Dear Diary… Final EntryThe final installment of my journal from the week of Katrina.
Sat, Sept 3, 9:36 a.m.
You find good in everything, and I've found a deeper love and appreciation for my church family and my immediate family in all of this. It’s Saturday morning and we’ve loaded our dually down with supplies for Pearl River. My parents don’t have water yet. They are still dipping water out of a pool for the horses and taking spit-baths with a cup or two of fresh water. But yet here they are on the way to help others. I don't feel guilty saying I'm proud of my family.
I also am so proud of my church family. The church has rallied to the cause and donated supplies to the families of the Covington church going in a convoy later this morning to that area. And of course, all this just the initial wave. We have huge-scale plans underway for a long-term effort.
The Interstate has been cleared and as we first take to the roads, there’s not much visible damage. Occasionally the trees give way to a peek of houses whose roofs are covered with blue tarps—evidence of roof damage and leaks. We’ve passed other trucks and trailers containing gas drums and supplies, as well as a parking lot where it looked like several rescue boats and emergency vehicles were being staged. It really boosts your hope to see people everywhere trying to help.
10:24 a.m.We’re almost to Convington now, and the damage is more evident. Trees look like matchsticks in many places, scattered, snapped off, and leaning every which way like toppled dominoes. We’re now seeing houses everywhere with trees slashing right through the middle or pulling down a corner. The sad part is that this is just North Shore damage. There’s an entirely different dimension of damage south of us in New Orleans and into our neighboring states. If it’s this bad here, I can’t imagine what it’s like there.
12:08 p.m.
We made the dropoff, and words fail me. It will be very hard for me to walk back into my own house now and complain about the silly things I do that don’t really matter.
The church was very near the interstate, yet the damage to the area was shocking. A little passageway down the street had been cleared with chainsaws, but sawed trees were stacked up like walls around us with tangled powerlines snaking through them. Signs warned “Looters will be shot.”
The church building itself had escaped damage other than an eave knocked loose. In what I believe is God’s provision, two huge oaks within ten yards of the church both were downed by wind, but both fell away from the church. Another tree had fell on the pumphouse, cutting the church’s water supply. Members feel confident this can be fixed easily. But the church could still be without power for awhile.
In front of the church, two folding tables with snacks, a camp stove, a Bible and some other goods were set up. The doors to the church were opened in hopes of a cool breeze. We were greeted by one of the families living in the church who testified that God spared their home being destroyed despite all the houses around them being severely damaged. They were thankful to see us and offered us the red beans and deer sausage cooking on the camp stove—their own lunch. It was so touching since we were there to give supplies, and yet these families were trying to give to us.
And they did. I cannot look at life as carelessly and flippantly as before. After seeing people stripped of everything so suddenly, what it means to survive seems more profound. After seeing people survive it all and yet still so Christ-like, what it means to be Christian, even more profound.
After offloading the supplies, we toured the church. We saw Sunday school rooms with blankets on the floor where two families were living, one whose home had been completely demolished. As we entered the sanctuary, I saw something so heart-breaking it will be always burned in my mind’s eye. The family whose home had been leveled had nothing left but a few clothes and one box of pictures they’d been able to save. They had spread the pictures out on the pews of the church in hopes they would dry and could be salvaged. As I peered over into the little cardboard box, something in me crumpled to think that this family’s whole belongings were reduced to one cardboard box of pictures. And yet these are the lucky ones. So many don’t even have that.
Last night I dreamed that the family with kids from Plaquemines were calling to me for help. I woke up trying to separate the dream from reality. The distressing truth is that the nightmare is reality for so many families. …There is still so much work to do.
12:16 p.m.It’s scary how quickly towns and supply lines shut down. We’re in Covington now and nothing is open except two gas stations with cars lined up for half a mile. We did see one chainsaw store without power that had opened and had a line out the door. Finally I spotted a grocery without power that was letting people in with the National Guard on watch. All other stores and restaurants are closed and still boarded up. So unless people are driving back all the way back to BR or getting help from relief organizations, they are still using whatever they stockpiled before the hurricane.
I’ve quit taking pictures because I know they won’t do the destruction justice. A few pictures of huge, downed trees and mangled power poles don’t put it in perspective until you see hundreds of miles of endless snapped timber, downed power lines, and trees sticking through houses—or what’s more, families left with a cardboard box of pictures.
