I'm not gonna lie- something about mission trip is hitting me hard.
I've been having a love-hate relationship for quite a while with the great state of Louisiana. The last time I was down here was just over a month ago and it was to say goodbye to my Grandma's house,(my mom's childhood home) before it was torn down. Just for kicks let me remind you why it is being torn down- it's to build a private exit to the new casino from I-10. This house has withstood hurricanes AND grandchildren. It's where my Grandma and Grandpa raised their family, where my Grandma beat breast cancer, where my cousins and I gathered to play and swim, and the first thing I saw when I came home from Texas every single time.
I have spent so much time being angry with Louisiana over the past 8 months that I have forgotten how much I truly love this crazy place. This is where I grew up, where my family lives, where my congregation nurtured me in my call to ministry, where I learned to walk, ride a bike, and drive (although that is debatable according to my youth). It aches my heart to see this place - my home - in pain. To see my neighbors perpetully suffering due to lack of resources or at least availability to them tugs at my heart in a different way than I imagined. Over the past few days I have relived the hurricanes of 2005 and then their follow up friend, Isaac. I remember watching the roof of the Superdome being blown off from my French V classroom on the day of Katrina. I remember people crowding the Lake Charles Civic Center in an effort to seek refuge from Katrina. I remember watching the news coverage on TV and thinking, "I hope I never have to experience that." I can remember what it was like 3 weeks after Katrina when my worst nightmare came true and Southwest Louisiana was just hours away from a direct hit. I can remember packing my stuff and cramming it in my one day old car and putting the rest of our stuff in the area least likely to get flooded or blown away (second floor hallway). I can remember boarding the windows on our house and wondering, "Will I be able to come back home?" I remember driving for hours and hours until finally seeking refuge in Northwest Arkansas. I remember watching the news on Saturday morning and seeing my hometown and surrounding area being nailed by Rita. It felt so foreign- watching Lake Charles and Cameron Parish slowing being submerged under water on national news. My mom's cousin posted pictures online of our house and from the street and I can remember the feeling I had when I realized my home had been so badly damaged.
More importantly, I remember the generous outpouring of love, service, compassion, grace, and selflessness shown by countless people coming down to repair our homeland. And that is why we are here- we are here to remind people that God IS at work even when we feel like God hasn't even clocked in. I am grateful to have had the opportunity to witness so much of God's handyowrk and the power of love that trumps fear and heartache. I am humbled by the amount of people who keep coming down to help repair my homeland and who recognize that this indeed someone's home and we cannot simply "just move."
It's hard to come back here and recognize that this place is my home and that it is in pain. It's hard to come back here and recognize that this place has caused me immense pain. I feel like I'm at a crossroads and can't reconcile what I'm feeling. I do know this however, I am so thankful that there are people in the world who want to care for their neighbors- not matter how great the distance.
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