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Real Answers™
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Copyright: © ©2006 Shaunna Howat
675 words

SLOW PROGRESS TOWARD RECOVERY IN NEW ORLEANS

By: Shaunna Howat

With hearts broken by the devastation in New Orleans, 36 of us headed there for a few days of work. For some it was our first trip. For others, this was our third.

Our teams worked on six flooded houses, moving families one step closer to recovery. Two houses had not been touched since Katrina. The one I worked on was so full of furniture and belongings it took nine of us a day just to empty its contents. It had taken on ten feet of water for two weeks. When the filthy, contaminated water receded, the house remained closed. Imagine the results. Add to that the holes in the roof, no FEMA tarp to cover it, and you have more ongoing rot and slime. The respirators we wore could not keep out the smell.

This house was owned by a woman in her late 50s, crippled by a bad back, living on disability. It was her childhood home. She asked us to find her grandmother's Bible. In the tangled mess of each bedroom (where ten feet of water rendered everything a rotting jumble--beds on top of dressers on top of lamps), we searched each closet. In the last bedroom we found it in a wooden box, its pages turned to paste. She wept but then said this gave her some finality. She had wanted to know if this one precious item had survived, and now she knew. The new Bible we gave her did not replace what she lost, but she wept again at the gift.

We salvaged what we could, piling pieces of china or crystal next to her car. She gave me a handmade porcelain flower arrangement that was her mother's. Even covered with a layer of silt, the flowers were delicate and beautiful. I don't know how it survived, and I don't know why she gave it away so easily. But she was philosophical, restating the biblical truth about the futility of storing up earthly treasures instead of focusing on our treasures in heaven.

The next day we tore out her walls, all the way to the studs. I asked if she had a vision for what her house would look like. She smiled and nodded. Oh yes, she did. And now she could begin again. For the work we did, some contractor would have charged thousands of dollars, given the putrid state of her contents. She doesn't have that kind of money, and insurance doesn't help.

We drove through the Ninth Ward, that hardest-hit area. A barge sits in the middle of a wiped-out neighborhood, on top of a school bus. The levy is still being repaired, huge steel interlocking beams pounded into the ground. Water still trickles from it. Wide, vast blocks of neighborhoods are simply gone; just driveways and foundations, a few bricks and debris are left. Nothing livable for miles. A roof here, a bathtub there, three cars piled on top of one another there... Is this what a war zone looks like?

Thankfully, our last house had been cleared of its contents, and all we had to do was gut it down to the studs. It's still backbreaking work. The studs can now be sprayed for mold and left to dry. They’re soaking wet—how will they dry in that humidity?

Listening to the radio while working, we learned that Mardi Gras was in full swing with parades, balls and festivities. My mind cannot grasp that carefree revelries and parades carry on just a few miles away, while devastation reigns everywhere else. No electricity, no running water, no traffic lights, mountains of debris piled on the edges of streets. And that's not just in a small area; it goes on for miles and miles upon miles of city blocks.

Exhausted, we drove 15 hours to get home. We look at our own lives a little differently now. I’m less concerned about storing up my earthly treasures after seeing how quickly a disaster can destroy everything. I’d rather focus on heavenly treasures, too.

"Real Answers™" furnished courtesy of The Amy Foundation Internet Syndicate. To contact the author or The Amy Foundation, write or E-mail to: P. O. Box 16091, Lansing, MI 48901-6091; amyfoundtn@aol.com

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