7 Months Later.
Seven months past the storm and homes are still being repaired.
Lives are still torn apart. Mold is still growing.
One of the houses we worked on had no glass in the windows, no doors, electricity, or water. The homeowner's eyes were weary, tired, and a little bit sad. We stood in front of a guy as he told us how he sat on his dryer while the waters rose higher, and how his son led the rescue boats to his house. He told us that in six days FEMA was kicking him out of the hotel he was staying in, and he anxiously told us that he planned on closing off the kitchen of his house (which was just a shell), making it his home while he continued to put his life back together. He planned on sleeping on a couch right next to a makeshift counter and sink that weren't yet purchased. He didn't have a bathroom and probably wouldn't for a while.
It has been seven months and no media outlets are telling the stories that need to be told.
Volunteers are dwindling and everyone is tired. But as I stood in the remains of our homeowners living room while he told us stories we didn't quite understand, God moved. Hope arrived. God used the flood waters from the hurricane to plant a seed. We stood in front of our homeowner and explained why we, as young college age individuals, would spend our one week of freedom to drive 20+ hours round trip to help him. We explained why we were all dressed in yellow and how we came to know the skills we were using to put up drywall in his kitchen. We explained that we do it because we love people and we are called to show them that, to live it out with our hands and not just our mouths. We do it because Jesus loves us, so we can love others.
And you know what? We do it because the condition of his soul is more important than the condition of his house.
This week seeds were planted and one day they might just grow into something more, and that's worth all the miles, hours, and time in the world.