"Where were you when . . . ?" I was in Virginia, visiting our kids and grandbaby. Early on the weekend I remember scoffing: they'll all be having hurricane parties!
Then came reports of Katrina's magnitude on Sunday night, and then, Monday, the levies burst. By Tuesday evening the trailing edge of the storm arrived in our part of Virginia, and tornados ran amok in nearby Charlottesville. We all knew by then that there were no parties along the Gulf coast. Hour after hour we watched CNN, as civilization unraveled and politicians made rationalizations. Again and again, we checked the PCUSA website, looking for the names of friends and hoping for suggestions of things we might actually do to help someone. "Wait, please wait, don't come," was the word on the disaster-relief sites: "We're overwhelmed, we can't handle volunteers, not yet, it's too dangerous, please wait."Sunday, a full week after Katrina hit the coast, I finally heard from my friend Joy in Mississippi. She's fine, they're lucky to have power, they're overwhelmed at the hospital where she works. Another friend, Ruth in Louisville, phoned to say she'd located her niece southeast of New Orleans. Our Presbytery is collecting a list of available housing. The AZ Ecumenical Council is calling for clergy and counselors for the 1000 refugees who have reached Phoenix. Chaos and helplessness are evolving into organization and action. At last we have ways to do something.
Now it's Tuesday afternoon and I'm collecting a few clothes, toiletries, books and games to drop off at a collection center when we drive into town tomorrow. I've even volunteered to teach quilting to women who hate to sit with idle hands. Godde knows I have enough fabric stashed away to supply several stadium classes!
And as I sort through all our abundance, I'm struggling to identify gifts that will be truly useful, truly healing. Forget the stacks of "Dog Fancy" and "Bird Talk" magazines, which could only remind refugees of the pets left behind to unknown and unkind fates. Could I have evacuated a home if it meant leaving my Serendipity behind? Would she have been accepted into a boat because she is a service animal, or would she have been abandoned? What about our macaw and the cockatiel? We keep their feathers carefully clipped, so they could not have flown to safety. Cage-bred and hand-raised, would they have known how or where to fly if they could? Would I have felt guilty for mourning my animals when so many human lives were lost?
So, no, I will not contribute any dog or bird books.
What about all the other stuff? "Stuff" that takes up so much of our time and effort. If I were the one standing in front of the ruin of my home, and someone were to stick a microphone in my face, could I say, "We didn't lose anything important! That's just a house and stuff, what's important is we're all alive!"
Could I? I hope I could. But what about all the albums of family photos? Those couldn't be replaced. What about my great-grandmother's quilt? The rug Lahoma wove for us? The pottery our son made? Our daughter's wedding dress? My books?
Now I'm looking through the house at all our stuff, and wondering what might help our new neighbors down at the Coliseum. Here are my grandson's t-shirts and overalls, left behind at Nonni's last winter. He has long outgrown size 9 months. Television appeals for donations specify new items, but the church agencies haven't been so specific. I was planning to sell these outfits on eBay; surely they could be used by a Louisiana child.
And what about this pants suit of mine? It has a stain on the front, but it's a size 18, and large sized women's clothes are especially needed. If I'd been wading through flood waters, I'd be thankful for a fresh outfit, stained or not. Still, is it right to give my cast-offs? Am I giving out of my abundance or getting rid of left-overs? Isn't it wrong to throw usable clothing away when someone might truly need it? Wait a minute. I buy all my clothes at thrift shops, anyway! So much for "new."
All right, let's get serious, my dear Sidekicks. What gifts do we, as clergy spouses, have to offer to survivors of the hurricane? We'll give financially, that's obvious; but none of us can send more than a drop in the bucket, nothing like the sort of splash provided by Celine Dion, Magic Johnson and other celebrities. A lot of us couldn't volunteer time without hauling our own kids along with us; others of us wouldn't make much of a physical impression with our canes and carts and arthritic joints!
So what CAN we do, other than send off a few books and puzzles for the kids? Here's what I offered to Lita (at AZ Ecumenical Council) on behalf of the Sidekicks:
We can listen. Most of us, simply by virtue of living with clergy and working in churches, have lots of experience in listening. Most of us can hold someone's hand and repeat a psalm or the Lord's Prayer. That sort of service might be needed, because every one of those folk at the shelter has a story to tell. They need to tell those stories to someone; it will help them heal.
We can rock babies and hug little kids - and not-so-little kids. We can read books to both
children and adults. A lot of us are capable of teaching little study groups, leading simple lessons, and providing activities to help pass the long empty days the refugees face while waiting for news of their homes and families. We can hold the hands of those who have lost everything and help them discover what they still have.Maybe . . . probably . . . Lita won't need to call on us. But I wanted her to know we're willing. She has us down for spiritual and emotional care givers as well as "just" volunteers, just in case. Probably most of us won't be asked to take refugee families into our homes. But my name's on the list just the same.
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