MISSION TRIP REPORT as of 3/4/07

Final thoughts from Cheryl Barlow

    We made it! We all have returned home safe and sound, bodies tired, muscles sore, scratches stinging and hearts full. We worked hard and hopefully made a difference in the lives of those we encountered during the week. New friendships were made, and old friendships deepened as we lived, worked and worshipped together. And of course, we all now know who snores, and we all promise not to tell. As I was sitting in my house watching my kids eat their breakfast, I glanced up and saw their pictures up on the wall. I once again felt the push to put pen to paper (or in my case fingers to keyboard) and share with everyone an experience I had on this mission trip. But instead, I got up and took a long hot bath (which was heaven) because creative writing has never been my strong suit and I was scared I wouldn't be able to do it justice. Sitting in the tub, I again felt the push to write, but this time it was strong enough that if I hadn't gotten out of the tub I think a whale might just have swum up and dragged me away. So here I am.
       On the last mission trip I had the joy of working on Margarite's house. She is a lively retired school teacher, and member of First Presbyterian Church in Slidell. You can learn more about what we did by following the links to the web page from last year's mission trip. We did a lot of finish work for her. Eric Myers and Eric Wittenberg built beautiful windowsills and doorways, Keenan Pawley and Diehl Ott put in baseboards, and Karen Hagy, Sam Myers, Janet Wittenberg and I did the painting and staining. We were striving for Maximum Beauty (according the label on the back of the stain.) We worked very hard, and got her house to the point that she could empty out her POD and move her belongings back into one room of her home. But even with all that, she still couldn't move in. She was finally able to move in 3 weeks ago. Her FEMA trailer still has to be emptied and taken away, but she is home.
       It was that last word, home, that moved me. Eric Wittenberg, Sam Myers, Lisa Parker, and I got the chance to go visit with her on Friday during lunchtime. As we walked into her house I realized that it was not just her house, it was her home. She had portraits of her sons when they were little hung up on her walls, furniture, plants, and even a small fish in a vase on her coffee table. It was once again, her home. The furniture that was salvageable was returned to its proper place complete with books on the shelves. There was pride in seeing our hard work look so good as part of the finished product. But mostly I felt an overwhelming sense of joy that we were able to help her return home.
       As I drove back to my worksite after our visit, I was forced to pull over. I'm not much of a crier, but I was sobbing to the point that it wasn't safe to drive. Even as I write this it is hard to hold back the tears so that I can see to type. My heart was being torn between two very strong emotions: sheer joy at seeing Margarite home again, in a place that was her own (not a construction site or a damaged shell of a building), and despair. As I drove down that street, seeing so many of those homes as boarded up shells of their former selves, I realized some people haven't yet experienced returning "home", and some never will. Some have given up and moved on, some want to return but still can't find a way to make that happen, and some may have perished in the storm and its aftermath. How could this have happened to so many people' How could we, as a country, have let it happen still? 
       Our team of 50 people took at least a week out of their lives to rebuild and to remind those residents of Slidell that they are not forgotten and will not be forgotten. Even after a year and a half there is the constant reminder that rebuilding those communities will take years. We have made a difference. Some day what we have done will make that community whole again. Every bit is important, even if it's a potted plant that restores a garden's former beauty or a porch swing that allows Mildred the joy of returning to her former routine of caring for the neighborhood's children. But we must never, ever forget. We must share all we know, so that those we meet will remember that this tragedy still endures. No one should feel forgotten.

Notes from Kathy Pawley

When I think about the past few days and what we've seen here in Louisiana, I'm in awe. Awe at the devastation even 18 months later and its vastness. Awe at the damage to homes and businesses, but also to the bayous and plant life. I wonder if there are always so few regrets and great blue herons. I'm in awe at the power of nature, the power of water, and the power of wind. I'm in awe that we as a nation were so badly prepared for such an event. I'm in awe that there are still miles, miles, and more miles of devastation. I'm in awe at the many, many failures that preceded the storm and have followed it. I'm in awe of the pain residents must continue to feel in seeing their communities this way for so long.
But I'm also in awe of the spirit of God working through so many people here. I'm in awe of First Presbyterian of Slidell, that a congregation with an interim pastor and only 70 members--many seniors and many who lost all of their belongings and homes themselves--who now have a facility which can house the 70 workers we have here this week and reach out so far in the community. They've said that when they've had a need, it has been met and that their church is now closer, that neighbors are now much closer, and that local churches are actively working together. When First Presbyterian has needed more tools, more Bibles, bunk mattresses, appliances, they have been provided. I'm in awe that a large Baptist church near the water with help from the community managed to feed 5,000 people A DAY--but it was served outside because the church's interiors had been flooded.  I'm in awe of all those who set up gas grills on the church's lawn, brought what good food they had, and shared it with 5,000 people == starting two days after the storm. A modern-day loaves and fishes story. Churches from as far as Alaska have been here; churches and individuals have sent tools, money, anything you can imagine. I'm in awe of the love I've seen. I'm in awe of the energy. I'm in awe of the RVers from all over the US and Canada who live here for months and months working on homes. I'm in awe of the people who have shared their experiences--from the pine tree that went down on the middle of the house, to one extended family of 11 all sleeping on the floor in one room together for one month, to having the only working toilet on the street and sharing it with the neighborhood. I'm in awe of the strange who approached me in a parking lot, asked me where I was from, and said that she and others felt forgotten.  She then thanked me, hugged me, and burst into tears. How sad can one be to interact that way with a stranger so long after the storm? I'm in awe of the workers before us who gutted those ruined and stinking homes, who (as one person described it) would carry out an armload, take off their masks, puke, put their masks back on, and go back in to get more. Time after time. I'm in awe of the hope for the future. I'm in awe of the faith and calm certainty of some of the homeowners we've met that the Lord will provide and take care of them. There are so many horrific things here, but so many wonderful things, too. We are blessed to be here and experience it ourselves.

Interview with Alma
Interviewed by Lisa Parker and Sharon Cowen
Alma is the 88-year old homeowner of one of the three houses the BPC team from New Hampshire and North Carolina is renovating this week in Slidell, Louisiana.  We met and talked in the small and efficiently-planned FEMA trailer that has been her residence for many months.  It sits next to her house, now minus the floor and subfloor, having been gutted by volunteer work teams in preparation for rebuilding. 
   Miss Alma is soft-spoken and warm, smiling and upbeat, looking many years younger than her age suggests.  She is eager to talk and share stories of her life and her experiences on the night when she spent 5 hours in the attic, escaping the rapidly-rising waters of Lake Pontchartrain that surged through the Big Bayou near her house.  In all the years she has lived close to the bayou, she had never seen water like that.
   She was born in Lacomb, Louisiana in 1919 "in a beautiful house with oak trees. That's why I love my oak trees." She was one of 7 children, born into a Catholic family to a mama who spoke only Creole to her children.  Alma learned English when she started school and lost her mama at the age of 11 1/2.  She didn't have the opportunity to go to school, except in the summer, and walked 3 1/2 miles each way to get there. Alma never learned to drive, because her husband wouldn't teach her. Her grandfather was a slave who taught himself to read.  Her daddy was born and raised on the bayou; when the depression came, he didn't have a job. 
   Miss Alma recalls wanting to be a teacher but didn't get the chance--not enough education.  She married in 1938 and has 3 children.  Her husband died 24 years ago.  She is proud of her son, who is a teacher.  He lives next door.  Her oldest daughter left before the hurricane; her "baby girl" lived across the bayou with her husband until the hurricane; their house is gone now, destroyed by the fury of the water that came after.  
   Until Katrina hit, Alma lived in the small house that her husband built for them near the Bayou 52 years ago, the same house that now stands empty and stripped. "Mr. Miller and my husband" cut the trees and made the lumber.  Her husband built the house by himself from those boards.  The road where the house stands, Horace Page Road, was named for her husband.  He worked in a brickyard and built the road brick by brick, from bricks made in the brickyard.  She still has some stubs from his paychecks, some for only $39.  "We spent our money on groceries and there was no money for anything else."  From where we sit, she points to pine trees and a few live oaks; Alma's love of gardening is obvious in the flowering plants that are struggling to regain a place in her yard.  She points to them fondly. 
   Alma's strong faith runs through the stories of her life. "God is good.  I trust in him all of my days.  We all belong to God.  God is for all of us."
   The Friday before Katrina hit was her last day of work.  She worked for a 92-year old neighbor, helping with cleaning and laundry.  When she left that day, the neighbor asked if she would see Alma on Monday. Alma's response was "Yes, the good Lord says I will see you again," but Miss Alma has never returned to work.  Her strong faith helped her weather the storm that followed.  
   In the midst of the flooding after the hurricane, a boat showed up to rescue that neighbor; the neighbor agreed to be rescued if they would also take her 3 dogs.  They would not, and she stayed (and survived, with the dogs).
The wind of Katrina started to blow on Sunday night. Miss Alma recalls being aware that the winds were blowing from New Orleans and being afraid that the trees around the houses might fall on her son's house.  Suddenly the winds turned, and the trees fell away from the house. 
   She said, "I'm not going until God gets ready for me."
   When the levees broke the Big Bayou flooded with waters from Lake Pontchartrain.  There was no where for the water to go; it flooded the land and came towards Alma's house.  She recalls not panicking but praying as the water came up fast--black, black, black.  Her house had 8 feet of water in the back and 4 feet in the front.  Everything was floating, her chairs, her clothes; in the force of the water the refrigerator fell and also floated.  Her son got her into the attic, when he wanted to cut a hole in the ceiling so they could go up on the roof, she refused because at age 86 she might slip.  He had brought a snack and water to sustain them until they could get out.
   She said, "If you trust in Him, He will take care of you."
After the storm Miss Alma stayed with family until the FEMA trailer came some months later.  She went back, living in the trailer next to her home, and waited for help to rebuild.  While family helped when they could, the volunteer teams who have and will come, will restore her home.  Her family all survived, for which she is thankful.
   She talks often of trusting God and knowing that if you love God, He will provide.   She smiles often and talks of the goodness and blessings of her life. Despite the long months of waiting, Miss Alma focuses on hope and faith, and her trust in the Lord to carry her through.  "I didn't cry," she said,  "I prayed, Lord, hold onto me and don't let me go." 

Jenny's home...by George Reese

Jenny is a different type of victim of Katrina. Jenny lost a subsidized apartment she was renting through the manipulation of the disaster relief system by an unscrupulous landlord. Forced to find a new home to rent, she now lives in a 23' x 13' one-room building. Due to the high rents for housing after the storm, she now spends two-thirds of her fixed monthly income on rent. The building she now lives in was flooded during the storm and as a result, requires some extensive repairs.