In the summer of 2007, World Changers sent my team to New Orleans. As we came into the French Quarter, there was a traffic signal on the ground nestled amongst overgrown weeds and it caught my attention. I had never seen an entire traffic signal in shambles on the side of the road before. I have never again since. The first time I ever went to New Orleans was summer 2005, only weeks before Katrina hit…I remember all the noise of the French Quarter…trumpets playing, people singing, the sound of bells and people and traffic. I remember eating my very first beignet while sipping on an iced cafe au lait at Cafe Du Monde. THAT is one of my very favorite delights of all time. New Orleans is one of the most delicious and eclectic places on earth - it’s loud and boisterous and has an uncontainable spirit. As I sat staring at that traffic signal in June of 2007, it had been almost 2 years since the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. I was shocked to see how much of the city remained in disarray - the remnants of the storm’s chaos remained - the city was marked and in desperate need. Where once there were rows of homes, now all that remained were bent poles and darkness because streetlights had not been replaced. Fences were tattered and torn. The remnants of many homes bore the markings of what had been found inside - both people and animals. Hundreds of FIMA trailers. It looked much less like the place I remembered than I had imagined it would.
I remember the first clean out we did that summer…we met the resident just outside her home early in the morning. She was hesitant to go in, the tears were already brewing from deep within. We all put on our masks and then held the door open for her. Very slowly she began to inch forward, her eyes attempting to take in the vast damage before her. It had been almost 2 years since she had entered her home. From the marks on the walls you could tell approximately 8-inches of water sat in her home for a great deal of time soaking through everything she owned. Nothing would be salvageable. As we walked, floorboards dissolved beneath us. As she picked up photos and quilts that were once most treasured possessions, the hallowing sobs began to shake her frame. We walked her back outside and she sat on the curb watching as piece by piece we began to empty her home. She had to say goodbye to everything she owned that day - it was all destroyed.
That summer I spent over a month living in the city. Alongside my team, we partnered with amazing organizations like Operation Noah Rebuild and Habitat for Humanity mobilizing student volunteers as part of the rebuilding efforts. We focused our attentions on Bartholemew Street in the 9th Ward and Musicians Village. I watched as families who had lost literally everything had hope restored. They worked tirelessly alongside our teens, pouring the foundations for their futures. Even as the sun beat down and sweat poured, there was such a sense of joy and pride and accomplishment. This was where they belonged and they were rejoicing over their return.
I learned a lot that summer. I heard hope in the pounding of hammers and nails. I watched people come together to rebuild communities, to mourn devastating losses, people who had clung to their rooftops and tried to wait out the storm, people who had seen their neighbors drown. I watched their communities go from dirt, to foundations, to plywood, to homes with walls and roofs, and I felt the surge of excitement with each bucket of paint. It’s been 8 years since the Lord used New Orleans to forever change my heartbeat. In some senses, I think He used that space to teach me the power of banding together and believing in a place with everything you’ve got - these people were not willing to give up on NOLA. Not for anything and it was a beautiful thing to behold. I witnessed time and time again, the glorious gift of crying together, shedding tears in sorrow and empathy and then holding hands and picking up the pieces, one at a time, and moving forward even in the midst of the pain. I beheld the amazing triumph of rebuilding from absolute devastation into a new tomorrow that may look absolutely nothing like yesterday, but has promise all its own. Every single moment of that summer was laced with hope and potential and His presence. He was so very near.
This fall marked 10-years since Katrina demolished much of the beloved city that will forever own a piece of my heart. And I keep thinking about it. I keep having flashes of moments with people and finding myself in tears even still. The more I have prayed about it the more I see the glorious gift the Lord gave me in that summer. As I walked alongside His children, they revealed so much to me. They had wrestled with Him in their devastation and loss and ultimately chose to see Him even in the darkest moments of their lives. They chose light, they chose hope. They taught me what it looks like to shine. They were radiant and they remind me of what it looks like to be a reflection of Jesus. I want to look just like them…to shed the tears, but ultimately to look like hope and promise and to shine!
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