"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 ...