I remember the beginning of my senior year of college in
2005. I remember the house I lived in
with 7 girlfriends, and I remember feeling tremendously inconvenienced when 2
of our 3 showers broke and our landlord was slow to fix them. I remember a neighbor asking if I’d heard
about Hurricane Katrina and what was happening on the Gulf Coast, and I
remember realizing that maybe having to share one shower wasn’t the biggest
tragedy out there.
I remember hearing about the relief trip JMU’s Cru, the
Christian ministry I was part of, was taking over Christmas break, and feeling
intrigued… but also thinking it’d be more comfortable to just go to their
annual conference in D.C. with my best friend instead. I remember God changing my heart overnight,
and I remember driving down to Pass Christian, Mississippi, with 6 other
students. I remember seeing a city
stripped bare. I remember seeing ruins
where there had once clearly been life. I
remember sleeping on cots in what used to be a library, surrounded by other
college students. I remember spending exhausting days doing
physical labor, and I remember eating meals at God’s Katrina Kitchen. I remember the satisfaction in the simplicity,
and I remember returning home to a world untouched by Katrina. I remember watching the luxuriousness of
Christmastime, and thinking that, despite my attitudes of greed in Christmases
past, I actually didn’t need anything at all… except maybe a power drill.
I remember how my heart was changed after spending time
being the hands and feet of Jesus, of providing for people’s physical needs,
and I remember longing to find a way to be a part of that after
graduation. I remember listening to the
voicemail I received from a human resources director in Cru, saying, “I think I
know what God has for you next year,” and I remember hearing for the first time
about the opportunity to move to New Orleans to do and coordinate relief
work. I remember asking for 24 hours to
pray about it, even though there’d never been a clearer decision in my life.
I remember raising financial support, and I remember the way
my heart pinged with a sense of belonging as I shared with potential supporters
about the opportunity to rebuild a city.
I remember having a sense, even then, that God was using that time to
rebuild me.
I remember my first time in New Orleans- the day I moved
there, 11 months after the storm. I
remember the house that the 8 girls on our team lived in, and I remember the
watermark line on the side of the house, showing how high it had flooded. I remember walking around the Lower Ninth
Ward for the first time, and how surreal it was to stand on the foundation of
someone’s house, someone’s home, and realize that concrete slab was all that
was left. I remember seeing buses and
cars inside houses, and I remember feeling like no news coverage could ever
fully convey the impact of what had happened to this city.
I remember sitting on my porch of our house in
Gentilly. I remember looking around our
street and feeling the oppressiveness of it, of a neighborhood that was still
largely abandoned, of houses spray painted with the X that shared when the
house had been searched and whether or not any bodies had been found.
I remember the first time we went to Audubon Park, and the
way our whole team freaked out because it was the first time in weeks we’d
actually seen live trees and green grass.
I remember long, sweaty days of gutting houses, and the ways the
physical satisfaction of hard work mingled with the pain of tearing down
someone’s home, someone’s life. I
remember, Aldo, the neighbor of a homeowner we were working with, who described
looking down the street and seeing what looked like the Colorado river rushing
towards him. I remember him telling us
about the people he rescued in his boat, and I remember that he found his own
mother, lying on top of a heating unit, dead from a heart attack. I remember Augustine, the homeowner who lost
her home and her husband in the storm, and I remember her faith in God blowing
me away.
I remember the way the Lord whispered to me that He was
rebuilding New Orleans, and that He was rebuilding me, too.
I remember driving home on the interstate one night, in the
midst of trying to decide if I should commit to another year in NOLA. I remember looking out at the city lights and
realizing that New Orleans was my home, and I wasn’t going anywhere. Years later, that view of the city from the
height of the interstate will always be one of my favorites.
I remember falling in love with New Orleans. I remember realizing that she held a
strength, a resiliency, that allowed her to come back, although other cities in
her position might just have abandoned it all.
I remember laughter and nights playing cards and speed Scrabble with my
teammates. I remember the first time I
decided I was missing out on New Orleans by staying in my extraordinarily picky
eating bubble, and I remember a whole world opening up to me as I discovered
shrimp and grits, crawfish, chicken schwarmas, beignets, snowballs, and
more. I remember falling in love with
running as I trained for the Mardi Gras Half Marathon, and a year later, the
full marathon. I remember running by
Lake Ponchartrain, up and down St. Charles, around Audubon, and of course, to
the bull and back.
I remember those excruciating years of teaching, of loving
those kids so much I couldn’t breathe. I
remember feeling overwhelmed by the responsibility of it all. I remember the friends who walked with me and
held me up when I had anxiety attacks, and I remember delighting in my students
on field trip week when they could run through the park and be free. I remember meeting Cori. I remember nights spent with him and friends
at the Bulldog, and I remember discovering the charm of Mid City. I remember our first kiss, the night the
Saints won the NFC championship game, and I remember the sheer joy and
celebration of driving and walking around the French Quarter the night we won the
Super Bowl. I remember walks around City
Park, and how Cori proposed there.
I remember the weeks before we moved. I remember crying and crying, my brand new
husband at a loss for what to do with me.
I remember lasts: last times with friends, last time eating a snoball,
last authentic Cajun meal. I remember
walking home from the store and hearing jazz music playing on the corner, and
knowing with a deep certainty that there was no place in the whole world like
New Orleans.
I remember how Hurricane Katrina changed everything,
everything, for thousands and thousands of people, and I remember that in the
good, the bad, the pain, the loss, the celebration, the life, it will always be
part of my story, too.
