Until I Met Shirley
Experienced Mission Trip leader, Donna Erickson, reflects on what she witnessed in New Orleans. This article has been shared with other churches in the Diocese. Until I Met Shirley I suspect most people who know me would agree that I'm a 'tough cookie' - at least on days when they're being kind that's the phrase they would use! Both personal and professional experiences have revealed human brokenness to me in strange, disturbing and profoundly beautiful ways. Urban settings and situations are not foreign to me as I was raised outside of NYC in New Jersey and have worked for nearly 3 decades in St. Louis, a city once dubbed 'the most dangerous in the country.' It is against this backdrop that I ask you to believe that nothing in my experience could have prepared me for the devastation I witnessed on our recent Mission trip to New Orleans; devastation that is truly of biblical proportion. I, along with most of the country and certainly many of you, watched in horror as the dramatic events of August 2005 unfolded. The human misery, futility, and desperation escalating as whole communities in the Southeast were swept away; communities of ordinary men and women who lost places to live and and work, family members, beloved pets, ways of life, points of reference, familiar landmarks and any semblance of normalcy. A combination of denial, personal bias and media misinformation allowed me to believe that the flood and its aftermath, especially in New Orleans, happened 'to them' - people significantly different from me by every measurable marker: economic, racial, cultural and geographic. I continued to believe that .....until I met Shirley. On Wednesday morning of Mission week, I was asked to accompany 'The Finisher' to a work site. While the nickname seems to come straight fromthe World Wrestling Federation, it actually belongs to a young woman named Liz who is employed by the Office of Disaster Relief/Episcopal Diocese of LA. Liz specializes in putting finishing touches on homes that have been restored by the program and her appearance means that owner re-occupancy is imminent. A day had been planned for the two of us to install one final section of molding, and then caulking and doing final paint touch ups in the home of one of the program's clients. (A client incidentally who contacted the program after an unscrupulous contractor had taken her state "Road Home' money, started repairs - and then vanished. Apparently not an uncommon scenario in New Orleans these days.) As we pulled up to the house, the homeowner, Shirley, came out of her FEMA trailer to welcome us. There was an immediate sense of familiarity; an impression that was reinforced throughout the day as we shared work, lunch and exchanged stories and insights about our lives. We later acknowledged that we each recognized our 'sisterhood' within 5 minutes of being introduced. The similarities in our lives were uncanny. Both of us were single working mothers, (me in social work for 33 years, Shirley as a middle school teacher for 32 years); each with 2 sons the exact same ages and our sons had lost their fathers to death in the exact same year; each of us have an elderly mother, now in assisted living, yet still dependent on us for support and daily routine appointments/management. Shirley just painted her restored master bedroom the same shade of purple I had chosen in the fall for my sunroom. Shirley finished paying off her home and retired from her job 3 months before Katrina struck and, while that day is still a few years off for me, as she spoke of the retirement she had planned, filled with walks with friends, church work, book groups and gardening, I recognized, and heard, my own hopes for a future free from job demands. With tears in her eyes, Shirley acknowledged that her planned for life and all those dreams have been irretrievably lost. She spoke honestly about the difficulty in reaching out for help especially after being 'swindled,' the reluctance to accept assistance 'because folks like you and me don't take help, we take care of others; we soldier on; single moms take a breath, pick ourselves up and do what has to be done.' She spoke fo hopelessness and the reality that papers in New Orleans have stopped publishing cause of death in the obituaries 'because the number of suicides is so staggeringly high it would depress those of us trying desperately to hang on.' Shirley now walks the neighborhood everyday, along with her memories, assessing physical damage, calling former neighbors now relocated throughout the South, telling them about their properties, encouraging them to return, discussing local politics/happenings, trying to stay connected; in essence, assessing emotional damage as well. She will be one of the first on her block to stop living in a atrailer and return to living inside her home. (One of the first - - 2 1/2 years after the flood!) So far, the only furniture she has accumulated is a table for her bedroom and a bed. Upon the table is a Celtic cross, a candle and a resin figurine of a black preacher holding a small child by her hand. Shirley said that 'with a place to rest my head, a cross to remind me of Jesus and the church to help lead me home, I know everything else will fall into place." At the end of the day, as we embraced and exchanged phone numbers, addresses and promises of staying in touch, she held my shoulders and said, "Donna when that tornado rips through St. Louis and takes out your house, you call me; I'll get friends from church together and we'll be there to help you rebuild.' I was finally able to grasp, on a wrenching, take your breath away, gut level that this tragedy did not happen 'to them;' it happened to people exactly like me. It happened to brothers - and sisters - in Christ who are exactly as beloved by God the Father as we are. Our lives had been parallel in SO many ways and yet her faith and courage brought me up short. I found myself wondering how I would be 2 1/2 years after losing everything familiar and beloved through forces over which I had absolutely NO control. Would I be able to begin again, to keep on keeping on? (Would you?) I knew precisely what a gift it had been that I was chosen to accompany 'the Finisher' to Shirley's house. It may have been a blessing for her, she kept saying it was; if that was the case, it was just another way we were exactly alike because it was a blessing for me as well. It was a powerful moment of grace; a chance for me to be reminded that I was not just there with 'the Finisher' but, more importantly, I was there with the God of all new life - the God of beginnings. "But forget all that - it is nothing compared to what I am going to do. For I am about to do a brand new thing. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? ' Isaiah 43: 18-19 There were MANY moments of grace on this trip. None of these experiences would have been possible without the ongoing support of Emmanuel parish. We (Lou Clauss, Mary Ann Cook and RIchard Byrnes and I) are very grateful. Please consider joining the Diocese of Missouri Mission Trip to New Orleans in August 2008 to continue the work. Donna Erickson
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