Diary of an Astrodome Volunteer
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This was published in September 2005....
I dedicate it now to Joshua Hooker in honor of the New Orleans Saints winning the Superbowl.
Joshua's mom never called me when she arrived at wherever her final destination was, but nevertheless, I have prayed almost daily for her and Joshua. I can only hope with tears in my eyes that both of you have since had a superbowl-sized victory in your own lives as well...
I hope that, and will continue to pray that as long as I live.
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It was Sunday.
I went there with one mission that was two-fold; to pass out Bibles that another volunteer said were needed, and to find children with disabilities. I knew how I could help families of children who have disabilities, because I had a child with autism and could only imagine how much harder it would be trying to care for such a child in a shelter; especially families of children with autism spectrum disorders and the significant sensory issues that go with that. I wanted to find those families, and help them. I needed to know that if my son and I were in a shelter so far from home, that someone would come looking for us….
The 10 minute orientation for the volunteers did little to prepare us for what would be experienced over the next 8 hours.
When I made the trek from the volunteer center to the “community”, I didn’t quite know what to expect. From what I’d seen on the news about the Superdome, I prepared myself for panic and chaos. I pictured people scurrying around in fear. But what I saw was calmness. Jesus on the boat holding up his arms to calm the waves and quiet the worried disciples.
There were post-it notes of sisters separated from brothers, husbands looking for their wives. People walking by scanning through the names on the board – hoping to see one they knew. With hardly any communication, actually no communication, all one could simply do was watch the signs as hopeful people paced the rows of cots advertising who they were looking for. Instead of being ungrateful that more was not being done, they were simply thankful. Thankful to be out of the sweltering hell they called the Superdome, with the stench so great they would rather take their chances sleeping outside on cement, than inside on a cot. Seeing all those lists of missing friends, family members, relatives; made me think of those who I loved and whether their name would be on the list of eternal life that God would one day search through. I vowed to be a better Christian witness to them.
It wasn’t so much a question of where to volunteer, as much as it was a question of where not to volunteer. The needs were so great. The volunteers and help they could provide were so few in comparison. I wanted to go where I would truly make the most difference and feel worthy. Much to my surprise, that turned out to be picking up garbage in the hallways, bathroom, and eating area. In the bathroom I saw weary mothers giving their babies baths in the filthy sink with no soap. I closed my eyes and saw Jesus washing his disciples dirty feet; and knew that the job I was doing was worthy indeed.
The only thing identifying me as a volunteer and not a “guest”, was the peach wristband given to me at training. We were also told that as volunteers we could eat upstairs away from everything – and everyone. But no one I saw did that. There was no need for barriers. There were no walls of division, race, rank, or status. It was simply people among people. The VIP’s carrying boxes of supplies, the janitorial crew being served by community leaders. God’s children among God’s children. Very much living, I saw how heaven would be.
I took a break and sat at a table where one woman was sharing her experiences of waiting out the hurricane in the Superdome as the roof was ripped off and the rain came pounding in. She’d witnessed the craze of those taking advantage of others. She stood in lines where the military had rifles pointed ready to shoot anyone who got unruly. When she asked what would happen to them, they simply stared forward and said nothing. “How could our own people turn against us?” she said in anguish. “We were treated like we were less than human,” she recalled as those in charge would completely stop the food distribution for everyone, when a handful of people got out of control. “Just not knowing” was the hardest. There was no communication. No T.V. She knew buses would be coming. But she didn’t know when. Nor really where to go. So every morning her family would wake up at 4am and stand in a line, and wait. 6pm came, and after she had watched dozens pass out from heat and exhaustion, her family finally gave up, only to do it all over again the next day. Finally they were transported and she knows she was one of the lucky ones because she ended up in Houston, only missing one sister out of 4. There was more she wanted to share, but she just couldn’t. All she could say was, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, – thank you for making us feel human again.” Thank you for showing us love. I asked if I could hug her and give her a Bible, and while doing so pictured the Biblical scenes where Jesus embraced those whom no one else would.
After listening to that woman sharing her story, I was more determined than ever to find who I had set out to look for and help.
But it was time for the clothes and supply distribution lines to open. And I was asked to help. My job – to get people what they needed. It was here that I learned the true meaning of what a “Food and Clothing Drive” should be. Often when I would participate in those efforts – I gave what I didn’t need, or didn’t want – and thought I would be doing someone a great service. Here, today, I experienced being a recipient of my past generosity. And what a realization that was. Digging through piles and piles of people’s old and discarded outdated clothes showed me how truly selfish I had been. How could these people who have no homes, no money, and no clothes, ever hope to go out and rebuild their lives wearing mismatched outfits, purple sequined stained shirts, and no socks or underwear? I know some would say they should be thankful for what they have. And trust me, they were. They would have gladly taken used underwear – if there were any. From now on I will give – only what I would want to wear. I will give gifts worthy of a carpenter turned King.
Finally having a chance to go in the main shelter where all the people were gathered, I was anxious to look for families of children with disabilities. Keenly aware that I was invading the privacy that no one really had - I walked up and down the neatly lined rows of cots and mingled with the men and women sitting there. Those who I shared a brief “hello” with – I gave a Bible. They were thankful to have something to read to pass the time waiting….for what though, they didn’t know. They now had no homes, no jobs, and many, no hope.
One elderly woman lying all alone seemed like she needed a friend.
“Do you mind if I stay and talk with you?” I asked as I handed her a Bible.
“Sure, -- if you like.” She was fine. But with the wisdom of her years, she knew I was saying that more for me than for her. We both knew I couldn’t offer her anything she really wanted, which was to be in her own home and in her own bed. I pictured the little drummer boy who had nothing to offer the king – except himself. And that is what I gave her for the next 10 minutes.
On to the next row where a woman was sitting on her cot. “What can I get you?” I cheerily asked. This was one of the many times I wished I had a delete button to hit before the words actually came out of my mouth. But too late. The look in her eyes in response was about as empty as the box of possessions beside her. I don’t know how else I could have asked that, but hearing myself seemed so lame in light of what brought her here. Here was a woman who deserved the most expensive bottle of perfume poured on her feet. Instead, I gave her socks, quietly left a Bible beside her cot, and moved on.
Out in the hallway where the children played was where I got the first sense of normalcy. Five or six little boys had found a football and were on either end of the hallway – playing catch and trying to see if they could hit the ceiling light fixture. Typical. At least for some, life seemed unchanged.
Back in the food area though – life was changing. I stopped and listened as a mother has her middle school age children sitting around the table – lecturing them on how to make the right choices by staying in school and getting good grades, and not getting pregnant until married, and going to college to earn a degree to get a career – so they would never have to find themselves in the position she was in. No husband, no education, no job, and no home. A mother facing the reality of the importance of training up her children in the way they should go. And her children seeing the results of what could happen if they don’t listen.
There were many young mothers holding babies and toddlers all day long because they could not bring their strollers or didn’t have time to get them. I asked mom after mom if they would like me to hold their baby while they ate. None would allow me. For them I think, their babies were the only things they had left in this world, their only true possession, and they would not part with them for anything. I felt instantly warmed by God’s arms wrapped tightly, possessively, around me. Not ever wanting to let me go either.
The bright spot to me were the pregnant mothers. I met a mom who was very, very, pregnant, and wondered how many baby girl Katrina’s there would be….reminders of how even in the midst of destruction and despair, God brings new life, new hope, new rainbows….
My Bibles were gone, but I went back in the main area where the cots were one more time. I still had not found who I was looking for. It was getting late in the day and my main mission was not yet accomplished. With my own son’s picture in my mind, I didn’t want to go home without finding who I came to look for. I didn’t know his name, but I knew I would know him when I found him.
And there he was. Rocking back and forth, with his mom holding his hands. I went up to her and asked just to confirm what I knew was true. “Yes, he does have autism,” she says.
“Do you need anything? Anything at all?”
“No,” she responds.
“Do you have a place to go?”
“Yes, - we will be leaving shortly”.
We exchanged names and I gave her my number so that if it doesn’t work out – she can call me. I stayed for a while and talked. I could not make myself leave. Joshua was his name. And he was doing fine as long as his mom was there holding him. I guess that would be one benefit of being in your own world and not understanding what is going on around you. As I finally got up to leave, I asked, “Will you call me when you get to where you are going?” I wanted to make sure they were ok. She smiled, nodded, and said, “I will.”
I sighed in relief, grateful that there is a shepherd who won’t rest until every lost sheep is found and brought safely home.
Home. That sounded good. With Bible’s gone, the lost boy found, I was ready for home. But it was dinner time and I went by the food area and asked if they needed volunteers to serve in the food line. By this time I was mentally exhausted from trying to process all that I had taken in from the day. The toll of seeing how devastating this ordeal must be for the people, mixed with the excitement of having found Joshua and his mom. I found myself obsessed with trying to put the shredded beef neatly in the middle of the bun so as to not make a mess. I thought that a “perfect sandwich” would somehow cancel out the imperfect conditions our guests must endure until they get their lives back in order. But it is to no avail. With so many to feed, neatness is mission impossible! The line leader shouted, “I need more sandwiches!” The people didn’t care about neat sandwiches anyway. Most were thankful to just have a hot meal in an air-conditioned building with chairs to sit on. They gladly took the plates, smiled, and said “Thank You.” I made a mental note to be as thankful myself when I got back home.
Finally home, I sat down and put my feet up. They hurt, but not nearly as bad as my heart. I wondered as I fell asleep that night how much more Jesus’ feet hurt as he carried the cross that day. How much more did his heart hurt for the entire world? Would he do it again?
As bad as life seems sometimes, and as little hope as we something think there is for humanity – it is times like that day in the shelter that you see that people do care and that there is hope. Sure there were those who complained that I couldn’t find them a brown bag instead of the black one – or the tennis shoes instead of dress shoes. There were those who weren’t happy with shredded beef on a bun no matter how neatly it was made. But overall --- I saw people. Not evacuee’s, not refugee’s, and not even the victims of an event. It didn’t even matter what denomination they were or even if they believed in God or not. I just saw people in need of help from other people. I saw unselfishness and servanthood at its best. I saw what community is all about. I saw what being an American is all about. I saw people doing for other people exactly what Jesus would do for them; and to me, that is what Christianity should be all about.
I wake up the next morning sensing the answer to the last question that I went to bed with the night before.
“Yes,” Jesus answers, “I would…...”
And I make room in my schedule to volunteer as long as it is needed….
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Instead of just warming a pew and hearing a sermon, – on that day,
I experienced one.
“Hope rebuilds what the world washes away”
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By Michelle M. Guppy
MichelleMGuppy@yahoo.com
Written and published in September 2005
About the author:
Michelle Guppy loves to write inspirational stories, devotionals, and poems who has been published in several books and magazines related to Autism Spectrum Disorders. She is currently writing articles for Special Education Today – a magazine published by LifeWay, Inc.
Michelle is married to Todd, and together they have 2 children: Matthew, 13; and Brandon, 11. Brandon is non-verbal and has Autism.
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