i need to know that things are gonna look up*

i went to louisiana again this weekend for hurricane relief work. i cannot tell you how sincerely i want to stay down there and work (well, volunteer) for a month or so.

in case you missed previous posts about these experiences, i will tell you here that my church is working through another church in slidell, louisiana and has made a total of five trips to help. we have done everything from gutting homes to painting homes to rebuilding one completely. i expected that we would make one trip, come home with big dreams, but never make another trip. i was wrong, and i am glad about that. the money keeps dropping from the sky and skilled craftsmen keep volunteering, so we keep driving south. with each trip, we come home with more names and faces and stories to put on the anonymous devastation on television.

this time, it was miss jane. this 79 year old new orleans native widow lived in this house for 52 years and has lived there alone now for about half of those years. her home in new orleans east sat under six foot flood waters for several weeks. when six of our volunteers arrived to empty her home, she met us there with several cardboard boxes hoping to fill them with salvaged belongings. we put on our face masks and double layers of gloves, pried the door off, and began dragging to the street everything she owned. she left with less than half of one box filled.

when we arrived again the next morning, we were met by a crew of folks under contract to haul away the debris from yards. i visited with the crew inspector who told me she had been a teacher before the hurricane. when school reopened with so few students, teachers with the most seniority were offered jobs, but with only six years experience, she was not. she said she didn't mind too much though, because she is making twice the money now. she is working twelve hour days in health-hazard conditions, but it pays. she told me how her crew members change each week because some superivsors were getting soft on the crew once they got comfortable and were allowing rules to be broken during their pickups. the crew supervisor was sitting in a car around the corner watching. it is a shame we can't expect people to behave well even when the situation is so important. i noticed they weren't picking up our giant black trash bags of debris, but only the loose items, furniture, walls, and flooring. and that is because another crew picks up the bags and inspects them to make sure there are no body parts inside. this lady kindly offered us white zippered head-to-toe suits with hoods for us to use that day since we were knocking out ceilings and fiberglass insulation. i never thought i would be happy to wear one of those things, but i was that day. i don't know what people are thinking who are working down there without even a face mask.

miss jane's house now sits in a row of four gutted houses on her street. there is no electricity in the area and no word on when there might be again. not a home in sight was liveable and not a business was operational. (which also meant no bathrooms all day. we sent a scout to the port-a-potty nearby and based on the report, decided we could all hold it all day long. there are port-a-potties all over the place. gross.) it looks like the hurricane happened yesterday. it has been seven months.

miss jane now rents an $800/mo apartment somewhere else in new orleans on her $1,000/mo social security check. her insurance company gave her $2,000 for her house. FEMA gave her $26,000 to spend on anything. she knows she still needs help but she doesn't know where it will come from. she cried when we prayed and she cried when she thanked us. while we were there, her neighbor showed up with his son whom she hadn't seen in quite some time. they hugged and she cried some more. she didn't really talk about the "stuff" she lost, but she talked about the neighborhood scattering and her hometown fading and the heartache of the people who lived there.

i am convinced now more than ever that i want to continue to be involved in this work. i keep thinking that after each trip, i will finally feel like my "obligation" to help will be satisfied and that i won't make another trip. but i can't shake the feeling that i need to stay involved. i've always been more interested in doing than talking about doing. in college, that was easy because i co-chaired a student team that held service projects galore. but i've been looking for ways to actively serve here in the real world and, for me, this is it.

plenty of people explain to me how i could get hurt or get sick or get mugged on these trips as if i don't know those are all possibilities. and well, i hope none of that happens. yes, we are driving eight hours down there, working long days, using power tools, and hanging from ceilings. yes, we are handling moldy walls and fiberglass insulation and breathing it in. yes, there are criminals down there (like everywhere) and people are desperate and stressed. but if everyone is paralyzed by those possibilities, then those communities can forget recovery. i hope someone would come to my rescue if i lived on the gulf coast.

my friend (who heads up these trips from church) and i have talked about some big dreams for our next step. there are a thousand what-ifs, but even if only part of what we dream works out, it will make a difference for someone. we feel like we have to ask. stranger things have happened.

miss jane told us she didn't think there were people like us left in the world. and i don't tell you that so you can pat me on the back. i tell you so that maybe you can understand the power of a helping hand in the midst of this trauma. it was hard to adjust to being back to my normal routine today. i know life has to go on here. i love my job and it is important, too. but i found it hard to focus today when i could still see the faces of those who have woken up every morning for the past seven months to see the work still ahead and the help fading.

* 'calling all angels' by train