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.