Here’s Lookin At Hallelujah 2007 – St.Stephen’s Mission to UnBog New Orleans: The Blog
What difference does it make? We ARE the difference.Archive for as one
Finishing Strong: We Don’t Waste a Minute
So, today was our last day of work here in New Orleans. We’ll be heading back to Seattle tomorrow and, for me, it will be with a heavy heart. There is so much more I wish I could do here, but never the less, it has been an amazing experience. Over at Doris’ house, we finished the flooring and framing today. We had an entire wall (as in 40 feet at least) of framing left to do, but we got it done. It’s an indescribable feeling to see the look on the faces of those you help. Their houses are so far from liveable, but they’re just so greatful you’re there it’s like they wouldn’t care if all you did was clean up after the last group. You truly can’t understand the experience of New Orleans unless you come, so COME! Anyone can help out down here and if everyone would step up, people could get back on their feet. A shout out to the whole group here: thanks for opening your hearts and minds and never giving up. We’ve proved that what may seem impossible is attainable with dedication (and perspiration). I will depart with a quote of mine (God’s really; I don’t think, I just listen) that our group really seemed to respond to: New Orleans has its own spirit, a living breathing culture. Hurricane Katrina and the devistation that entailed is like a deep wound, slow to heal and extremely painful to all those involved. People have tried to slap a band-aid over this huge wound to cover up the true depth of its destruction. The media saying it’s “being dealt with”=band aid. The superdome getting rebuilt while houses remain in ruin=band aid. The big businesses rebuilding while local stores struggle to pay for the walls that were washed away=band aid. Our group came here and saw the truth. We spent the first two days peeling away the band aids and discovering the mess beneath. We took our time and worked our asses off every day to make the biggest difference we could in the little time we had here. It’s hard to leave these houses half done, but we got four houses closer to being liveable. So if we remember nothing else on this trip, I hope and pray we never forget how we peeled away the layers of lies, exposed truth, and began to help heal. Four stiches.
God Bless, Now and Always
-Alix
En Masse, In Orange, In SeaTac
SeaTac wasn’t ready for the orange. Most people in SeaTac weren’t ready for the orange. Most people (in Orange or not, didn’t matter, they all got the same treatment) weren’t ready to be waved at by the stuffed monkey Sophie brought – but they waved back anyway. Even the cops. It was a good sign in our SeaTac departure.
Notes on the Orange – Thou Must Conformest To Thy Own Humanity, Thy Own Inner Orangeness
Perhaps because the shirts were neon orange, perhaps because most of us were given youth size Small or Medium that exposed our happy trails and triceps, perhaps self-consciousness of sticking out like a sore thumb in the middle of an airport drest in bright orange about to take over a flight to New Orleans (we later agreed that New Orleans is the sore thumb nobody pays no mind to), but some people just didn’t get it that we were all going to be in on this thing together, tiny neon shirts tied into tummy knots in the vans were one thing but out in PUBLIC they didn’t want to wear the orange.
“Conform,” we told them.
“Nooooo,” they, the unoranged, remaining sarcastic.
“CONFORM!” bellowed we.
“OKAAAYYY,” caved in one quickly, donning orange.
“NO WAYYY!” Blair and Lily weren’t so easily convinced. Or quite so easily fit into youth small neon shirts as Sophie.
Physical bargaining and persuasion tactics were then enacted on both sides.
Eventually a compromise was struck – in the efforts to effect solidarity we would all wear orange while in the airports. Planed, we were free to wear anyshirt.
I ain’t much one for conformity one way or t’other – but there was some kind of feeling that describes how it felt seeing fifteen neon orange shirts board the plane, iPodded, phoned, Gameboyed and hopped up on free single-serving-pretzels and the idea of a nature-ravaged city in an era when nature is supposed to lie at our feet and manifest loafers. Everyone on the plane knew it too. It was out there. For the most part, we were nonchalant, chatting, working crossword puzzles, etc, but the mission was out in the open, a public eyesore gaining noteriety, bright & orange & hyper hyped on smiling & bubbling & monkeypuppet-waving neon kids in their too-small shirts.
“What Difference Does It Make?”
“We Are The Difference!”
