Humbled. That’s how I’ve been feeling these past couple weeks here in Louisiana. And strangely, that’s how the people of Baton Rouge feel, too.
For the past two weeks, one of the houses we have been working on is the home of Ms. Sonja. She is a sweet, strong woman with three kids whose house was completely destroyed by the flood last summer. She took some time one morning and told us about what happened on August 12th, saying that when the rain began, she wasn’t worried, thinking that it wouldn’t be too bad, just a hard storm. But, by the time water started coming up through her floors, she knew it was time to leave her home, not knowing when she would be back.
For the next few days, she went from house to house with her children, until one-by-one, each of the houses they were staying in flooded as well.
For the past 10 months, Ms. Sonja has been without her home, her neighborhood, and her community. She lost many of the belongings and the memories inside of her home. Yet, as she was telling us her story, she described the experience as humbling. She said she was humbled through what happened to her last August.
Humbled that she and her family weren’t killed. Humbled that her house was left standing. Humbled that she had family and friends to lean on.
Humbled because she was reminded of God’s sovereignty in all situations, good and bad. Because she was reminded that God is always in control.
For the rest of the week, we worked on drywalling her house. We helped her begin to repair the home and the life that was ravaged by the flood. But we all agreed she helped us more than we helped her.
One of the team members from Iowa shared one night that meeting Ms. Sonja was the highlight of her trip. When asked why, she said Ms. Sonja’s strength and resilience were inspiring. That Ms. Sonja’s courage to get through these months with a smile on her face showed the team member that she can get through anything that she is going through.
Whenever we saw Ms. Sonja, she would say thank you every chance she got. When she saw another room get finished or another wall go from beams to a livable space, she would just gush with how thankful she was for us. The team members would always respond with “No, we want to do this” or “That’s what we’re here to do,” but I just sat back and watched. Absorbed this experience. This community. This life here in southern Louisiana.
Ms. Sonja’s isn’t the only story like this. She wasn’t the only person or family to be impacted by the flood, and she also wasn’t the only person that carried on. This community is full of stories; not of the flood, but of how people rose above it, relying on and creating both community and family.
So, Ms. Sonja, I’m feeling pretty humbled right about now, too.
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