the great thanksgiving - small 't'

It seems just yesterday, we were getting ready for a final day’s work … we left earlier than on previous days in an effort to get every bit of work done that we could, before closing up the toolboxes and packing to head home to Indy.

(* Apologies for the delay in posting this 'wrap-up'. Wanted to have as many pics as possible, with captions for identification.)

In the weeks since, as I’ve tried to tell the stories, and answer the questions, and offer the opinions, and provide the insights … I find that I am at a loss. Not a loss for words … anyone who’s known me five minutes can attest to that! … but at a loss for sufficient words, for adequate turns of phrase, for any language equal to the task of recounting and reflecting. A week in New Orleans provided far more to see, and hear, and do, and feel, than my words have been able to capture thus far.

And yet …

When we were in seminary, and someone would try to end a debate or dismiss an argument by saying, ‘It’s just semantics,’ my friend Amy often reminded us, “That’s saying ‘it’s just words and how we use them,’ which is true, but it’s also all we have.”

So we kept a weblog while we traveled, and offered words and images as best we could along the way. Pam and Tom were kind enough to jump in during the trip, and we posted a few pictures here and there as well.

To wrap up this trip’s posts (and we will have this online diary up and running for each trip we take as part of the gulf coast hurricane relief and recovery efforts) – and because the physical reality of just sitting down and having this conversation with everyone who wants to “hear all about the trip” is just beyond possibility – a few ‘closing thoughts,’ as well as a link to a photo album.

http://photos.yahoo.com/whendidweseeyou

You should be able to click on that link (or copy it into your browser), then the album, and either ‘view slideshow’ or select the pictures on your own. (Let me know if you have trouble.)

Just after Thanksgiving – when we travel to be with family and friends, to gather around tables creaking with lovingly-prepared meals, in homes made warm by laughter and love, outwardly appreciative yet soulfully unaware of the vast bounty with which our lives are blessed – a few thanksgivings … small ‘t’ …

With great thanksgiving for men and women, of every age and background, who uproot life and limb, family and schedule, social lives and business engagements, to offer whatever time, talent, resource and care they can … to help even one of the many who were uprooted from their lives and didn’t get to choose …

With great thanksgiving for everything along the way that nourished and fed … sandwiches eaten from Ziplocs with dirt-creased, knuckle-swollen hands … barbecue and potato salad served by church members to freshly-showered and already-yawning work teams … that extra piece of fruit, or bag of chips, or bottle of water, that shows up just when someone unexpected shows up and has need of it …

With great thanksgiving for those who are home … not just AT home, but who ARE home … making phone calls, writing checks, saying prayers, packing road-trip goodies, welcoming returning travelers, and filling in every gap with love and grace …

With great thanksgiving for joking and laughter, backed by deep affection and camaraderie, that mystically made the ‘heavy lifting’ that much lighter … evenings on the ‘patio,’ upturned buckets, lawn chairs, and van bumpers at the ready …

With great thanksgiving for those who have lost everything, yet hold onto their hope, and graciously welcome total strangers to not only sort through their few salvageable belongings but then demolish the rest …

I’ve never been a big believer in angels – not the be-winged, harp-playing, surrounded in light kind. And as much as I’m interested in their stories and histories, I’ve never been one to invoke the names and blessings of saints. But I defy you to spend a week doing mission work and come home saying that angels and saints don’t exist. My angels arrive in church vans, wear Moldex respirators and battered gloves and are covered in mud and dust … my saints have names like Willie and Kathleen and their domain is Lakeview, or the Lower Ninth Ward …

So if this is what it means to ‘entertain angels’ and see saints ‘go marchin’ in’ … then sign me up, count me in … every time. With great thanksgiving …