Pieces of Waveland

I just got home from Waveland Mississippi a couple days ago. As dramatic and cliche as it may sound to say "I am forever changed" yet again after a mission trip, it is true. I have so much to share after that won't all fit into one blog post, so I'm just gonna start with this bit.

A piece of a steel and concrete wall from a house in Waveland.

How can I say what flooded my heart as I held the bits of the homes of people in Waveland? I held pieces of the houses where they made their homes. Not just pretty little houses where they lived it up on the beach, but the place where their families had lived for generations, houses that they had strengthened to with stand many storms before. All my judgements and preconceived notions were put to shame and revealed for the foolishness they were.


I think going into a place devastated by a storm such as Katrina, you expect wear and tear, you expect there to be major damage. But nothing prepares you for the nothing. Simple concrete squares and a few beams are the only remains of the houses that once stood so strong. Weeds and dying trees stand where families used to be in their yards. Nothing.


One dear woman described their struggle to rebuild something like this... "You take a child out to that beach, and they'll start shaping tunnels and finding ways to run the water in to the sand and such. They'll shape it into something that works better, they'll leave their mark. We can throw up our hands in despair. But we can all shape our world, we can all change our world and impact it somehow. You look around at all the mess and you say 'Well I've got an extra tent, I've got some old bathtub, and I've got this old wood stove, how can I use this to make our lives better?' and you do what you can and use what you do have." She turned that stuff into a small bath house of sorts for friends and neighbors. And that's how they've been doing this. Bit by bit. Living in tents around debris heaps, sharing found bits of debris with neighbors 'till some kind of mementos are restored. Opening already shattered lives to the volunteers, the strangers who come to offer help. They pull together the bit they can from what was, and look forward with thankfulness to what is and will be.


The people we met persevere in tragedy and human failings. They are thankful for the simple help and love we came to bring. The people understand the difference between what you need and what you want. Between stuff and what is truly valuable beyond monetary payment.


I held the pieces in my hands, and I can't forget it. I can't forget the emptiness of the land, the debris that still lies waiting to be found. I can't forget the people who face the devastation and rebuild shattered dreams and lives. Finding new dreams, new life, and renewed hope in something more than what is tangible.