COMMENTARY

A Church Without a Dome Michelle M. Guppy Michelle Houston, TX


It was Sunday.
I went there with one mission - to pass out Bibles that another
volunteer said were needed, and to find children with disabilities so that
at least I would feel useful - I knew how I could help them, and their
parents.
The 10 minute orientation for the volunteers did little to prepare us
for what would be experienced over the next 8 hours.
When I made the trek from the volunteer center to the "community", the
atmosphere was oddly calm. There were post-it notes of sisters separated
from brothers, husbands looking for their wives, but yet there was no panic,
at least not from those I was with. Just people walking by looking at the
names on the board - hoping to see one they knew. With hardly any
communication, actually no communication, all one could simply do was watch
the signs as people walked around advertising who they were looking for.
Instead of being paniced, they were simply more thankful than anything.
Thankful to be out of the sweltering hell they called the Superdome, with
the stench so great they would rather take their chances sleeping outside on
cement, than inside on a cot. It made me think of those who I loved and
whether their name would be on the list God would be searching through one
day.
It wasn't so much a question of where to volunteer, it was a question
of where not to volunteer. The needs were so great. The volunteers and help
so few in comparison. I wanted to go where I would truly make the most
difference and feel worthy. I found myself picking up garbage in the
hallways, bathroom, and eating area. In the bathroom I saw mothers giving
their babies baths in the dirty sink with no soap. I saw Jesus washing his
disciples dirty feet, and knew that the job I was doing was worthy indeed.
The only thing identifying me as a volunteer and not a "guest", was
the peach wristband given at training. We were told that as volunteers we
could eat upstairs away from everything --- but no one I saw did that. There
were no barriers. No walls of division, race, rank, or status. It was simply
people among people. The VP's carrying boxes of supplies, the janitorial
crew being served by community leaders. God's children among God's children.
I saw how heaven would be.
I found myself taking a break and sitting at a table where one woman
was sharing her experiences of waiting out the hurricane in the Superdome as
the roof was ripped off and the rain came pouring in. She'd witnessed the
craze of those taking advantage of others. She stood in lines where the
military had rifles pointed ready to shoot anyone who got unruly. When she
asked what would happen to them, they simply stared forward and said
nothing. "How could our own people turn against us?" she said in anguish.
"We were treated like we were less than human," she recalled as those in
charge would completely stop the food distribution for everyone, when a
handful of people got out of control. "Just not knowing" was the hardest.
There was no communication. No T.V. She knew buses would be coming. But she
didn't know when. Nor really where to go. So every morning her family would
wake up at 4am and stand in a line, and wait. 6pm came, and after she had
watched dozens pass out from heat and exhaustion, her family finally gave
up, only to do it all over again the next day. She knows she was one of the
lucky ones. She ended up in Houston, only missing one sister out of 4. There
was more she wanted to share, but she just couldn't. All she could say was,
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, - thank you for making us feel human
again." Thank you for showing us love. I asked if I could hug her, and while
doing so pictured the scenes in the Bible where Jesus embraced those whom no
one else would.
Time for the clothes and supply distribution lines to open. My job -
to get people what they need. It was here that I learned the true meaning of
what a "Food and Clothing Drive" should be. Often when I would participate
in those efforts - I gave what I didn't need, or didn't want - and thought I
would be doing someone a great service. Here, today, I experienced being a
recipient of my past generosity. And what a realization that was. Digging
through piles and piles of people's old and discarded outdated clothes
showed me how truly selfish I had been. How could these people who have no
homes, no money, and no clothes, ever hope to go out and rebuild their lives
wearing mismatched outfits, purple sequined stained shirts, and wearing no
socks and someone's used underwear? I know some would say that they should
be thankful for what they have. And trust me, they were. They would have
gladly taken the used underwear - if there was any. From now on I will give
- only what I would want to wear. I will give gifts worthy of a king who was
born in a stable.
I mingle with men and women among the masses of cots lined neatly row
by row - an odd feeling in itself. Keenly aware that I was invading the
privacy that no one really had. One elderly woman lying all alone seemed
like she needed a friend. So I asked her, "Do you mind if I stay and talk
with you?" She said, "Sure, -- if you like." She was fine, and with the
wisdom of her years, she knew that I was saying that more for me than for
her. We both knew I couldn't offer her anything she really wanted, which was
to be in her own home and in her own bed. I pictured the little drummer boy
who had nothing to offer the king - except for himself. And so that is what
I gave her.
On to the next row where a woman was sitting on her cot. "What can I
get you?" I cheerily asked. This was one of the many times that I wished I
had a delete button to hit before the words actually came out of my mouth.
But too late - the look in her eyes in response was about as empty as the
box of possessions beside her. I don't know how else I could have asked
that, but hearing myself ask it seemed so lame in light of what brought her
here. Here was a woman who deserved the most expensive bottle of perfume
poured on her feet. Instead, I gave her socks.
Out in the hallway where the children were playing was a sense of
normalcy. Five or six little boys who found a football were on either end of
the hallway - playing catch and trying to see if they could hit the light
fixture hanging from the ceiling. At least for some in that shelter, life
seemed unchanged.
Back in the food area though - life was changing. I stop and listen as
a mother has her middle school age children sitting around the table -
lecturing them on how to make the right choices by staying in school and
getting good grades, and not getting pregnant, and going to college to earn
a degree to get a career - so that they would never have to find themselves
in the position that she was in. Having no education, no job, and no home.
A mother facing the reality of the importance of training up your children
in the way they should go. And her children seeing the results of what could
happen if they don't.
There were many young mothers holding babies and toddles all day long
because they could not bring their strollers or didn't have time to get
them. I asked mom after mom if they would like me to hold their baby while
they ate. None would allow me. For them I think, their babies were the only
things they had left in this world, their only true possession, and they
would not part with them for anything. I felt instantly warmed by God's arms
wrapped tightly, possessively, around me. Not ever wanting to let me go
either.
The bright spot to me was the pregnant mothers. I meet a mom who was
very, very, pregnant, and wondered how many baby girl Katrina's there would
be..reminders of how even in the midst of destruction and despair, God
brings new life, new hope, new rainbows..
My Bibles are gone, but I go back in the area where the cots are one
more time. I still had not found who I was looking for. It was getting late
in the day and my main mission was not yet accomplished. I didn't know his
name, but I knew that I would know when I found him. There he was. Rocking
back and forth, with his mom holding his hands. I go up to her and ask just
to confirm what I knew was true. "Yes, he does have autism," she says. "Do
you need anything? Anything at all?" "No," she responds. "Do you have a
place to go?" "Yes, - we will be leaving shortly". We exchange names and I
give her my number so that if it doesn't work out - she can call me. I stay
for a while and talk. Joshua was doing fine as long as his mom was there
holding him. I guess that would be one benefit of being in your own world
and not understanding what is going on around you. As I get up to leave, I
ask, "Will you call me when you get to where you are going?" I wanted to
make sure they were ok. She smiles, nods, and says, "I will." I told her
why I needed to find her son. I told her about my son who has autism and how
I needed to know that if he and I were in that position, that someone would
come looking for us.. I am thankful for the shepherd who won't rest until
that one lost sheep is found.
It's dinner time, and I find myself serving in the food line. By this
time I am really trying to process all that I took in from the day. I find
myself obsessed with trying to put the shredded beef neatly in the middle of
the bun so as to not make a mess. Thinking that a "perfect sandwich" will
somehow cancel out the imperfect conditions our guests must endure until
they get their lives back in order. But to no avail, with so many to feed,
neatness is mission impossible! The line leader shouts, "I need more
sandwiches!" The people didn't care about neat sandwiches anyway. Most were
thankful to just have a hot meal in an air-conditioned building with chairs
to sit on. They gladly took the plates, smiled, and said "Thank You." I made
a mental note to be as thankful myself when I go back home.
Finally home, I sit down and put my feet up. They did hurt, but not
near as bad as my heart. I wondered as I fell asleep that night how much
more Jesus' feet hurt as he carried the cross that day. How much more did
his heart hurt?
As bad as life seems sometimes, and as little hope as we something
think there is for humanity - it is times like this that you see that people
do care and that there is hope. Sure there were those who complained that I
couldn't find them a brown bag instead of the black one - or the tennis
shoes instead of dress shoes. There were those who weren't happy with
shredded beef on a bun no matter how neatly it was made. But overall --- I
saw people. Not evacuee's, not refugee's, and not even the victims of an
event. I saw people in need of help from other people. I saw unselfishness
and servanthood at its best. I saw what community is all about. I saw people
doing for other people exactly what Jesus would do for them.
I did miss being in church that Sunday. . .but know that God wanted
me to experience a sermon for once, and not just hear one. . .

By Pamt on Thursday, September 8, 2005 - 11:42 am:

Thanks for posting that Feona. My DH has been doing a photo documentary of sorts, so click here if you want to see some of the faces that go with the stories.

By Hlgmom on Thursday, September 8, 2005 - 12:23 pm:

Thank you for sharing...I am crying once again!