Dear Gulf Coast Friends...

I've been trying for the last two weeks to find a way to put my thoughts down and finally came to the conclusion that "talking" via this letter to Mrs. Swearingen was the only way. John MacDonald said on Sunday, "My mind has just been in another place this week." What a true statement. This letter, I think, begins to define where my mind has been.

I heard another true statement on Sunday, this one from Kevin Bittle: "I miss all you guys." I want you all to know that I treasure the time I spent with you in Gautier and wish every human being could have a similar experience. Mike and I are so thankful to the church and to God for giving us a chance to lend a (small) hand in Mississippi.


March 2, 2006

I truly hope this letter arrives to find you well and that the cold spell you were in the midst of during our visit has broken. Despite the 12-18 inches of snow that fell here the second week of February, the ground has been clear and the crocuses have been rising in expectation of Spring…until today. This morning we had some snow and icy roads as a result of Winter’s last gasp. I wouldn’t be surprised if she blew out one more snowstorm yet to remind us that March still belongs to her, whether Spring tries to show her face early or not!

It’s not yet been two weeks since we left Gautier for home, but it feels like it could have been a year ago. The moment we left Mississippi I knew that things would not ever be the same for me, nor for any other member of our group. What I never could have guessed is that I would have such a difficult time expressing my thoughts on our work, the people we met, my faith, my life now as I know it. Words have always come easy to me on paper; especially when I was young, I would write poems, letters, journal entries about my feelings, my family, and my friends. Mom, I think, secretly wanted me to be a writer rather than an architect!

Now I feel almost as though the writing portion of my brain has been crippled. I have too many feelings, too many thoughts to process. I began writing a short reflection on faith but the words in my mind would not form themselves into coherent sentences on paper. What I think is that despite the overwhelming emotions and memories I brought home with me, my mind is telling me that they are nothing: insignificant compared to those you all have lived through since Katrina came to the Gulf Coast. Who am I to cry for myself, so far away from the destruction that you and your loved ones face on a daily basis?

But, I have cried, tears of many sizes and colors. I’ve cried for joy of the friendships I made in Gautier, for the wonderful people who shared their lives and stories with us. For sadness at the uncertainty of whether our paths will ever cross again. For worry over what will happen to you now, how long it will be before you can move back “home,” and find some sense of normalcy. For the desire of wanting to do more, work more, help more. For loneliness for the fellowship of my work companions, who have hearts of gold and welcomed me as a friend. For disappointment over how little work can be accomplished in a single week’s time. For the frustration of being unsuccessful at adequately expressing to the people here how desperately our help is needed. For gratitude for being able to contribute to the rebuilding efforts. For the complete sense of peace and faith I felt in Gautier, which I wonder if I will ever feel again.

It’s true that too many of us rely on the news to tell us what is happening in the world. And it’s true that when the cameras stop rolling, in favor of a flashier headline, the previous scene is forgotten. I am guilty of it myself, only having heard rumors before our trip to hint at the real conditions we would face but not truly believing it until it was right in front of my eyes. I do believe, however, that people are inherently good, and they want to help others in need. If Katrina had hit New Jersey rather than Mississippi or Louisiana, I am sure that there would be tent cities stretching from Delaware to the Poconos, full of volunteers of every age, profession, and religious affiliation. The Gulf Coast is so far away, especially for those who have never seen it. But I can feel it in my heart, as though a small piece of me is tied on a string that stretches out for miles and miles and miles. It stretches so far I feel as though it’s on the other side of the earth.

Most people need volunteer opportunities to be dropped in their laps. Again, I am guilty of this myself. I knew I wanted to travel down south to help with the rebuilding efforts. But I didn’t know how to get there, whom to go with, how to go about organizing a trip. I was caught up enough in my own busy life that I probably would have never searched out an opportunity on my own. Then one day my parents said to Mike and me, “We might be going to Mississippi with a group from the church.” It took me one day to get over how I could take off from work, how we would get to Mississippi, what I could even do to help, and what we would do with our dogs while we were away. Surely, this was a chance to help that could not be passed up. And I thank God for “dropping” that opportunity in my lap. Undoubtedly, it was a trip that far surpassed my expectations in so many ways.

In Gautier, I learned some unforgettable lessons about people. I learned that tragedy, no matter how horrific, can pull a community together into a force as strong as any hurricane. Those who may never have spoken to one another under previous circumstances suddenly are drawn together to clean, to build, to pray, and to survive. Those who have lost everything are still willing to give what they have to others in need. Those who face even the direst of situations are still able to hold strong to their faith in God and trust in people. Those whose homes have been destroyed and families have been scattered are still able to say with absolute conviction, “I am blessed.” What I’d like to express to you and all of the folks of Gautier is, truly, I am blessed, for having met you.

I returned from Mississippi with a torrent of emotions in my mind. The first week home was the most difficult, as I went to my job every day wondering to myself, “What is the point? How is this work actually helping people? In the grand scheme of things, why does this really matter?” I showed pictures and mumbled about devastation, sadness, determination, wonder, inspiration, and faith to my coworkers. They nodded, expressed admiration for our efforts, and wished out loud that they could go themselves. It disappointed me to know that it was unlikely any of them ever would go themselves. And at the same time, I was frustrated to know that I couldn’t get back soon enough.

What I have found, more with each passing day, is a reservoir of peace, sunk down below the emotional torrent. As my emotions settle, the peace grows greater and brighter in my soul. This peace is both a voice and a beacon to me. The voice of peace has resigned me to the realization that I cannot return to Mississippi tomorrow. But the beacon of peace urges me on to keep trying, and to convince others to go as well. The voice of peace admits that the work I do on a daily basis may not directly help any single individual or family in need. But the beacon of peace encourages me to use the knowledge I gain from my work to find other ways to help. The voice of peace acknowledges that all of our lives are hectic and stressful, but the beacon assures me that I can overcome the everyday chaos to enjoy more time spent with loved ones. The voice reminds me that I have been blessed in many ways, and the beacon reinforces that the greatest of these blessings are life, health, and family (that, of course, includes dogs!).

I know that you and your family have been blessed, with each other, with the ability to survive and rebuild, and with faith. I also know that you may face more challenges in the coming months, despite how far you have already come. So when you’re feeling overwhelmed, or tired, or frustrated, remember your friends from Pennsylvania, knowing that we are praying for you and for the opportunity to return to Mississippi to continue our work. Imagine that through our thoughts and prayers, we are holding your hands and holding you up as you continue to make your way.

May God’s love be with you and may He continue to bless you each and every day.