May all our prayers be noble now,
May all our work be pure,
May we be thankful once again,
Together, we endure.
With gloved hands, tightened air masks and white hazmat suits, we entered Judy’s home. The moment we stepped inside, the floor squished and squeaked below our shoes, forcing each visitor to acknowledge the stark reality of the depth of damage that her home had endured 2 months prior.
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On August 18th, Baton Rouge, Louisiana experienced a devastating storm. While usually a storm of this magnitude would be on the forefront of our nation’s news stations, what is now being deemed as “The Storm with No Name” didn’t make headlines in many places. Overshadowed by the election and later by Hurricane Matthew, it has been almost three months since nearly one third of Louisiana woke-up to their flooded homes.
It didn’t take long to join the other masked figures, sweeping, moving soggy furniture and shoveling all of Judy’s personal possessions into thick black trash bags.
Through my tight air mask I asked as politely as I could, which stack of objects was to be put out on the street to be picked up and what stack was to be kept for Judy to later use. With determined eyes and rising cheek bones that signified a smile under her mask, Judy pointed to a stack of aqua green covered cassette tapes.
Initially I didn’t think much of the tapes as I placed each one gently into a bag. I brushed away the roaches and quickly filled an entire bag with tapes oozing with water. It began to dawn on me, that these tapes were ruined, deeply filled with water and mold. That’s when I looked down to see a tape labeled, “Our Home: Louisiana.” It struck me then, that it didn’t matter much if these tapes would ever be salvaged to play again. Judy had welcomed us with characteristic Southern charm into her crumbling home, she smiled with hope as we helped her to reclaim what the storm had so dramatically taken away.
Many of our Cajun neighbors just like Judy, now spend each day gutting their homes, living in hotel rooms or tents doing their best to get by, while the rest of our country has no idea of their loss or how to step in to help.
All our dreams head homeward, chere,
Smiles bring other smiles,
Neighbors, friends, and family join,
Together, we survive.
While EM does not typically assist with disaster relief, we are thrilled to be partnering with a non-profit ministry that came to life after founder, Chris King, witnessed the devastation of “the storm with no name” in his community. The Cajun Army, an entirely volunteer based organization, currently spends each day working alongside homeowners to restore hope by providing hands to help and ears to listen.
This spring and summer, EM looks forward to bringing mission teams to Baton Rouge to help re-build the homes that The Cajun Army has gutted. We know that months will pass before we are able to get our teams on the ground, in the meantime we trust that God is using The Cajun Army and their volunteers from around the country to step into homes, like Judy’s.
After returning to my safe, warm and dry home, Judy and her bag full of cassette tapes wouldn’t leave my mind. The image of an aqua green case and the words, “Our Home: Louisiana” replayed over and over.
I couldn’t shake the generosity I saw as neighbors shed tears when they watched their neighbors homes be declared “mold free,” or when The Cajun Army delivered a woman a brand new refrigerator after she’d lived 2 months without one.
We were invited into the homes of strangers, where we were welcomed to share in the tragedy of their loss and in their hope as we join them to rebuild their homes.
This is our love, This is our life,
This is our home, Louisiana,
This is our day, come what may,
This is our home.
(Stanzas from "Our Home: Louisiana," Blue Cross Blue Shield 2005)
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