Culture Shock and Trinkets

Hi there!

Last night I did something I almost never do.  And that's a small almost and a big never.  I went out to get my hair done!

Remember how after I demolished my hair by foolishly hacking away at it, the girl who fixed it asked me to promise I'd never do it again?  Well, I haven't.  In fact, I kind of went the opposite direction, and I've gone 10 months without even a trim.  I don' think that's what she had in mind.

Anyway, I had my hair cut and highlighted- which I really never do unless it's Katie doing it.  I love it.

Alas, you most likely could not care less about that.

You know, I'm finding that I have a lot less to tell you about when I'm not allowed to talk about the mister.  Sometimes, I feel so much like writing, but don't have anything in mind that I skim around online looking for something to write to you about.  Just now, I clicked on my Facebook page and immediately saw an ad for Urban Impact New Orleans.

I may have never told you about my trip to New Orleans.  It was a few years before I started writing these letters.  That week greatly impacted my life and my faith.

So, let me take you back a few years.  Well, I guess it's been more than a few now.  My, how time flies!  Anyway, let's go back to spring break of 2007.

"Back ven ve vas babies!"  (Ashley, you may be the only one to get this movie quote.  Katie frequently lets me down when I quote it.  Tsk tsk.)

Five young ladies, supported by our church, went down to New Orleans for their week of spring break.  We slept on the floor of one of the church buildings, and worked through the church ministry program for Katrina relief.  We would end up gutting the home of an elderly woman that we lovingly referred to as Miss Pat.

However, on our first night in Louisiana, we went against the suggestion of one of the leaders, and went into the city.  (We had to see it!)  It was wild.

Please excuse my sloppy photography.  Our first night in New Orleans really was a blur though.  We walked a block or two down Bourbon Street and decided that was enough for us.  We turned and hightailed it back to the van.

  

But... if you are able to overlook the more depraved parts of the scene, you find the amazing New Orleans culture.  This jazz spot we found was a beautiful portrait of the city's traditions and heritage.

The next day, it was on to the work.  And boy, did we work.  Let me just say, if you thought it could get humid in Illinois, you know nothing.  Nothing until you experience Louisiana, my friend.  Anyway, take a look at what Katrina had done to this Miss Pat's house:

The house was already elevated, but do you see the water level lines on the walls?  And this room was nothing compared to her mother's old room that she had left untouched.  She hadn't been able to bear going through her things yet.  Amongst a host of other belongings, a mattress that had been saturated for months was something our team had to remove.

I will tell you though, I loved gutting.  Absolutely loved it.  It was really quite liberating.  

I think it was on the very first day, after coming in to see the work we had done, and being astounded that "five girls did this," that Miss Pat became emotional and asked us where we found our peace.  This opened up the whole week to conversations about Christ and salvation.

She was one of the sweetest women I've ever had the privilege to meet.  This is a picture of her holding up the necklace we gave her.  It was a little box with, if I remember correctly, some of the fruits of the Spirit written on it.  Or maybe we wrote some down and put them inside... To be honest, I don't quite remember.

One of the most heartbreaking moments was seeing Miss Pat's reaction to us finding extensive termite damage above one of the windows in her home.  Equally hard, was seeing a woman who thought that the gutting of her home was a beautiful thing because it had been so bad beforehand.  Can you believe that in this photo, she was telling us how wonderful it looked? 

Miss Pat quickly became rather famous at the church we worked through.  Each night, groups had the opportunity to share news of the projects they had been assigned to, and I think it's safe to say that everyone fell in love with her through her story.

Later in the week we were able, after much coercing, to talk Miss Pat into joining us for dinner and a worship service at the church.  I don't remember much about it, except that she made one of the leaders promise to sing Amazing Grace as a condition of her attending.  It was a beautiful evening, and I remember crying. A lot.

I think we got to go see her one last time before we left, and it was so hard to leave her.

The last day there was spent going into the city, picking up garbage, and meeting people.  We spent quite a bit of time with one family, and this little girl was such a delight.

It was so humbling to meet the people and to see what they went through after the storm.  How they lived.  

What I found most surprising about this trip was the culture shock I experienced when I came home.  I remember very clearly, sitting in class and feeling like I was wasting my time.  Like I was sitting idle while there was work to be done.  Help to be given.  I saw big, white walls and thought about how good they would be for gutting.

It's been a while now, but we received an update about Miss Pat's house and how the church was maintaining contact with her.  The house was beautiful.  It would just send goosebumps up my arms to see the work that was done and the improvement made for this little woman.

You know, this time meant so much to me that I used it as background to one of my short stories in college.  I basically wrote it as it happened, but my teacher told me that it needed more scandal to propel the story.  (My life just isn't that scandalous.)  Part of the story was spent talking about how Miss Pat found trinkets in her home that she gave to each of the girls in the group.  But she forgot me.  (Really happened.)  I considered stealing one of the few trinkets she had left to her name so that I would have something to remember her by too.  (Only in the story.)

Our last night there, I opened up and told Margo about how I felt left out and sad that I didn't get anything.  Not because I wanted a gift, but a memento to remind me of Miss Pat.  She told me she had noticed and assured me that it was an accident, and I knew that.  In the story I kept a nail that had gotten stuck in my shoe at the house.  In real life, Margo brought me a purple glass ball similar to something Miss Pat had.

I still have that glass ball.  It is in my old bedroom, sitting on top of my window sill with other trinkets and photos.  Maybe it needs to make a return trip to Des Moines with me.

Anyway, I just thought I'd tell you a little about the trip that changed my heart when it comes to the idea of missions.  I decided then that at the very least, short term mission trips needed to be a regular occurrence in my life.  Since then, of all things, Trinity's band, took care of that with the tour/mission trips.

However, now that I'm an "adult" in the "real world" it's time to start keeping my eyes open for more opportunities.

Well friend, I hope you're enjoying the sweet, sweet rain we are getting.  I'm feeling rejuvenated by it.  I will talk to you sometime next week after I get back from visiting mi familia.

Aim

(Oh! I should also tell you that I swiped some of these photos from Miss Mariah Nelson.  She took many more pictures on the trip than I did!)