We never quite end the story of our Mission to St Gabriel while there are those who share their story with us. Here's another reflection from one of our participants...
For the week that I was in New Orleans, I saw abandoned home after abandoned home, spray-painted signs that cried “No Road Home,” miles and miles of devastation. Here and there, scattered throughout the city, I saw signs of hope—homeowners determined to bring their city back in the face of harrowing financial and emotional costs. But it didn’t get to me. I stayed focused. I cut and grouted floor tile, I listened to terrible stories and was glad I could help. I caught Mardi Gras beads, I was inspired by Fr. Doug and Sr. Kathleen, I made good friends with my St. Michael and St. Columban co-volunteers. I was frustrated by the mess of challenges that the city faces in rebuilding. But I was not overwhelmed. I took it in stride.
But then Sunday morning came. It was my first day back in cincinnati and I was on my way to church. Driving down North Bend Road, something funny started happening to my eyes. In my imagination, every house that I looked at was damaged by Hurrican Katrina. One after another, I saw gutten houses. Nothing left but the frames and the roofs. Windows were broken. On each house was that dreadful spray-painted X that announced where people had died and the date that help had arrived...much too late. The Taco Bell was abandoned. The sign at Thorton's gas station had fallen over and shattered. A few FEMA trailers were parked in front yards. I started to tear up, but I blinked it away.
Then I got to church and it started ahppening again. I saw the pews at St. Vivian warped and covered with mud. The altar pieces were ruined. The organ was swollen and collapsed in a far corner of the church. The brass stations of the cross each had a dark line marking the height of the water, and I knew that line could never be washed away. I started to see phases of rebuilding. Again, in my mind, the carpet was ripped up exposing a dirty concrete floor. The pews were bulldozed. In their place were rows of folding chairs. The altar itself was replaced by a card table. Now, I started to cry. What loss. What devastation.
I'm trying to think of what wisdom I can take from this vision. All I can say is that we are all one body in Christ. Katrina didn’t just happen to New Orleans; it happened to all of us. And I’ve received a great gift in helping to carry this cross. Jeanne S.
MAY WE NEVER GET SO HARDENED THAT WE DON'T FEEL THE PAIN JEANNE FELT ON HER FIRST DAY BACK.
Peace and blessings, Anna
For the week that I was in New Orleans, I saw abandoned home after abandoned home, spray-painted signs that cried “No Road Home,” miles and miles of devastation. Here and there, scattered throughout the city, I saw signs of hope—homeowners determined to bring their city back in the face of harrowing financial and emotional costs. But it didn’t get to me. I stayed focused. I cut and grouted floor tile, I listened to terrible stories and was glad I could help. I caught Mardi Gras beads, I was inspired by Fr. Doug and Sr. Kathleen, I made good friends with my St. Michael and St. Columban co-volunteers. I was frustrated by the mess of challenges that the city faces in rebuilding. But I was not overwhelmed. I took it in stride.
But then Sunday morning came. It was my first day back in cincinnati and I was on my way to church. Driving down North Bend Road, something funny started happening to my eyes. In my imagination, every house that I looked at was damaged by Hurrican Katrina. One after another, I saw gutten houses. Nothing left but the frames and the roofs. Windows were broken. On each house was that dreadful spray-painted X that announced where people had died and the date that help had arrived...much too late. The Taco Bell was abandoned. The sign at Thorton's gas station had fallen over and shattered. A few FEMA trailers were parked in front yards. I started to tear up, but I blinked it away.
Then I got to church and it started ahppening again. I saw the pews at St. Vivian warped and covered with mud. The altar pieces were ruined. The organ was swollen and collapsed in a far corner of the church. The brass stations of the cross each had a dark line marking the height of the water, and I knew that line could never be washed away. I started to see phases of rebuilding. Again, in my mind, the carpet was ripped up exposing a dirty concrete floor. The pews were bulldozed. In their place were rows of folding chairs. The altar itself was replaced by a card table. Now, I started to cry. What loss. What devastation.
I'm trying to think of what wisdom I can take from this vision. All I can say is that we are all one body in Christ. Katrina didn’t just happen to New Orleans; it happened to all of us. And I’ve received a great gift in helping to carry this cross. Jeanne S.
MAY WE NEVER GET SO HARDENED THAT WE DON'T FEEL THE PAIN JEANNE FELT ON HER FIRST DAY BACK.
Peace and blessings, Anna
posted by Lori Anne at 2:25 PM
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