Saturday, January 13, 2007

A Mighty Work

That's what Pastor Gerry called it in his prayer last night after dinner for 100 volunteers getting ready to leave the next day for home. "Thank you, Lord, for the mighty work you are accomplishing here in Biloxi." People getting ready to leave feel as if they have done so little. Their time here is short, their skills are often limited, there is so much to do. You feel as if your contribution has been the tiniest drop in a bottomless well.

They come from all over the country, those volunteers. Some come to frame doors and windows and lead construction crews. Some come to carry supplies to jobs and trim out for the painters. Some come to cook three meals a day for 100 people or see to it that the towels are clean and stacked when volunteers arrive gritty and sweaty from construction work. Others bring compassion and healing skills to our clinic. Dinner is controlled pandemonium with dozens of conversations going on. People talk about what they did during the day. They talk about what brought them to Biloxi and how many trips down they have made. Sometimes they talk about the people they meet, those affected by the storm, and pass on the inspiration of the stories they hear. We have come to know that God is present in this work. That the face of a stranger can become the face of God to you, or that your love and caring can be the face of God to someone else. We talk about where we have seen the face of God each day.

It continues to amaze me that the darkness Katrina has wrought on the Mississippi Coast can bring such light. But miracles happen here daily, large miracles and small. The Santa Shop gave toys to almost 700 children and every teenager received a $25 Wal-Mart card. Adopt My Room gave complete bedrooms to 70 children. They came here on a Saturday after Christmas with their families and had their picture taken while they sat on a bed with their own new sheets draped over it. My brothers and sister and I adopted a bedroom for Jaden Goodwin, and I got to meet him and his family. He was thrilled with his Spiderman bedspread and sheets. We received a committment for a commercial stove the day our oven blew up.

Tuesday night Miss Judy and I drove out to Moss Point with a group from Waupaca, Wisconsin. Pastor Otis Hardy has a mission there in an African American neighborhood that sponsors local families who have lost their homes, are looking for work, who are having trouble meeting the needs of their families. The congregation in Waupaca has been providing school supplies to Pastor Otis's ministry through the year. When 25 of them came to work on rebuilding houses, they brought handmade quilts and afghans, cash and more school supplies. The families of Pastor Otis's congregation welcomed them with a huge dinner of Mexican specialties including Pastel Tres Leches and Flan. Yum! What an crowd. How else would a group from Waupaca meet a group from Mexico in an African-American neighborhood in Mississippi? How else but through the intervention of Katrina?

The struggle among many residents here is still to hang on to hope, and the gift of volunteers is the hope that shines from them that life can be restored to something approaching normal. But the volunteers will tell you that the real gift comes from being able to work here among those whose lives have been so affected by this devastation. It is humbling to be in the presence of those who have survived such tragedies. It touches your deepest heart to be thanked for the hope and care you bring, when you have only spent a week carrying drywall or hearing sad stories. The real gift is seeing Jesus in the least, and knowing that you have been priviliged beyond expectation to walk with them for a time. When you get ready to leave here, you are already planning your trip back.

Sunday, January 07, 2007

A Bit of Southern Culture

"I love it. It's my kind of white Christmas," said Miss Judy Bultman, when I told her about my trip over the Popps Ferry Bridge in the fog. The sky and water were the same pale grey, and the small islands of reeds provided the only hard edge in the mist. It looked like fairy-land. I am enchanted by bridges, and the city of Biloxi, floating on a peninsula in the Mississipi Sound, is part of the Delta that stretches from Texas all the way to Florida. There are bayous, creeks, bays and bridges. It is both a blessing and a curse, as much of the devastation from Katrina was the result of 35-foot surges that swamped areas previously thought to be outside of the flood zone. The major bridges that connect the east-west corridor of Highway 90 are gone, and commuters are now required to drive north to I-10 before going east or west to work or shop or visit. Replacing those bridges will take another year. But the bridge north across the Back Bay on Popps Ferry Road is our closest connection to I-10, and I travel it often. I have begun to reset my mood by how the bay looks as I cross that bridge, like resetting a clock. As I went to dinner with friends the other night, sky and water resembled a hand tinted photograph, unlikely pastel colors lifting my heart to thank God for a creation that can make your heart ache with its beauty.

I am gettin' used to the way people talk around here and beginnin' to drop the final "g" from my words without thinking much about it. Anything else sounds so formal. And of course, it's easy to fall into using y'all, a word that needs to be part of our language. I am getting used to waitresses calling me "Baby"and "Darlin." I love it. But the casual manner of speech belies a formality of address that I also am coming to enjoy. No one is addressed by their first name. Even your best friends only use your Christian name in personal conversation. You are Miss Judy or Pastor Barbara. It is a measure of respect. When you address a child, their response is "M'am?" instead of "Huh?" Beautiful.

It's driving here that is hard to get used to. There are lots of trucks. Big pickup trucks. And pedestrians do not have the right-of-way, so you have to watch out at all times. The Wal-Mart parking lot is really scary. Drivers zoom through empty spaces, pedestrians seem to appear from nowhere, and drifts of people walk at the slowest possible speed. I am always afraid that I will run over someone, or be hit by one of those club-cab pickups flying past. Being on foot
is certainly not safer. I was thinking the other day that people drive here like they drive in Guatemala, but the spaces are much more open, and it feels more dangerous somehow.