that simple, but going to two storytimes in two days has put things in perspective for me. I guess that's what storytime is all about-putting yourself in someone else's shoes and imagining what it would look like for you.
Faith
Written August 3, 2011
New Orleans isn't exactly known as a "pious" city. Mardi Gras? Bourbon Street? These don't evoke images of choir boys and Bibles. So I've been surprised by the strong faith I've seen every day since we arrived. In part, it has come from the people on this trip, their beliefs, their testimonies. But it also radiates from the people we've met and whose homes we've been repairing.
Our homeowner came to our site for the first time this morning, and although she could only stay for a few minutes, her gratitude was humbling. She must have thanked us ten times in half as many minutes. And I can't even count the number of times she said "God bless you," not as a half-hearted or offhand remark but as a genuine blessing. It has been six years since she lost her house. Six years. How easy would it have been for her to become bitter or angry or resentful toward God and toward humanity in that time? Instead, she thanked us for working on her house (for a whole four days) and said she'd pray for us. SHE would pray for US. Doesn't that sound backward?
Saying that Katrina and Rita were forces of good in this city would be going too far. It's amazing, though, to see the strength that those disasters have given the people of New Orleans. They watched the water sweep away all the physical items they held near and dear... yet they survived. Without Facebook or cell phones or even houses to live in. Their churches fed them, body and soul. Their faith sustained them as they ran out of tangible sustenance. And as they return and rebuild, they don't forget who brought them through.
Being here and seeing that faith is inspiring. It's so easy to allow ourselves to get bogged down in earthly things- the shower line is too long, we ran out of fruit for lunches, my shoulders are sunburned. It's easy to call ourselves religious but leave our Bibles in our suitcases and say we're too tired to read them and we'll get them tomorrow. It's easy to worry about traditions and denominations and push others aside because they have different beliefs about Communion or Mary or the "faith vs. works idea."
At dinner the first night, the leader asked how many people actually attended a Baptist Church. Maybe a third of the room raised their hands. Since then, I've talked to Methodists and Evangelicals and Lutherans and so many others, and during a conversation earlier today, it hit me. This is what it is all about. Different people, different backgrounds, different styles of worship. We all have different beliefs that vary in certain areas, but the important part is that we agree where it counts. We believe in the same God, the same God who is present here in New Orleans, and we are here letting our faith lead us to works.
We had a worship service tonight, and I watched all these people from all these religions set aside their focus on traditional services and embrace new ideas that still focused on the basic, shared belief. It was nothing like a service in my Catholic church- no crucifix, no Liturgy, no appointed lector or Eucharistic Minister. Yet there was music. There was prayer. There were stories shared, not by a priest but by our peers. And above all, there was faith.
New Orleans isn't known for her piety. But her people are shouldering their crosses, their massive and heavy crosses called Fear and Monetary Problems and Racial Tensions and Physical Damages, and they are moving on. During our week in New Orleans, we have begun to learn to pick up our crosses and move on as well, focusing on the one thing that will continue to sustain us.
New Orleans isn't exactly known as a "pious" city. Mardi Gras? Bourbon Street? These don't evoke images of choir boys and Bibles. So I've been surprised by the strong faith I've seen every day since we arrived. In part, it has come from the people on this trip, their beliefs, their testimonies. But it also radiates from the people we've met and whose homes we've been repairing.
Our homeowner came to our site for the first time this morning, and although she could only stay for a few minutes, her gratitude was humbling. She must have thanked us ten times in half as many minutes. And I can't even count the number of times she said "God bless you," not as a half-hearted or offhand remark but as a genuine blessing. It has been six years since she lost her house. Six years. How easy would it have been for her to become bitter or angry or resentful toward God and toward humanity in that time? Instead, she thanked us for working on her house (for a whole four days) and said she'd pray for us. SHE would pray for US. Doesn't that sound backward?
Saying that Katrina and Rita were forces of good in this city would be going too far. It's amazing, though, to see the strength that those disasters have given the people of New Orleans. They watched the water sweep away all the physical items they held near and dear... yet they survived. Without Facebook or cell phones or even houses to live in. Their churches fed them, body and soul. Their faith sustained them as they ran out of tangible sustenance. And as they return and rebuild, they don't forget who brought them through.
Being here and seeing that faith is inspiring. It's so easy to allow ourselves to get bogged down in earthly things- the shower line is too long, we ran out of fruit for lunches, my shoulders are sunburned. It's easy to call ourselves religious but leave our Bibles in our suitcases and say we're too tired to read them and we'll get them tomorrow. It's easy to worry about traditions and denominations and push others aside because they have different beliefs about Communion or Mary or the "faith vs. works idea."
At dinner the first night, the leader asked how many people actually attended a Baptist Church. Maybe a third of the room raised their hands. Since then, I've talked to Methodists and Evangelicals and Lutherans and so many others, and during a conversation earlier today, it hit me. This is what it is all about. Different people, different backgrounds, different styles of worship. We all have different beliefs that vary in certain areas, but the important part is that we agree where it counts. We believe in the same God, the same God who is present here in New Orleans, and we are here letting our faith lead us to works.
We had a worship service tonight, and I watched all these people from all these religions set aside their focus on traditional services and embrace new ideas that still focused on the basic, shared belief. It was nothing like a service in my Catholic church- no crucifix, no Liturgy, no appointed lector or Eucharistic Minister. Yet there was music. There was prayer. There were stories shared, not by a priest but by our peers. And above all, there was faith.
New Orleans isn't known for her piety. But her people are shouldering their crosses, their massive and heavy crosses called Fear and Monetary Problems and Racial Tensions and Physical Damages, and they are moving on. During our week in New Orleans, we have begun to learn to pick up our crosses and move on as well, focusing on the one thing that will continue to sustain us.
Work, Work, Work
Written August 2, 2011
Our second day of service is coming to a close, and it's hard to believe it's only been two days. Mission trips are always tiring, but working a full day in the heat of New Orleans takes the cake. We wake up hot, work in the heat, collapse in front of the air conditioner at lunch, work in the heat, and spend the night sleeping on top of the sheets because the thinnest covering makes it impossible to sleep. This morning, they told us that to avoid heat exhaustion, we should drink water every time we notice ourselves sweating. We've been drinking bottles each day, taking water breaks from our painting or debris clearing or wood stripping every five minutes, but if we stopped every time we started sweating, I don't think we'd get much work done.
Unlike a lot of mission trips where the team works together on one site, our 80-person group is split into many different groups, and us Linfielders are spread all over the place. McKenna and Libby are with a team that is clearing debris and doing yard work, and Linnaea spent the day painting the inside of a house for an elderly woman who can't do it by herself. Lisa and Dan, two advisors, and Fran and Evy, two students, are stripping the exterior of a house, preparing it to (eventually) be painted. The woman who owns the house originally requested a team for only two days, because she wasn't sure she could handle them for longer. But their team has had a blast playing music on the side of the house with the rhythms from the scrapers and the boards and their slapping hands, and they've gotten to know the owner, so she has requested that they come back again tomorrow!
I'm working with Chap Massey to paint the exterior of a house with a group of students from Puerto Rico, Kansas (I think...), and Oklahoma. The owner is a woman we haven't met, but her nephew, Curtis, has been on site every day. We haven't had a chance to ask his story yet, but I'm really hoping to hear that tomorrow. The woman's granddaughter drove past today, and she stopped to tell us how thankful she is that we are helping her grandma get back into her house at last.
The stories we've heard from the ten-sh homeowners our large group as worked with are heartbreaking. So many people lost so much during Katrina, the levee floods, and Rita (the hurricane that hit a month after Katrina and added salt to the wounds of an already devastated city.) This was the largest disaster to hit New Orleans, and the city government didn't really know how to respond. Their uncertainty, although rather warranted, led to a mandatory evacuation that was issued too late and hundreds of people trapped in their homes. Levees were breached, and water flooded homes all through the city. One of the counties, St. Bernard's Parish, is the only county in the United States to ever be completely destroyed by a natural disaster (according to that oh-so-reliable source, Wikipedia...) and as we drive around, six years later, we can see the destruction.
We've heard about homeowners who can't get insurance money because the floods were man-made, not natural disasters. About people who don't have the deeds to their homes because the houses have been passed down from generation to generation for so long. About residents who want to come back but can't justify returning to a place without grocery stories, enough schools, or close healthcare (Libby stepped on a nail at the site yesterday, and they had to drive about 20 minutes to Tulane Hospital to get to an ER.) About churches and homes and stores that were 10-12 feet underwater for SIX WEEKS; we stand in a room and think that the water would have been four feet deeper than the tallest person.
New Orleans is coming back, but boy does she have a lot to come back from. The people here talk constantly about how much it means to have us coming here and helping, but it's hard to see the impact we are having when it takes a whole day just to caulk a house. When we think, though, that five days will let us finish painting and caulking, that we aren't the only team working, that those five days aren't the only work week... the impact suddenly grows. It may be hot and tiring and draining, but the work we are doing is worth it.
Our second day of service is coming to a close, and it's hard to believe it's only been two days. Mission trips are always tiring, but working a full day in the heat of New Orleans takes the cake. We wake up hot, work in the heat, collapse in front of the air conditioner at lunch, work in the heat, and spend the night sleeping on top of the sheets because the thinnest covering makes it impossible to sleep. This morning, they told us that to avoid heat exhaustion, we should drink water every time we notice ourselves sweating. We've been drinking bottles each day, taking water breaks from our painting or debris clearing or wood stripping every five minutes, but if we stopped every time we started sweating, I don't think we'd get much work done.
Unlike a lot of mission trips where the team works together on one site, our 80-person group is split into many different groups, and us Linfielders are spread all over the place. McKenna and Libby are with a team that is clearing debris and doing yard work, and Linnaea spent the day painting the inside of a house for an elderly woman who can't do it by herself. Lisa and Dan, two advisors, and Fran and Evy, two students, are stripping the exterior of a house, preparing it to (eventually) be painted. The woman who owns the house originally requested a team for only two days, because she wasn't sure she could handle them for longer. But their team has had a blast playing music on the side of the house with the rhythms from the scrapers and the boards and their slapping hands, and they've gotten to know the owner, so she has requested that they come back again tomorrow!
I'm working with Chap Massey to paint the exterior of a house with a group of students from Puerto Rico, Kansas (I think...), and Oklahoma. The owner is a woman we haven't met, but her nephew, Curtis, has been on site every day. We haven't had a chance to ask his story yet, but I'm really hoping to hear that tomorrow. The woman's granddaughter drove past today, and she stopped to tell us how thankful she is that we are helping her grandma get back into her house at last.
The stories we've heard from the ten-sh homeowners our large group as worked with are heartbreaking. So many people lost so much during Katrina, the levee floods, and Rita (the hurricane that hit a month after Katrina and added salt to the wounds of an already devastated city.) This was the largest disaster to hit New Orleans, and the city government didn't really know how to respond. Their uncertainty, although rather warranted, led to a mandatory evacuation that was issued too late and hundreds of people trapped in their homes. Levees were breached, and water flooded homes all through the city. One of the counties, St. Bernard's Parish, is the only county in the United States to ever be completely destroyed by a natural disaster (according to that oh-so-reliable source, Wikipedia...) and as we drive around, six years later, we can see the destruction.
We've heard about homeowners who can't get insurance money because the floods were man-made, not natural disasters. About people who don't have the deeds to their homes because the houses have been passed down from generation to generation for so long. About residents who want to come back but can't justify returning to a place without grocery stories, enough schools, or close healthcare (Libby stepped on a nail at the site yesterday, and they had to drive about 20 minutes to Tulane Hospital to get to an ER.) About churches and homes and stores that were 10-12 feet underwater for SIX WEEKS; we stand in a room and think that the water would have been four feet deeper than the tallest person.
New Orleans is coming back, but boy does she have a lot to come back from. The people here talk constantly about how much it means to have us coming here and helping, but it's hard to see the impact we are having when it takes a whole day just to caulk a house. When we think, though, that five days will let us finish painting and caulking, that we aren't the only team working, that those five days aren't the only work week... the impact suddenly grows. It may be hot and tiring and draining, but the work we are doing is worth it.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Ecumenical Work Week 2011
Until now, most of my blogging has come from trips to foreign countries and was designed to help me stay in touch with friends and family at home. This time, I'm in the U.S. but it feels just as different and new. I'm writing not to stay in touch but to share a story. I'm writing to you from the Ecumenical Work Week here in New Orleans.
Most of you know New Orleans as the site of Hurricane Katrina in 2005. You may not know that this friendly, happy city that was once the scene of so much heartache is beginning to come back. Residents are returning. Rebuilding their homes and businesses. Reuniting with friends and family they had lost. These people, known for their parties, their gumbo, and their breached levies, are becoming a city once more.
This is why we're here.
The American Baptist Home Mission Society has brought 9 universities from across the US, from Oregon (that's us!) to Indiana to Kansas. There's even a really fun group of students from Puerto Rico- I had a blast chatting in Spanish with them today! 80-ish students are gathered to participate in a week of service. Some of us come from very different backgrounds; we've met students from Christian schools for whom required chapel is the norm. At Linfield, we don't even have a chapel (yet!) We've met journalism majors and theology majors and people with majors I can't remember because they don't exist at my school. We are mingling and playing cards and having powdered sugar fights with the remnants of our beignays, and as we do so, our horizons are being broadened, just a little bit more.
This is why we're here.
Every morning at 8, we start the day with a devotional, a time to pray and prepare for the day. We went to church on Sunday before spending an afternoon at Jackson Square, and we pray as we get in the bus to go to the worksite. For me, it's an interesting combination of the mission trips I did with my church in high school and the Alternative Spring Break trips I've done since then. Yet it's coming at a good time in my life. I graduated from college, volunteered in Afghanistan, returned home to start a new job, and moved to a new apartment all in the course of two months; it hasn't been easy to avoid the frustrations of change and not falter a bit in faith. This trip is about service, but it's also about fellowship and seeing God in every day.
This is why we're here.
Last night, the pastor of the church where we are staying told us incredible story about finding faith in post-Katrina New Orleans, and it made us cry. Stories of a man who rescued his neighbor as his mother died of a heart attack, of a random truck driver who delivered water to people who had gone without for three days, of the church feeding thousands of displaced, trapped residents for three meals a day for six months after Katrina. Pastor Randy told us that our presence here proves that New Orleans has not been forgotten. Our presence proves that this is "the city that God remembered."
This is why we're so lucky to be here.
Most of you know New Orleans as the site of Hurricane Katrina in 2005. You may not know that this friendly, happy city that was once the scene of so much heartache is beginning to come back. Residents are returning. Rebuilding their homes and businesses. Reuniting with friends and family they had lost. These people, known for their parties, their gumbo, and their breached levies, are becoming a city once more.
This is why we're here.
The American Baptist Home Mission Society has brought 9 universities from across the US, from Oregon (that's us!) to Indiana to Kansas. There's even a really fun group of students from Puerto Rico- I had a blast chatting in Spanish with them today! 80-ish students are gathered to participate in a week of service. Some of us come from very different backgrounds; we've met students from Christian schools for whom required chapel is the norm. At Linfield, we don't even have a chapel (yet!) We've met journalism majors and theology majors and people with majors I can't remember because they don't exist at my school. We are mingling and playing cards and having powdered sugar fights with the remnants of our beignays, and as we do so, our horizons are being broadened, just a little bit more.
This is why we're here.
Every morning at 8, we start the day with a devotional, a time to pray and prepare for the day. We went to church on Sunday before spending an afternoon at Jackson Square, and we pray as we get in the bus to go to the worksite. For me, it's an interesting combination of the mission trips I did with my church in high school and the Alternative Spring Break trips I've done since then. Yet it's coming at a good time in my life. I graduated from college, volunteered in Afghanistan, returned home to start a new job, and moved to a new apartment all in the course of two months; it hasn't been easy to avoid the frustrations of change and not falter a bit in faith. This trip is about service, but it's also about fellowship and seeing God in every day.
This is why we're here.
Last night, the pastor of the church where we are staying told us incredible story about finding faith in post-Katrina New Orleans, and it made us cry. Stories of a man who rescued his neighbor as his mother died of a heart attack, of a random truck driver who delivered water to people who had gone without for three days, of the church feeding thousands of displaced, trapped residents for three meals a day for six months after Katrina. Pastor Randy told us that our presence here proves that New Orleans has not been forgotten. Our presence proves that this is "the city that God remembered."
This is why we're so lucky to be here.
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