Thoughts on going home after 7 months away

Before I type my "actual" post, let me note that as I type this email in our library at school, a cow is outside of my window staring at me. This cow has somehow found its way into the school yard and is just checking out what is happening inside!

Okay, now the real post...

I mentioned in an earlier post that I am both excited and nervous about going home after 7 months. This anxiety about going home is compounded by my feelings about what is left of my hometown and the surrounding areas. Yesterday my father, who for those of you who do not know him or know of him, is a Methodist minister in Vancleave, Mississippi, sent out a short piece that he wrote for a journal. His reflections on what happened days after the storm were amazing. Not having been there when Katrina hit or in the aftermath of the storm, I don't quite have a sense of how much has changed. Reading my father's words made me cry. It made me reflect on the reality of his world. It also prepared me for what is to come as I return after 7 months in Africa. It won't be the differences between Cape Verde and the US that will be shocking, it will be the "new" Mississippi that will be the hardest to see.

Here is a copy of my father's reflections for you to read:

In the days after Katrina I found myself wandering around the church property assessing what needed to be done to protect the buildings and to make life as livable as possible. The vent turbines had blown off the parsonage and I immediately used some shingles that had been stored in the shed to patch the holes. I was aware that many of the shingles were missing over the Sunday school classrooms and began to ponder the best plan to protect the classrooms. As I began formulating a plan, I passed my time raking the yard around the parsonage, pulling large limbs away from the house in an effort to reclaim part of the yard.
In the first days of the storm the phones did not work, even the cell phones were of no use in communicating with the outside world. I felt isolated and afraid. I say ‘afraid’ but it was more of an uneasy feeling that I needed to do something. I could not voice what needed to be done it was just a haunting feeling that persisted as I tried to do what I could to make a difference in my life. While working I would take a break occasionally and return to the house. Each time I was always aware that my sister-in-law, who was staying with us, would be glued to her battery powered portable television. I’d glance over her shoulder and hear snippets of the reporters saying that New Orleans was flooded and Pass Christian, Bay Saint Louis and other towns of the Gulf Coast no longer existed. My mind would not let me comprehend what I was hearing. I would feel the tears welling inside of me. I quickly went back to work thinking that I could do nothing to change the pain and suffering of friends and family that lived in the towns apparently now destroyed. I thought if I stayed busy everything would work out.
It rained on the Wednesday after the storm and the roof over the Sunday school classrooms had not been attended to and there was leaking. Thursday morning I was determined to “dry in” the roof. I needed to protect the space that we use to teach our children about Jesus. I had called one of my sons to help me. I intended to cover the roof with visqueen and son, Nathan, agreed to come and help. As I climbed on the roof I realized the damage to the roof was so widespread that the visqueen would not be an effective way to repair the roof. I knew from past experience that the plastic would leak, the wind would tear it and we would continually fight to keep the roof from leaking. It was at that moment that I decided to patch the roof with shingles. It would be harder and take longer, but would last. I went to town with Nathan, we purchased the materials, and over the next couple of days we patched the church roof. My brother-in-law spent a day helping us and after a few days we had finished.
The whole time I worked on the roof, I thought about the storm and the people affected. My wife, Celeste, continued to ask, “Larry, what can we do to help the people?” Celeste was sure we needed to do something and soon! On the last day of the roof repair, as I climbed down the ladder, it came to me. I knew what I had to do to help the people of the Coast. I met Celeste on the sidewalk that connects our house with the church and said to her, “We are going to house mission teams!” How did I discern the direction of my help? God’s Spirit gave me a vision, one that I could not deny, nor ignore. I was called to house those who would come to help. Making it possible for them to help restore the broken lives of our neighbors. I have never had a clearer vision or call than the one I received that day. If I had looked at all the things I did not have and needed to house people I would have given up on that day. We did not have what we needed to be successful. There were no showers, beds, linens, or pillows. We didn’t have the food we would need to feed them or the staff to run such an operation. We began anyway, with a handful of church members who responded with positive affirmations when we shared the vision with them. Each time a need was lifted to God in prayer, God answered.
We have been in ministry for five months now and as I watch the mission teams come I see that God’s will is to be in relationship with all of God’s people helping neighbors and sharing God’s love. This ministry of housing and caring for volunteer work teams has been a challenge, but a challenge that God has met time and again. We have learned much from the over 1,000 people we have housed here in Vancleave. Each of them came as a response to God’s call. Each came offering his or her self as a living sacrifice to God. The ministry has not been about rebuilding houses, but one of offering hope to people who hurt, people who need to know that God still exists in the hearts of others. The people of Vancleave, Mississippi are doing just that as we partner with the world. Thanks be to God.