New Orleans ramblings . . .

As I hinted in my last brief post, I drove to New Orleans Friday night to work with the crew from Lester Memorial UMC mudding and sanding sheetrock, spraying texture (something new for me, it was very Martha Stewart), and installing flooring. The rest of the crew went down Thursday night and worked Friday, Saturday and half the day Sunday. Some went in the church van and trucks, a few took the Silver Crescent. I was just a slacker and drove down Friday night on the water flume formerly known as I-59. Saved gas by just cutting the engine and riding the current from Birmingham to Meridian.

New Orleans is not fixed yet. I must have been missing those reports on the news the last three years. Tens of thousands of housing units have not been repaired or replaced.

But this Lesterine group is trying to finish it up, one wall at a time, just like hundreds of other churches, colleges and civic groups. And I imagine most of them are having a ball doing it. Not as much fun as the Lesterines, because we are an extraordinarily pleasant group, but I am sure they all enjoy themselves in their own ways.

The Metairie United Methodist Church was our host. Our beds were prepared with clean linens. A dinner was spread on Friday night. Shower facilities had been built next to the church building just for volunteer use. They lived up to the tradition of New Orleans hospitality.

As I was driving into Metairie on I-10 about 11:30 p.m. it took me back to the Friday night after Katrina hit back in 2005. I drove on down to the causeway bridge where thousands of New Orleanians had stood in the eerie darkness broken only by generator lights, rushing up as buses approached, straining to keep parents and children together. They had been there for hours, some for days, waiting on a way out. The road way looked like there had been a heavy snow, but the ruts in the road were not formed by natural elements, but by the refuse and trash of the emergency supplies used by the gathered masses. When the bus doors opened humanity flowed in like water into a bucket. Charles couldn't close the door until ten more than the bus's capacity had entered. Then there was silence.

A little farther east on I-10 I had easily sped over a raised area that spanned a canal. It took about 5 seconds. I had sat on that interstate with Benjamin and Charles and a few others on Labor Day 2005. All day long. It was supposed to be a rescue effort. Mostly we just sat and waited in our bus. Interstates look much different when you are parked on them or pacing on them or sitting on them instead of speeding along at 65 mph. Maybe that's why we don't hear so much about New Orleans anymore. It is easy to speed through the areas in need without even looking.

So I arrived at the church late Friday in a thoughtful mood, thankful for rich memories and experiences, but remembering the pain of all those thousands of people that week in New Orleans, and to a lesser degree, every trip down since then.

I think that's one reason the Lesterines return time after time to New Orleans. We met the people in paralyzing pain as they fled the hurricane itself and came to live with us. Now we will continue to go to live with them, 2 or 3 days at a time, until things are fixed. I am thankful to those whose commitment have made these continuing trips possible. You know who you are.

We Lesterines dine out one night on these trips. This time we went to Dragos. They sat all 20 or so of us in one room upstairs. We enjoyed good food, good drink, laughter and conversation. Our waiter, at one point, asked, "Are y'all sure you're a church group?"

I promise you we weren't doing anything bad. The sad part is that he asked the question because we were obviously having so much fun. I don't think he was used to that from "church" people. That's tragic. Maybe that's why people speed on by our churches without stopping.

Cause I believe Jesus is always with us on these trips. He was always hanging out with the least, the lost and the last. We have certainly been lost on these trips from time to time. Jesus was great at mixing mud. He patched a lot more than walls. And I know I heard him laugh as we dined in that upper room.

Come join us sometime.

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