It seems like such a long time ago that Hurricane Katrina survivors came to Greenville and our church had such an opportunity to hear their stories and minister to them in our city. Today, I spent day 3 hanging sheet rock / drywall in a home still devastated by the storm...and a family still living (almost 3 years later) in a small FEMA trailor in their front yard.
Yes, I'm in New Orleans with 3 guys from our church and 7 guys from 7 other churches working through the NOAH rebuild project. Today, we met Leavy...a 70 year old woman who has been living 3 hours away until her home is repaired. When given a small gift card to Home Depot by our group, she asked if she could make a donation to our church...not your common response.
We also met Kimberly...a single mom who just moved back into her home 2 weeks ago with her daughter. Some guys from the team drywalled her home a year ago. She invited us over to see the results. What a long journey home.
In our group devotions tonight, we were reminded that our sacrifice to come here (including that of our families) is only for a week...then we will go back to our regular routines. But these people are still dealing with the physical, spiritual, and emotional storms from this tragic flood.
I was reminded of how our family live through the great flood of Hurricane Floyd some years back in North Carolina and the damage that is still visible there. The memories of feeding trailors and Baptist disaster relief workers has come back so vividly.
Events often leave scars in our lives, not just the physical storms, but also the relationship storms. And if we are to look, we can see the devistation all around us. Some people need help to move out of the FEMA trailor to which they have been confined for so long and back home again. Not back to the same old home...but to one that has been touched by the hand of God. And often that happens through the lifting and attaching of a piece of fresh drywall by a willing servant of the Master...maybe like you and me.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Coming Home
It seems as if the older I get (now passing the 40 mark), the more often my trips home to Ohio are marked by funerals. On Thursday my older brother and I had the privilege to conduct the funeral of our last remaining grandmother. And all of the things that we tell people in our ministries literally have to be proven in our response to death in our own family.
I was once again reminded of the impact of what many would consider a very insignificant life. My grandmother lived 'up the hollow' in a farm house a few miles from where she grew up. She never had a driver's license, but seemed to know about everyone in town. And when the memorial service was about to begin, the funeral director had to get more chairs as it was a standing room only crowd. Nearly everyone there had been affected by this life and family in a significant way.
Leave it to a funeral to bring out the best and worst in a family...but all we got to see was the best. So many friends told us how proud my grandma (Nonnie) was of us grandchildren and how she was always speaking a kind word about us to her friends. But I think the most moving thing that happened was seeing our usually 'less than affectionate' grandfather (now 86), walk up to the casket time and again to pat her hand and say some of the most beautiful words.
Life seems to keep us so busy that I saw family members that I had not seen in at least 10-15 years. We get so engaged in our lives and families that our trips 'coming home' are now few and far between. However, when we come for these sacred occasions, there seems to be less small talk. The conversations seem to quickly turn to what really matters. I'm not sure why that does not happen more often...but funerals seem to bring out the urgency and brevity in life.
This morning, the phone rang early telling us that my grandmother's sister experienced the death of her husband during the night...so there will be another memorial service before I return to South Carolina next week. I guess it is now just the reality of coming home.
I was once again reminded of the impact of what many would consider a very insignificant life. My grandmother lived 'up the hollow' in a farm house a few miles from where she grew up. She never had a driver's license, but seemed to know about everyone in town. And when the memorial service was about to begin, the funeral director had to get more chairs as it was a standing room only crowd. Nearly everyone there had been affected by this life and family in a significant way.
Leave it to a funeral to bring out the best and worst in a family...but all we got to see was the best. So many friends told us how proud my grandma (Nonnie) was of us grandchildren and how she was always speaking a kind word about us to her friends. But I think the most moving thing that happened was seeing our usually 'less than affectionate' grandfather (now 86), walk up to the casket time and again to pat her hand and say some of the most beautiful words.
Life seems to keep us so busy that I saw family members that I had not seen in at least 10-15 years. We get so engaged in our lives and families that our trips 'coming home' are now few and far between. However, when we come for these sacred occasions, there seems to be less small talk. The conversations seem to quickly turn to what really matters. I'm not sure why that does not happen more often...but funerals seem to bring out the urgency and brevity in life.
This morning, the phone rang early telling us that my grandmother's sister experienced the death of her husband during the night...so there will be another memorial service before I return to South Carolina next week. I guess it is now just the reality of coming home.
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