"We will make it."

Three hours ago, we showered after the day’s work, loaded into the van and started for home. We’ve now made it … 40. miles. north on I-10.

THIS, my friends, is mission travel at its finest! Remember how I mentioned that the key to making a trip like this is to travel with people you like? THANK GOD for Pam and Tom and Jim … it’s not been pleasant, ‘cause, well, when you’re ready to be home, you’re ready … but it hasn’t been miserable. Is that fair?!

~ Jim: On the bright side, we haven’t used much gas.
Tom: Yeah, but we’re not getting very good mileage.

~ Pam (reading): Frequently asked questions, from the FEMA website.
Jim and Courtney (together): WHERE IS MY CHECK?!

~ Tom (when we stopped for gas and dinner): Gosh, Jim, we'd hoped to get a little more out of your three-hour shift than that.
Jim: You mean more than 40 miles?

The other thing it brought up for us, though, is what may have already occurred to someone else: this must be what it was like (well, at least physically, not emotionally) to evacuate. Just 10 weeks ago, thousands of people in thousands of cars tried to get somewhere, anywhere, inches at a time, on this very same highway. But in the imagination, add to it the fear of a storm (or the midst of one) unlike any that’s been before … the uncertainty of the safety of friends, family, neighbors … the sheer chaos of those who stood on roofs, bridges, and flooded cars simply waiting … for help, or for high water.

It’s been odd to spend the week working in and seeing the very streets that we watched fill with water. Watched from the safety and comfort – albeit shocking and horrifying – of our own homes and lives.

To then spend a week uniting your life … the very forces and evidence of life: sweat, tears, blood, laughter, labor, spirit … with the lives of those whose world has completely washed from its moorings … It’s unlike anything you can experience anywhere else, and certainly more than simple words can describe.

Today we finished our work – at least, as much as we could work – on Ms. Simmons’ house. She worked with us all day, which was such a gift and blessing. A woman of quiet grace and indomitable spirit, spending hours with her sorting through what could be salvaged and carrying out what would have to go, and sharing stories: a daughter, deceased 10 years ago, at 36; nearly 60 children, mostly infants and toddlers, fostered over many years; a 28-year career in public education; a love of shopping, but never buying 'things' just to 'have' them.

Of course the conversation turned to the evacuation, and the decisions to be made, and gratitude for the safety and well-being of friends and neighbors, even amid the agonizing loss of home and property. She would point out for us which neighbors would be back: the blue house across the street, the green one on the corner, the one with the broken fence two over. All homeowners, all determined to come back and rebuild, however slow, however painful; the upper ninth ward has been devastated, "But," she smiled, with quiet confidence, "we will make it, with the Master's help."

We will be home early in the morning, the air turning colder with every rest stop. Weary, to be sure, but certainly BETTER for the wear.

I talked to Bob From Iowa on the way out of New Orleans (well, when we first THOUGHT we were leaving New Orleans!) and said, "Do you miss us yet?" He answered correctly: "Yes! I was just thinking about you guys!" There's something that bonds you, this serving together.

It's more than words and images can cover, but I'll try to add a few more of both tomorrow (after I sleep!), and see what lessons have wandered by ...

the widow's mite

Today our group (total) started our fifth and sixth houses for the week. Hard to imagine that if, in three days, an all-volunteer crew of 14 can entirely gut 4 houses, things aren’t moving along any faster than they are. Then again, we found ourselves several times simply standing in a room – already cleared of ruined furniture, drapes, belongings – just looking around, shell-shocked, wondering where in the world to start. It feels so huge – and it is – so you just pick up a hammer and a pry bar and start ripping away at it.

Yesterday and today, a dilemma crept into our thoughts and conversations … one of the common struggles of mission work: the desire to be of service vs. the instinct to be selective. This is not a condemnation, nor should it be read as one. It’s an absolutely natural part of being on mission trips: the point where you say, “Why the heck are we spending all this time doing this when it is (or they are) just going to _____?”

~ still have to wait on insurance, FEMA, good fortune

~ have so much left to do

~ need more help than we can give this week

~ probably bulldoze this thing anyway

And that discourages us … to think that the work we’ve done – done gladly and faithfully and with more energy and stamina than we knew we possessed – might turn out to be ‘for nothing’.

Thing is, though, it’s never ‘for nothing’.

~ We met eight people from Albia and two from Winnemac, for whom our lives (and stories!) are much richer.

~ Six houses have been gutted. While it may be debatable that bared uprights and stripped floors ‘look better’ than did the walls once sodden and blackened with mold … the houses are now prepared for the next step: inspection, decision, rebuilding, recovery. Six isn’t much in the face of the total, but it’s six more than before we got there.

~ The call went out to come and do what could be done. The call was answered: by us, and many more like us, who simply did what was asked, wherever we were able, and we have to put the dilemma to rest perhaps the only way we can for the moment: Just as the widow whom Jesus praises, we have done what we could, and more, what we know we can.

Tonight included what every trip to New Orleans usually does at least once: a night in the French Quarter. Renowned for its wildlife (the two-legged kind!), the vistas and plumage on this particular tour were only a watered-down version of their previous existence.

Some shops and restaurants have reopened. Many more have signs tacked to quickly-boarded windows, promising to‘re-open in ____’ December, January, spring. The terrific apartments and hotels with second- and third-floor balconies are darkened, appliances sitting on already-narrow sidewalks. The iron scrollwork that gives each building its European character and individual signature is marred, rusted, broken, bent.

But New Orleans being New Orleans, every ‘krewe’ is making its plans for the Mardi Gras parades … Angeli’s on Decatur still serves up good hot food and great live jazz …

Pat O’Brien’s still serves the kind of hurricane people WANT in the Quarter … every street has at least one place to get your your voodoo fix AND a new tattoo (no, Mom, don’t worry) … and Molly’s at the Market still has enough seats to accommodate all your friends for hours of ridiculous chatter and great, deep, heartfelt laughter.

Tomorrow’s our last day of work, then begins the long trek home. More to come, more stories and reflections, a picture here and there, and hopefully a link to a photo album soon.

Thanks for keeping up with us … we feel you with us … thinking about packing your work clothes and tool belt yet?

this is why we work in teams

This is the day that my mission trip experience holds is hardest for me to get my head together -- the middle of the trip, and the third day of work. Looking at journals from previous mission trips, I know that the first day I'm meeting everyone and getting a feel for the set up of the week ... the second day I'm getting heavy into the work and learning tricks to make things more efficient, more effective ... but the third day?

It starts registering. How massive the work really is. And here? Exponentially more so. I start to tell my mother a story ... and I cry. We sit up after the day's work and talk about what we've seen and done ... and I am enraged. We compare bumps and bruises and laugh (a lot) ... and prepare ourselves for another day of exactly the same thing. It occurs to us that we'll work tomorrow and at least part of Friday and then we'll head home ... and I want to stay. To cry, to rage, to work some more.

But since all this is rolling in my head, little of it is landing together in any coherent form. This is why we work in teams; it is too much to do, to see, to know, to take, all alone. Fortunately, Pam Trapp has had better luck getting HER words together. I'm adding a few pictures along the way:

Frustration, devastation and destruction. When we pulled into the city on Sunday evening and drove across Highway 10 to Metarie, I thought to myself. “What is all of the fuss about?" The Sheraton and the Westin were illuminated. You could tell that there had been a storm. Some windows on the high rises were blown out. Several of the signs that you see every day – McDonalds, Lowe’s, etc, were either darkened or blown over completely. There were semi trailers parked everywhere. (Now I know that these were FEMA relief trailers.) However, we did not see any of the images that assaulted us from the news media in the days following the storm. I had imagined a completely dark city immersed in water, and deserted. I recall sitting in front of my television on the Thursday following the storm in tears thinking “I should be there helping”. So, here I was, pulling into the city, and my first impression was that the city was recovering nicely, rather quickly. I didn’t really think they needed help after all.

Boy was I ever wrong. We’ve been here for three days now. I got my rude awakening rather quickly Monday morning when we pulled into the neighborhoods that had the unfortunate location next to the levees. Each house is marked in spray paint with an orange circle divided into four sections. The top section indicates the team that inspected the home in the days after the storm with the date. The left section indicates pets in the home. The bottom indicates the dead found. I found myself silently praying for zeros.

These houses are similar in size, and as close to one another as the homes in say, Broad Ripple. Every single house, in neighborhood after neighborhood, is empty and devastated. Many, including the ones we have been gutting, look fine. However, they are uninhabitable because of mold. The drywall has to be torn from each of these homes up to the level where the mold stops. Most of the time this is about 4 feet high, sometimes it is higher.

Now what surprises me is the slow pace of clean up and reconstruction. The neighborhoods are not buzzing with activity. Today, Mayor Nagin shut down the entire west side of the city for 3 ½ hours to take a tour bus full of politicians past the levee breaks to take photos. I am astounded by the lack of presence by people of power. Perhaps I am missing something but I am ashamed of our government. There seems to be a lack of a cohesive plan to help these people.

Many of the houses are still filled with wet, molding, mud covered possessions. The people that have lost everything are paralyzed. Paralyzed by shock, confusion, frustration, grief. On Friday, we will go home to our warm beds and clean houses. I can’t imagine losing everything and not knowing when or where I would find home.

Let me share a few frustrating facts that we have learned during our stay:

- The maximum FEMA relief payout is $26,000. Most of the residents here do not have flood insurance. I don’t need to spell this out.

- As Eva, the FEMA adjustor who is staying with us at the church tells us, despite this being the maximum pay out; this does not mean that homeowners will receive anything, even if their home is totaled! She says she enters all of the data into the computer and it’s “the luck of the draw” as to whether someone receives benefits or not.

- The anticipated amount of garbage generated by the storm is what New Orleans would normally produce in 34 years. This does not include debris from home demolitions or destroyed vehicles. It only includes home contents. You see landfills in city parks throughout the city. Some of these landfills consist of only downed trees and others are debris. Sofas, mattresses, children’s toys, family possessions.

- 70% of the city has no electricity.

- The population of New Orleans in normal times is 450,000. It is now down to 100,000, including relief agency workers and volunteers.

I could continue for many more pages. Instead I implore you to help. These people need your help. If you are able, make the next trip with Courtney to New Orleans in the spring. If you are not able, then give money to Week of Compassion to help here. If you cannot do this, then write your Congressman and ask them to help. Please believe me when I tell you that our government is not doing enough. I will be writing a letter to my Congressman and copying everyone on my e mail list and asking them to do the same. If you would like a copy of this letter please write me at

pamelaatrapp@yahoo.com.

Despite all of this, I see that God is good. There are Angels among us and I am seeing them each day.

There is still a wonderful spirit in this town. New Orleans is blessed with a vibrant and healthy desire to beat this and I know that with His help -- we are part of that -- they will.

Can’t wait to see all of you on Sunday!

Pam

tom talks...

and NO, this ISN'T the first time we've let him, so hush up in the Peanut Gallery!!

The Iowanians are a little nervous about me having a blog. But I promised them I'd be nice ... after all, What happens in New Orleans ...

Today's tasks were no less arduous, but not quite as mucky and awful as yesterday's. I didn't see the other site, but our Geist group plus Brynn made a solid showing at the home of a retired postal worker; 29 years in February, with the plaque to prove it.

A quick picture (from today's site) to show Ruth that he IS actually working (and don't you LOVE the new headgear?!) ...

and I've asked Tom to share some of his thoughts and reflections from our first few days ...

As we traveled south, I had the normal thoughts about what I was getting myself into. Could I stand up to the work? What kind of conditions would I be working in? How safe was the area? As we passed through Meridian, Mississippi I thought about the three civil rights workers who were murdered there a generation ago. Surely, they too were apprehensive about the future. Goodman, Schwerner and Chaney were in a much more hostile environment. Whatever uncertainties I faced were nothing compared to theirs.

My own uneasiness faded quickly soon after arriving at First Christian Church in Metairie. After meeting with volunteers from Iowa and northern Indiana, I knew that the week would go well. Monday, our first workday, began with John, (our host/work coordinator) giving us a brief tour of the major levee break near the house we would be cleaning up. It was not worse than I imagined, but certainly no better. As we entered the house the stench, even through the required mask, was overwhelming. Polluted water had permeated everything five feet above the floor, staying for weeks before receding. The floor was now covered with a reeking muck about six inches thick. As the day progressed I began to wonder about the family who had once called this mess home.

>Stuffed animals covered with slime. Where was the owner?

>Military medals and a Navy Chief’s hat. Were these the present owner’s? Or were these items keepsakes from a father or grandfather?

>The house was in such bad shape that none of us thought it could ever be livable again. Did the owner have flood insurance? Would the family just have to walk away from disaster, but still be tied to a mortgage?

>This was just one small house in one neighborhood in New Orleans. How many thousands of families are experiencing the same heartache and misery?

By the end of the day we all looked like we had rolled around the floor for several hours. A shower and change of clothes along with a hearty meal prepared by Courtney and Pam, restored our spirits and we spent the rest of the evening reflecting on our day’s experiences and learning about each other’s lives. How truly wonderful it is to be a part of a group that gathers to share God’s Love.

Tom

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As I read through what we've written, I know we're not giving a sufficient picture to represent the reality. But really, nothing can. Even standing here looking at it doesn't really help it sink in. Hearing individual stories ... the water rose 4 feet in 47 minutes ... we thought we were fine and then our neighbor was running and yelling 'look at the water!' ...

Story after story ... house after house ... everything with water marks and orange x's, indicating that houses have been searched, and code for what was found (or wasn't) ...

It's unbelievable. And we're only here for a few days. We're not even trying to LIVE here. We're just praying that eventually the people who WANT to, will be ABLE to.

and so it begins

The day nearly defies description. We're one day in, and I'm really not sure how to even start telling you what we've already seen.

Let's start with the people, just to get you set (as my father used to say, 'Can't keep track of the players without a scorecard!'):
> from Iowa: Bob, his sons Ben and Dave, Rob, Allen, his daughter Molly, LeeAnn, and Joe
> from no. Indiana: Bob and Brynn
> the Geist crew: me, Tom, Jim, Pam
> Kerry and John, New Orleans locals, members of First Christian Metairie, and our directors/guides/coordinators for the week
There's also a young woman named Eva, who evidently works for FEMA, is from Fort Wayne, and is a Disciple so is kind of staying/officing here at the church. Something like that (we don't see her much).

So today we work in two groups:
> Bob, Rob, Bob & Brynn, Pam and I go to Lisa's house; Kerry and John were with us part of the day. They call her "Our Lady of I-10". Lisa is an attorney, and a good friend of Kerry's. They're in a local crew together (the name of which is thoroughly cajun and I won't try to spell or explain) that is a huge presence in the Mardi Gras festivities. Lisa's house for the las five years has been Float Central, and so can be seen from I-10. Hence the name.

Her house now, however, looks like this:

I took this picture standing in her utility room, looking through the bathroom, through the living room and out the front door. You shouldn't, you know, be able to see all the way through the house like that. You can see the horizontal cross bars (lath) at the top left, which had sheetrock laid over it. All of which had molded, due to a 5-foot water level inside her house. It's dry now, but rotted. We pulled out all the lath (to a height of about 5 feet) throughout the entire first floor, and anything that covered it: sheetrock, plaster, tile, the works. Bathroom, living room, dining room, kitchen, utility room, sunroom, staircase. Lisa's house is one of, if not the, oldest house in Lakeview district. The architectural detail is stunning, and when refinished is going to be absolutely splendid.

Meanwhile, a block from the levees (yes, those levees, the ones that collapsed), the rest of the gang is working here:

Inside this now-tree-house is this:

While we hammered and pried and wrenched and carried and got covered in dust and sweat and mildew ... they slipped and slid and shoveled and cleared a pathway like you wouldn't believe. Pam and I decided the least we could do is be the ones to go shopping and make dinner.

What we've seen, even in the first day, defies absolutely all description:

> A highway full of FEMA trucks. Not a FEMA team in sight in town.

> Water marks -- not the kind the city keeps on a stick at the place where it flooded years ago -- water lines, green, molded, mossy water lines on every. single. house.

> Houses completely off their foundations and essentially in the side yard of other houses.

> Boats in a marina stacked up like children's toys crammed into an already full toybox.

And THEN you see ... people that will drive, from Iowa, from Indiana, from Pennsylvania next week, from who knows where the weeks before -- to spend a week at a time doing things they couldn't imagine doing, for people they'll never see again.

After several conversations during the day about "where is everyone?" and "where's all the help that our government's money is supposed to be buying?", Pam said it best tonight (completely unprovoked, I might add): This is what Randy was talking about, when he said that giving matters. We're not just giving money to the church; we're working. This is how we're serving. We're not just handing money over. We're putting it to work, doing this.

I love my job.

under cover of the night

Arrived safe and sound tonight, about 9:15 local time (10:15 Indy). That puts us at 15 hours exactly, door to door, including gasoline, meal (2), and 'personal' (hee) stops. Not bad for an 840 mile go of it.

If you have to travel that far with three folks, finding the ones who are smart and funny and whose bodies are on the same clock as yours is really a pleasant way to do it! Jim did the lion's share of the driving, Tom took a shift, and Pam and I provided the comedic relief (or something like that). We took turns reading, recommending reading, napping (not the driver!), and counting FEMA trucks.

There are 14 (we think) other people here this week, two vanloads from a church in Iowa (hi Tod!) and a couple from northern Indiana. We met some of them as we rolled in and will meet the rest as we get moving in the morning.

Of course as we drove further south, our eyes and conversation turned to whatever storm damage we might be seeing. Many patches through Mississippi where trees were snapped -- tornadoes on the edge of the hurricane system? -- and then crossing into Louisiana, the patches were closer and closer together.

Since it was dark by the time we got this far, it somehow added to the mystique, and heightened our curiosity. What will we see? Where will we work? Who will we meet?

At the moment, we don't know. For right now, we're going to sleep. Monday morning, 8:00a.m., the adventure REALLY begins.

same blog! new name!

Packed up my work boots, my work clothes, my work gloves, and a couple-a buckets full of tools. I'm thinking there might be some work to do this week!

Pulling out of the church at 7:30 tomorrow morning (who the heck decided on THAT time?!!) ... we go south and south and south then scoot a little west and we'll be in New Orleans.

Tom, Jim, Pam and me (I'm trying to think of a three-letter name to use for the week, just to fit in) (the Peanut Gallery may keep Its comments to Its Self!) ... the work team our church is trusting to represent them as the first-out servants with a Disciples Mission Station. Ahhhh, the pressure!

We're assigned to stay at First Christian Church in Metarie (if you've ever flown into New Orleans, the airport is in Metarie), and the instruction we've received so far is "you'll be tearing stuff out." My dear friend Jayna Powell (Disciples Volunteers in Mission coordinator) calls it "getting dirty for Jesus." Will. We. EVER!

I've no idea what our time or internet access/service will be while we're away. I will keep a daily journal, and will post that as possible. If you don't hear/see something, don't panic (Mom!) ... just means you'll have more to read all at one time when we DO get to an access point!

Thank you to all who've offered the overly generous "You're so great to be doing this second trip ..." That gives me far more credit than I deserve. As I said in September when the call came to serve for a period in Tyler ... everyone wants to, and I've been asked to. Doing something is not an option. It is an honor.